I bolted up in bed trying to catch my breath, one hand clinging onto my sheets, and the other stifling a scream. For the past four years I’ve been having the same dream, the memory of that night refused to be locked up with all the other memories. Refused to leave; always staying to remind me, it was like I wasn’t allowed to forget.
There was no way that I was going back to sleep now, so I climbed out of bed and turned on my lamp.
As I walked across my spacious room I glanced in the full length mirror to critique my appearance.
My pale blonde hair was tangled and hadn’t been washed for days, my face was makeup-free and red from crying, and dried tears stained my pale face. Typical.
I sighed and opened the white curtains.
The sky was black and cloudy, and every now and then thunder would crash and interrupt the quiet not so peaceful night.
I turned the lamp off, and grabbed a soft blanket that reminded me of home. I set it on the window seat along with my favourite pillow, layed there and watched the midnight thunderstorm.
I’m not sure how long I stared out the window, but I’m guessing it was a long time because the black sky became tinted with dark blue.
I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, focusing on the last time I actually felt happy and carefree, and I soon fell asleep.
It felt like I only slept for 5 minutes, but apparently it was much longer.
“Kirissa, wake up,” dad said, shaking my shoulder.
My icy blue eyes opened, burning in the bright light.
“It’s after seven, if you don’t get up now you’re going to be late for school,” I was surprised to see him; he’s been away for work recently. I could tell he just got back from his latest business trip; he was wearing a wrinkled grey suit and dark shadows were underneath his exhausted eyes.
I yawned and nodded.
“Come upstairs when you’re ready and I’ll drive you to school,” he left my room and closed the door behind him.
I waited until I heard his footsteps pounding on the kitchen floor above my room before I dashed into the bathroom across the hall.
I locked the door and leaned my hands against the sink. I squinted at my reflection in the cold glass mirror, looking for anything to make me feel better about myself, but like always, my face only brought more torture to my already torture filled life.
Everyone told me I was beautiful, but I failed to see any source of beauty in me. My skin had an odd bluish glow from being so pale, and my blue eyes never brought me any comfort; they were haunted with memories of my past. The past that still followed me around wherever I went. Everyone, especially my father, told me to forget about it. Forget and move on. But I couldn’t, so I was forced to pretend it was all ok, which is a lot harder than it sounds.
I splashed my face with cold water, trying to knock some awake into me, which I failed horribly at.
I turned the water off and got my toothbrush out of the drawer and brushed my pearly white teeth while staring at my reflection in the mirror.
“Kirissa, you’re going to be late!” my dad’s voice rang throughout the house from upstairs.
“Uh, I’ll be right there!” I shouted and shook my razor onto the bathroom sink from its hiding spot – my empty perfume box.
I took a deep breath and shakily pressed the razor blade into my soft skin.
I pulled the blade across my wrist and winced at the sharp pain. The first cut always hurt the wrist.
But after that first cut it was almost painless, my hidden turmoil was released through the blood that dripped out of the cuts. And I felt stable, as if everything would be alright.