Blood.

A trail of blood leading you to your fate. Your haven. Somewhere you could finally rest in peace. The crimson streams escaping your wrists would be no more. You were free falling into darkness, wishing you would reach the bottom so it would all be over. 

Your body was trembling, your vision blurred. You were aware that once you shut your eyes, you wouldn't ever have to face your ghastly life in all its glory ever again.

Beep... Beep... Beep...

Your vision became blurred again. What? No-no-no-no what was happening?! 

You were desperate to follow that trail of blood to the end. You needed to reach the end.

You heard murmured voices above the rapid beeping. You felt hands on your arms shaking you as your eyes adjusted to the bright light. This couldn't be. Your existence wasn't over. Your last efforts to be rid of life had failed.

The hands were your mothers, and, as her face rose, you saw her patchy skin matched with her red, wet eyes. She was crying. She was crying for you.

That thought alone made you feel a mixture of emotions: happiness, sadness, disappointment, relief.

Then your dad came in and he joined in, sobbing into your chest, grasping your arms, contributing to your mess of feelings.

And then they went very quiet. After half an hour of this torment, another form of torture came. Silence. You didn't know which was worse. 

You were still in shock. You had downed nearly the whole packet of pills; how were you still alive?

The doctors prodded you, examining your scars. They seemed shocked when they saw the range of place the cuts were on: arms, thighs, stomach. The fresh ones were on your stomach. They hurt you but they didn’t let you die, they didn’t let the darkness veil your heart. And then they let you go. They said they were gonna make you go to a counsellor.

And then that was that. Everything, apart from the counsellor, went back to normal. Well, near enough.

Mum took the lock off your door and took your knife. Dad went back to drinking. At school, you were the kid who tried to kill herself.

It was like nothing had even happened. Nothing was getting better, nothing was getting worse.   

That's what you wish you could say. In fact, quite the opposite happened. Your story was more interesting than just a common suicide attempt.

Your story spiralled into something much more sinister and captivating, a new spell put on you and your life that was unbreakable. It was your fate. It was unstoppable. It was love.