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SHE HAS KNOWN SUCH GREAT PAIN; HAUNTED DREAMS AS A CHILD, THE NEAR-CONSTANT PRESENCE OF EVIL EVER SINCE. SHE HAS FELT THE TOUCH OF AWFUL NAKED MEN, BATTLED DEPRESSION AND ADDICTION, AND ATTEMPTED SUICIDE. HER ARMS REMEMBER RAZOR BLADES, FIFTY SCARS THAT SPEAK OF SELF-INFLICTED WOUNDS. SIX HOURS AFTER I MEET HER, SHE IS FEELING TRAPPED, TWO GROUPS OF ''FRIENDS'' OFFERING OPPOSITE IDEAS. EVERYONE IS ASLEEP. THE SUN IS RISING. SHE DRINKS FROM A BOTTLE OF LIQUOR, TAKES A RAZOR BLADE FROM THE TABLE AND LOCKS HERSELF IN THE BATHROOM. SHE CuTS HERSELF, USING THE BLADE TO WRITE LARGE ACROSS HER LEFT FOREARM.
FUCK UP
StOp ThE BlEeDiNg . . .
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