84 Broken Tips

SLIGHT TRIGGER WARNING!!!!

AROUND DINNER TIME

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Regan looked up at the door and ran her fingers through her hair one more time before clearing her throat.

"Come in," she called out, pressing down her shirt again. "Good evening Vix-"

Her eyes widened and then fell with disappointment.

AN HOUR AFTER VIXEN LEFT

Regan looked up at the ceiling, finding herself in the same position as she was the first day she ended up there. Helpless, tired, confused, and empty.

She raised her hand up into the air and stared at the ring on her finger blankly, slowly rotating her hand left to right to fully inspect the ring but the longer she stared the more she felt confused. She wanted to pull it off, throw it into a box, and instead carry an empty finger, freeing herself from the heavy feelings both of her rings carried. The red ring threw her into depression and the gold one just gave her a feeling of emptiness? Just bleak silence, waiting to be filled up with things she didn't have or know what to put in.

But she was scared to look at what was beneath the ring. The fear of looking at the pale space on her finger where a ring was usually held was so paralyzing she couldn't lift it off her finger fully anymore. Was it her fault? That she fell this low? How could it be her fault? What did she do that was so wrong?

Vixen's words repeated in her mind. 'Pathetic...pathetic...pathetic… is that his phase or something? Every time he comes here, he doesn't leave without calling me pathetic at least once,' Regan sighed, rolling onto her belly, 'I've heard it so much that I'm basically expecting to hear it the next time he comes in.'

She looked at the biscuit she had saved from her meal, laying uneaten on the table and the broken tips of her plastic fork. Then back to the bloated, throbbing stripes on her wrist. 'It was worth a try,' Regan shrugged, picking herself off from her bed and walking over to the biscuit. Slowly she leaned over and picked up the biscuit, taking a small bit out of it, 'it's a shame it didn't get rid of the feeling though.'

She knew what she was doing was wrong… but was it? 'What am I supposed to do with these emotions? I haven't felt the sun beating down on me in months, haven't interacted with anyone but him and have been stuck in here with my mind for more hours than I wished.' She threw herself onto the couch behind her and looked up at the blank ceiling again, wishing for the 10th time that day that it would fall in and collapse on her.

Her mind wouldn't stop eating at its square walls. The thoughts of self-harm came to her as quickly as she could drink down a bottle of water, hoping she would choke on it. Hate, rage, pain, stress was the only emotions she could recognize and every smile she gave or laugh she spat out was 20 seconds away from turning into tears. Nothing seemed to work.

The warm sensation of the blood running down her wrist had always seemed pleasing to her. The waves of pain from each bloody stripe she gave herself was like a reassurance that she was still alive. A way to lift her head against the rapid waves of her mind before she was pulled under again when the pain drifted away. But today in the crimson red waves of the pool of blood forming on the table, she saw people she wished to forget. Blond locks soaked in red, the blue sky peering up at her in fear and waves of black floating upon rivers of red.

Her hand trembled as it delivered it's the last stab into her arm before she threw her fork into the pool of blood, crawling back onto the couch and curling into a ball in a corner of the warm arms of the couch. She stared at the white plastic fork laying on the table with drops of blood running down its side and then to her bloodied hand.

"Why am I doing this to myself?" She thought to herself, "why is red the only color I want to see?"

She hid her head in her knees and covered her face with her red hands, crying silently.

"Why am I so pathetic?" she sobbed, salty hot tears flowing down her stained cheeks, mixing with the red and falling off her chin, "why do I always resort to this? WHY DO I LIKE THIS?!"

'What am I doing that is different from killing? WHAT AM I DOING THAT IS DIFFERENT FROM WHAT I DID BEFORE?!' she scolded herself, 'I give in to my impulsive feelings, fall prey to other's words and let myself fall deeper into a hole I dig. No wonder he calls me that whenever we meet. I am pathetic.'

"Haha…" Regan chuckled, lifting her head up and craning her head backward and looking up at the ceiling again, "don't act like you didn't know this before. You knew. You just didn't want to change yourself."

She ran her bloody fingers through her hair as she laughed hysterically with tears rolling down her eyes, "DON'T ACT LIKE YOU DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE FUCKING SELF-DESTRUCTING!! You knew you could be saved. YOU KNEW YOU COULD BE SAVED BUT WAITED UNTIL YOU DUG SO DEEP THAT THE WORDS YOU FED YOURSELF COULD FINALLY DESTROY YOU!!"

Her fingers dug into her scalp as she scratched her head vigorously, "HAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAHAHAHHAHAH."

She shook violently as she scratched her head, eventually doubling over and laying on the couch defenselessly. "HAHAHA...HAHA..hah..ha," she chuckled, her tears running out one eye, up and down the creases in her face and into her other eye, "fucking pathetic. That's what you are."