Coming home to an empty house wasn’t something Lily needed right now. She felt as if she needed to be around people, to help quell her vicious mind but it wasn’t meant to be. As her helmet fell from her grasp and fingers gripped tightly at her roots, all she could manage was to scream out into the emptiness around her. Her mind was reeling, flashes of her past came blasting through her mind and she didn’t know how to stop it. First instinct was to call someone, have someone distract her from her own thoughts but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Second would be to go work on her bike but the energy she had throughout the day was wiped out, all she could do was sit in the darkness and try to cope with her own mind.
Letting go of her hair, she beelined for her kitchen, flinging open cabinet doors until finally finding something that would help. An unopened bottle of whiskey. Unscrewing the top, she pushed the bottle to her lips and downed as much of the amber liquid she could handle, secretly hoping that she would drown on the alcohol so she wouldn’t have to deal with her feelings anymore. Trudging to the couch, she sank into the plush cushion, dark hues squeezing shut to try and block out the ongoing voices in her head.
“I’m sorry Lily, but you have to stay there.” The voice was quiet but quickly gaining speed. “I can’t take you with me, you know I can’t.” The voice took on a demonic edge, forcing fear to spread through her.
“Stop.” She whispered, forcing herself to take another large mouthful of drink. “You aren’t real, just stop!” Her voice turned into a cry, tears freely spilling down her cheeks.
Fear of a delusional state started to build within her, panicked eyes scanned her home until landing on the kitchen again, knowing there was something else in there that could help stop these voices. That could help stop everything. More amber liquid burned her throat as she stood from her place, the alcohol slowly becoming affective as she stumbled into the room. Blurred eyes were locked on the same knife she had used weeks before, the blade beckoning her once again to slice into her skin. She would be able to focus on the physical pain, not this internal torment.
Shaking fingers reached for the blade, dark hues locked onto it as she struggled to grasp onto reality. If it was one, little cut, it would be alright. Sinking onto the kitchen floor, she placed the knife down and the bottle of whiskey beside it. She had two choices. Either cut and focus on something else for a short period of time or drink herself into the abyss for a short period of time. With a decision finally made, her fingers wrapped around the handle of the blade, shorts tugged down to reveal her bare leg before the blade kissed her skin.