Untitled for now

Chapter 1

I don’t want my death to be an inconvenience for anyone, so I make sure my blood won’t spill under the bathroom door. I make sure that my roommates are all out of the apartment at their classes, waiting an extra twenty minutes to feel reassured that nobody forgot a phone charger or some other item that would lead them right to the scene that was quickly unravelling behind the shower curtain.

Now feeling confident that no one will accidentally walk into this situation, I quickly begin to line the shower floor with my bath towels, smoothing out the wrinkles like mom used to do to my comforter before bed. I find myself tracing over and over the seams at the edges, imagining that I was looking at that pink Barbie comforter smoothed over my tiny child frame through my mother’s eyes.

Does mom even remember that?

I shake the thought from my mind as quickly as it came, hurriedly getting up and locking the bathroom door shut, the buzzing and whirring from the dishwasher and air conditioning dampening. The bathroom feels so quiet, and the sudden lack of white noise makes my heart rate quicken, my tongue going dry.

Fuck. This is really real. I wonder if this what it’s like for each person who does this…

I clutch my phone in my hands, staring down at the email I have typed and retyped hundreds of times over the past few weeks. I reread it, listening to my own gut clenching loneliness and sorrow exploding from the screen. I take a deep breath, the carefully strung sentences ready to be sent.

Before I can put a second thought into this, I hit the schedule send button. 1 hour. I’ve given myself one hour to do this, before everyone I’ve emailed that to is hit with the harsh reality of being too late. I chuck the phone into the empty sink, out of my sight, and take the few short steps into the towel-lined shower.

I’ve imagined all the next steps over and over in my head, replayed exactly how I will do it. I recall the steps I’ve practically memorized after weeks of planning, and take the first step. I sit down on the carpet of navy blue bath towels and pull the shower curtain closed. No one should have to see this the moment they step into this bathroom, not if they’re not prepared, especially if they’re not who I want to find me first. Before I can overthink all of the potential orders for the people I’ve emailed to find my body, I move on to step two.

I reach my hand into the pocket of my sweatpants, feeling my fingertips brush against the folded up note I shoved in there early this morning. I pull it out and unfold it, smoothing the wrinkles and folds as best as I can before sliding it under the shower curtain and onto the bathroom floor, face up. The message scrawled on it in dying black ink is simple.

Dear security guards,

I am hoping that you will be the first ones to find this. You do not know me very well, which is why I hope that you will get to me first. I am lying on towels to make cleanup easier. Please keep my roommates from seeing my body. I’m sorry.

I take a deep breath. Step three is next, which is immediately followed by step four. Step four is going to be the hardest thing I experience in my life… well except for living. I laugh numbly at the thought.

Well I wouldn’t be doing this if it was harder than living.

Before I can stop to consider the hilarity of that idea, I reach up and switch the water on, cold droplets rapidly beginning to soak my clothes. I gasp, hurriedly turning the knob to hot.

Fucking dumbass.

I think to myself as the cold water shocks me out of the preplanned rhythm I’d been imagining over and over for weeks. Startled and a bit disoriented, my mind begins racing, tears threatening to burst from my eyes. As quickly as the shock sets in, it dissipates, the sensation of warm water soaking through my clothes, weighing down my hair bringing me back to my plan. I turn my face up into the steaming hot water, forcing myself to hold my position there for a few moments to allow my cheeks to adjust to the high temperature.

See? Not too bad.

I lean back until I am lying flat on my back under the hot water, the droplets hitting my chest before bouncing off and spraying the inside of the shower curtain and my face. I rapidly blink water from my eyes, the anticipation of step four feeling like both an anvil being dropped on my chest and a weighted blanket being lifted from my shoulders. From my other pants pocket I pull a brand new X-acto knife I bought from an art supply store yesterday. The blade is so sharp, just the tiniest bit of pressure drew blood from my fingertip last night. I had to be sure it would be sharp enough to cut through not just one forearm but two without getting too dull.

Holding the black handle in my right hand, I press my thumb onto the slider on the side, clicking the blade up a few notches until it is about 2 inches past the end of the plastic handle. I stare at it, trying to summon some kind of whirlwind of emotions to make this feel faster. I think about the trauma, the pain, the isolation. As I stare at myself reflected dimly in the blade, I realize that no whirlwind of anger or pain or depression is going to carry me through this process. The numbness that I’ve felt for a year though will.

Before I can muster up any more courage, I roll to my side propped up on my left elbow. I take the point of the blade and jam it firmly into the crook of my elbow, leaning on knife with all of my weight as I slash downwards, the huge laceration opening like a deep red and pink canyon all the way down to my wrist. A garbled screech exits my throat, my eyes immediately watering as I stare down at my own fatty tissue and muscle. Blood pours from the wound, quickly soaking the towels beneath me. I gag as the water from the shower stings my sliced open flesh, my eyes practically bugging out of my head. I breathe raggedly as I grip the knife in my shaking hand, pressing it once more into my skin, this time right below my left thumb on my inner wrist, leaning my whole body into it as I slash horizontally. A bright stream of blood spurts from my wrist, and I drop the knife onto the towel, staring at the crimson rivulets that flow from the wound, just as quickly being swept away by the hot shower water.

Holy shit… I actually did it.

I stare at my arm for a few more seconds, black spots suddenly swimming in my vision and my body beginning to shiver despite the continuous hot water soaking me. I blink hard, picking the blade back up and shoving the handle into my left hand. My fingers struggle to grip the knife, each flex of my wrist causing a bout of nausea that makes me gag and cough. My hand trembles as I get a good hold on the handle, forcing myself to roll to the other side. My vision swims and the faint smell of dirt confuses me, but I try to stay focused.

Just a little longer, it’s almost over…

I use my whole upper body weight to lean the knife into the crook of my right elbow this time, slashing about three quarters of the way down to my wrist. I moan in exasperation, my left hand too weak to make the full cut. Panic begins to set in as my head sways, the overwhelming feeling of sleep lulling my eyelids to flutter. I take the knife again, this time at my wrist horizontally, trying to make that second cut, but as I press the blade deep into my flesh my left arm gives out, slipping off the handle. I gasp, vomit working its way up my throat as the blade stays stuck in my right wrist. Before I can try again, a pang of dizziness hits me hard and I collapse flat onto my back, the hot water spraying over my mutilated wrists and quickly paling face.

I lie there, feeling more exhausted than I ever have in my life. Water fills the crimson canyons in my forearms, spilling out watery blood onto those soaked towels. I shiver, my teeth chattering.

Water so hot… yet still so damn cold…

I hear the faint pinging of my phone, but it sounds so far away now.