Anna passed me the blade. I could see the faded, scarred lines on her wrist. "You sure?"
Still not sure. "Absolutely."
I held the razor in my right hand. I slowly lifted it, poised at my left wrist. I took a deep breath. Took another one. There's no other way, my head whispered. I nodded to myself. No other way, it repeated.
"Now, press into the skin." she ordered. I pressed down. Shouldn't this hurt? I didn't feel a thing. Press harder, my head urged. I listened. I moved it across, making a nice clean line across my wrist.
Now, look at that. So pretty. And it was. A lush red colour dripped off the side of my wrist into the sink. I looked at Anna's face. She seemed amazed, too. I could see the yearning in her eyes.
I knew Anna had cut before. I thought it was stupid; how could someone want to hurt themselves like that? Now, I finally understand. It didn't hurt at all. The wonder in it was what made it so interesting. It actually felt good, for once.
"How do you feel?" Anna asked. I looked up at her with wide eyes.
"Good. Amazing." Anna smiled. She held her hand out for the razor, and I reluctantly handed it to her. She washed off my leftovers and took her turn. She pulled the blade across her skin, making a much neater and quicker line than mine, however just as beautiful.
"One more?" she asked.
"Please." My hand held for the blade, and when she pressed the cold metal into my hand, I rush of heat shot up my arm. I washed it and began the next line.
The voice in my head smiled. Good girl, it whispered.