RP: Seven Years Characters: Jaime, Simon, Kaylee Time/Date: Late night, September 23 Location: her room Warnings/Rating: attempted suicide, graphic descriptions. Summary: Jaime can't take it anymore Status: Complete
Jaime had turned both her computer and her Blackberry off. For the past three hours, she'd simply been laying in bed, staring at the wall, dark thoughts circling through her mind, drilling into her until the only thing she could process was that ... she was alone, and no one would ever want her.
Tyler had come in earlier and taken away the sharp things, or anything that could be construed as sharp. He said she could have them back later. Reflecting on that, she thought he hadn't looked well. Like he hadn't slept. Maybe he hadn't. She slept though. She slept a lot ... and dreamed. The dreams were as bad as the thoughts.
Unwanted. Unloved. Nothing but a number. A body. A freak. A mutant. Surrendered to a lab, and sure, she'd been rescued, placed into a school of freaks like her. But that was her life, wasn't it? Freakish. Freaky. Freak. Unnatural. Mutated. Bad. Wrong.
She looked around the room, but there wasn't so much as a pen here.
But there was a mirror.
Jaime glanced curiously toward the open door of the bathroom. Tyler had taken her razor, too. Possibly because she'd been trying to pluck the blades out of it. She'd cut up her fingers in the process, but ... that wasn't the point right now. Rising from the bed, Jaime picked up her laptop. She unplugged it from the wall and carried it to the bathroom. The lights flickered, went out, and her mind slipped down a bit further, to a darker place.
I'll be warm when I'm dead.
Jaime shifted her grip on the laptop, eyeing the mirror. She shifted her weight and then threw the computer at the mirror. It shattered, and the noise was loud in the silence. She watched the laptop settle into the sink before she looked at the shards of glass in the sink and on the counter, and on the floor. Spying a piece she could get a decent grip on, Jaime picked it up. It had a good point on it, and she felt her heart thumping. She thought she should tell him goodbye, first, but ... it wasn't like he'd miss her. Not really. He was with her out of pity. Nothing more. He didn't love her. Couldn't even say it.
Jaime looked around, holding the piece of glass, but ... she should do this somewhere comfortable. Her door didn't shut all the way -- she thought Tyler had done something to it -- but she could still sit on the bed, right? Right. No one would come anyway. They didn't care about a worthless mutant freak.
Crossing to the bed, she sat on the edge of it and pushed her sleeves up. She touched the tip of the glass to her left wrist before she remembered something she'd read once. Cut your strongest arm first. Jaime carefully transferred the glass to her other hand, and touched the tip to her right wrist. Her heart was hammering now, and she didn't think it would take her long to bleed out. That was good. Gritting her teeth, she thrust the tip of the glass into her skin, gasping as she felt it pierce her. She didn't wait though. Jerking awkwardly, she tore the shard of glass up through the flesh of the underside of her right arm. The glass cut into the fingers of her left hand as she squeezed it, pulling it higher, to her elbow.
It hurt, and she stared at the blood pulsing out of her arm. It was disgusting and fascinating at the same time, and she was already starting to feel a little dizzy, but ... but she was warm. Lifting the glass away, she tried to transfer it to her right hand, though it slipped. She made a quiet, frustrated noise before she bent forward, feeling around for the glass so she could finish the job.