The Girl Behind The Razor Blade
Chapter one of my book...
The plain white ceiling is the first thing her icy blue eyes see when she is awakened by her alarm on Saturday morning. She sits up, rubs her eyes and walks to the kitchen to get something to eat, perhaps a bowl of cheerios.
"Linds, you are just falling apart these days… Mom and I are worried like hell about you, each day that goes by we just hope to god we see you stumble down those stairs into the kitchen. Ever since ‘the incident’ you just haven’t been the same."
"Shut the hell up Catherine, you don’t know anything about me, don’t even try to blame this concern you have on ‘the incident’ either, god you piss me off, can’t you ever mind your own bloody business?"
As Lindsay reached into the cupboard the sleeve of her sweater slid down a bit,
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS LINDSAY?"
"Catherine like I said before, screw off."
"No, no this isn’t happening, not to my baby sister..." Catherine walked into the living room with tears in her eyes and lay on the couch.
Lindsay continued to get her breakfast.
"I don’t even know what you are talking about Catherine" Lindsay shouted into the living room.
"Oh really? Well why don’t you look at your wrist and then tell me that again."
"That’s . . . wait when were you looking at my wrist?"
"Lindsay, it doesn’t matter, how many cuts do you have anyhow?"
Lindsay glimpses at her wrist and makes up a lie " Like… 4"
"We… we need to get you help… this isn’t right."
Catherine tried to get Lindsay into the car but had no luck.
Lindsay decided to go up to her room for a smoke instead.
Lindsay grabbed her diary and pen and began to write:
Why can’t Catherine ever mind her own bloody business, she thinks she knows everything, in fact that is part of the problem, she thinks there has to be a reason for everything, I wonder what would happen if I told her she was right, that there was a reason for everything and the reason for my cutting was because of the incident. Would that change anything? Make anything better? No... that would be too embarrassing and she would probably end up committing me to Sir Paul McWortherson mental Institution. I don’t see how the hell my mother could be worried, she doesn’t seem to give a crap what I do or where I go… I here about all of the other teenagers having chores and curfews and I know they don’t like it but honestly, I kind of wish I could take that from them. At least then I would know some-one that is not my 19 year old nosy sister cares about me.
I’m going to go have a hot shower
~~ Lindsay Powell ~~
"Linds, you are just falling apart these days… Mom and I are worried like hell about you, each day that goes by we just hope to god we see you stumble down those stairs into the kitchen. Ever since ‘the incident’ you just haven’t been the same."
"Shut the hell up Catherine, you don’t know anything about me, don’t even try to blame this concern you have on ‘the incident’ either, god you piss me off, can’t you ever mind your own bloody business?"
As Lindsay reached into the cupboard the sleeve of her sweater slid down a bit,
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS LINDSAY?"
"Catherine like I said before, screw off."
"No, no this isn’t happening, not to my baby sister..." Catherine walked into the living room with tears in her eyes and lay on the couch.
Lindsay continued to get her breakfast.
"I don’t even know what you are talking about Catherine" Lindsay shouted into the living room.
"Oh really? Well why don’t you look at your wrist and then tell me that again."
"That’s . . . wait when were you looking at my wrist?"
"Lindsay, it doesn’t matter, how many cuts do you have anyhow?"
Lindsay glimpses at her wrist and makes up a lie " Like… 4"
"We… we need to get you help… this isn’t right."
Catherine tried to get Lindsay into the car but had no luck.
Lindsay decided to go up to her room for a smoke instead.
Lindsay grabbed her diary and pen and began to write:
Why can’t Catherine ever mind her own bloody business, she thinks she knows everything, in fact that is part of the problem, she thinks there has to be a reason for everything, I wonder what would happen if I told her she was right, that there was a reason for everything and the reason for my cutting was because of the incident. Would that change anything? Make anything better? No... that would be too embarrassing and she would probably end up committing me to Sir Paul McWortherson mental Institution. I don’t see how the hell my mother could be worried, she doesn’t seem to give a crap what I do or where I go… I here about all of the other teenagers having chores and curfews and I know they don’t like it but honestly, I kind of wish I could take that from them. At least then I would know some-one that is not my 19 year old nosy sister cares about me.
I’m going to go have a hot shower
~~ Lindsay Powell ~~
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