Apathy

“Vada!” Leave me the fuck alone. The door popped open and my mom’s faceless body poked in. “I need you to do the laundry.” Why can’t you see me? She stood there waiting for a reply, but I couldn’t remember how to talk. Don’t leave me. She leaves the room after I lay there, no word escaping my lips. Rain, rain, go away. The tears start to fall as I pull myself out of bed. Come again some other day.

Bare feet slapped the freezing tile soundlessly. I always hated the bathroom, it was too cold, but this time it would make the fog drift away for a few minutes. A few seconds at least.

The scarlet streams ran down the bleach white bathtub. Go away, come to me, save me mom. Why can’t you see my misery? A gasp, a moan of pain. Oh, it hurts. Thank God, it hurts, I can feel again.

Just a little deeper now, maybe we’ll get by today, eh? Spinning out of control, the world is destroying me, tearing me apart. Just don’t scream, okay?

I let the razor blade fall. How long do I have before the blood stops? Will anyone see the spots of blood on my sleeve? Don’t look, don’t say anything, but please see. Tears fall more heavily now, I can’t see.

“Help me. Please, oh please, make it stop.” I’m begging.

Don’t look. Help me. Just a little deeper. It hurts so much. Mom? Dad? Can’t you see? Pain, misery, despair.

It’s all apathy now.