A small sample.

Breathless. Sweat running, crimson tones highlighting the droplets. Shaky hands latching on to the porcelain sink, she squeezed her eyes shut. How could she do this? How could I do this? She pushed herself against the bowl, her muscles aching, her heart racing in her chest, and her naked feet planted on the marble floor. Flash backs in the form of bruises reforming on her arms, the dangers of her hitting her head again flashing against her skin. Her muscles throbbing from the over and over again stimulation. It was only a memory, it was only a thought, a lonely thought that had changed her entire life.

A whispery scream echoed from her lips in the quiet corner of her place. The bathroom lights flickered in response as her knees buckled from the weight of the world she felt caving in. Her lungs far from the air they needed. The oxygen being suffocated from her very organs that pushed her every day. Her hands tightened into fists as she sat there, her roughed and skinned knees hard against the marble, her body curled into a crescent as she squeezed her body together. She needed stability, she needed security, but all she could find was the darkness wanting to envelope her.

Through tear-stricken lashes, she opened her eyes, seeing the droplets, the lines, the curvatures of the red liquid in the open doorway. Her heart raced in her chest and her head pounded. She could almost feel the veins wanting to pop out of her collar bone reaching through her neck. She hid her face from the sight, unable to face what she had done. What have you done? The voice in her back of her head whispered again.

It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t what she was meant to do. It was only a test. It was only her temper…it didn’t exist! This was a dream. This was a terrible, frantic dream…

She stayed there for hours…rocking back and forth on the floor, her body bruised from the images that she had in her head and the torture that she put herself through. She couldn’t even move on her own when there was a knock on the door.

People were worried.

They had heard the screams, they had heard the whines, the crashing, the breaking of possessions against the walls. She couldn’t escape the outside world from seeing through into her life as it came crashing down. The door was opened, the creaking echoing into her ear drums, and all she could do was vibrate from the feeling of fear, volatile self-destruction, and demise. There were curses that were heard from where her body sat.

They had seen the terror, the story, the painted mess along the confines of her apartment.

“Miss.” A softened deep voice spoke in the darkness.

Suddenly there was a bright light in her face, seeing her crumpled body in the corner of the bathroom, tucked in next to the claw footed tub.

She didn’t answer, she couldn’t move, if she did, it would happen all over again. Her breathing was finally even, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. The man repeated himself as he tried to step around the puddles of blood that had gathered in the corners of the room and seeped into the wooden frames along the edges of the hall.

“Miss are you okay?” He repeated himself again, this time asking a question.

By this time, she hadn’t faced enough torment as it was in her head, but she was numb. She had cried enough tears she felt her ducts dry as bone. Her blood soaked hands, blood covered face and matted dark ebony hair felt sticky, dry and like tape keeping her stuck in her position. With the last movement of the police officer, he took a few more steps closer to the woman and within a few movements, he had her standing weakly. “Come on…let’s get you out of here.”

It was blur…questions, red and blue lights, a masterpiece of the law shows she had watched growing up. Yet, all she could do was stare blankly ahead, even when they carried out the body bag…But even as she had shown up, wrapped up in a blanket, she was being escorted into a vehicle. The scene was cleaned to perfection.

Days later.

“You did well Anya.” The shadow said from beyond the locked door.