It's not okay... It hasn't been. Why did you even ask? Why do you even care? If you cared, you would have... you would have... The words blurred into raw emotions as she sank down the freshly shut door. She felt like there was a five-ton anvil on her chest; she couldn't breathe, yet there were great gasping sobs escaping from her throat. Tears poured down her cheeks as they had every other night for the past week. She looked up, seemingly searching the quite empty room. ... You would have been here...

Ten seconds, twenty-eight minutes, three hours later, she didn't know which, she got up. Time as everyone else knew it did not exist for her anymore. She measured its passage by how alone she felt, the depth of her heartache, and the shedding, or lack thereof, of tears. The tears wouldn't flow anymore for her now, yet they had not eased the emotions, the pain, raging inside of her. They never did. She went to stand before the mirror, and stared numbly at the ghost staring back. She hadn't been sleeping or eating, and it was starting to show. The circles beneath her eyes were a little more sunken, the cheekbones a little more prominent. Her lips were chapped and cracked where she had been picking at them, and her face had red blotches where she had scratched at the nonexistant acne. But the eyes... She didn't even know that she wanted to look at them. They looked dull, flat, empty, dead. They were the true mirror, reflecting how she felt inside. Her breathing became shaky again as she stared at herself. These were not the eyes she wanted looking back at her. She couldn't deal with the accusations anymore- that she hadn't been worthy, not skinny enough, not pretty enough, smart enough, talented enough, nice enough. Not good enough. The only eyes she wanted to see right now were those hazel ones, that had always made her feel like she was floating. Like she was the only one they could, or even wanted to see. The eyes that had cared, that belonged to the person that loved her. But loved her no more...

Somewhere from deep inside came the will, or the desperation, to form more tears. She turned angrily away from the mirror, and shed her clothes, climbing into bed, without even caring to turn out the lights, or put on night-clothes. As she slid her hands underneath the pillow, her thumb hit something hard. She lifted it up to inspect and saw her exacto knife. Her mind became blank, crystal clear, and completely focused on the shiny blade. All her feelings calmed down, and organized themselves into an orderly line, waiting to have their turn. She flipped her feet over the side of the bed, and onto the floor, sitting up, and receiving a rush of light-headedness. It was perfect.

Time was passing much more slowly now. Each movement took a millenia, a blink a decade. But it was ok, because it was all flowing smoothly, rather than the chaos that had just been dominant in her head. One motion faded into the next, and became lost in the past as her mind focused on the next thing. It was bliss to be mindful only of the present, and not dwell on things long gone...

She laid the blade against the skin on the inside of her left forearm near the elbow and closed her eyes as she let it sink in and slip between the cells- Worthless. She raised it and even as she felt the sanguine fluid spill forth from the first cut, moved the blade one quarter of an inch closer to her wrist and again pressed it into her flesh to slide it along a line parallel to the first- Fat. Again and again she repeated the process, relishing the exquisite pain that accompanied the bite of the blade at her veins. Stupid, weak, bitch, pathetic, disappointment, inferior, waste of time, crazy, a mess, broken beyond repair, slut, desperate, needy, unnoteworthy...

Unloveable- she took in a sharp breath of air as she felt the sting from a slightly deeper cut. That word, it had made her muscles clench, and the blade caught a little more on its way across her arm. She opened her eyes, and heard it so clearly in her head: "I love you." He had said it. He had lied. The blade came down again, and again, and again, and again... until she lost count, until there was no more room to cut. Her arm was covered in rivulets of blood: some already dried, others still sluggishly emptying her veins. As she stood up, she felt light-headed. She didn't register the pool of blood that had materialized on the floor as she stumbled toward the sink to wash off the scabs. She avoided looking at her reflection this time, choosing instead to concentrate on the red streams her blood was making in the white porcelain sink. After a while, she got tired, and turned off the water, and the lights, ignoring the blood still leaking from the fresh wounds, nor seeing her pale haunting face in the mirror. She was just so exhausted, and weak...

She laid down in bed again, shutting her eyes, and beginning almost immediately to dream. And finally he was there, holding her, comforting her, and pulling back only to be able to look into her eyes, and say those words she had wanted to hear, and needed to believe, before pulling her into his embrace again.

And in her slumber, her breath hitched once more, and she murmured the obvious reply, "I love you, too," before releasing a small sigh, and finally hurting no more.