She presses frozen fingers to her sweltering eyes and it offers her sweet relief. Like the feeling of running a burn under cold water. She wishes to leave her fingers there forever... and ever... and ever... and let them shrivel up like the skin of dried prunes. But she cannot. She cannot do it. Her tears leak from her eyes like molten lava, slipping through the cracks and staining her hands with glittering grooves. And she must free them from her face.

How many times has she tried to move on? To continue living with her husband of six months? His obsession for her is like a heavy boulder upon her chest, slowly crushing her ribcage with its weight. Every passing moment spurs an exponential growth in pain. To breathe it all in has become so laborious, she no longer wishes to take another breath.

She loosens her legs and lets her head sink below the surface of the rippling water. To escape one world is to enter the next. He is there still... in her mind.

You can't eat. Food tastes like cigarette ashes in your mouth. You can't function. Your body grows cold.

He knows her well for she has no secrets.

No amount of Valium will grant you the black nothingness between painful wakes. 

Too well. But why must it always be him? She breaks the surface of the water and expels poisonous airs from her lungs. Her bloodshot eyes drift to the straight razor blade balancing innocently on the slippery rim of the bathtub like a skilled tightrope performer.

It wobbles... unafraid. Taunting and provoking.

As she reaches for it, water trickles down her arm and back into the tub. "No... no, I shouldn't. I shouldn't be doing this. What is wrong with me? Why am I like this?"

Why must you try so hard, Xinling?

"I don't want to give in."

Cut. Cut. She stops to watch the lines form, growing in grotesqueity. Thin red lips that mock her existence.

Why must you fight it? When you know true peace is just another cut away. 

She shifts her body and water along with her impurities sloshes over the side. Her fist clenches and she watches her vital fluids flow like trickling waterfalls in dry season. 

Just one more.

Where?

Right between the first and the second. Make it deep. Make it count. Slide the straight razor across your wrist like it's your last.

JAN 05 2014 | 408 WORDS | M♥H