“The Cutting Edge”

Emby Bertagnolli

Chapter One- The Cleansing Blood

She stared at the picture. The one of her at prom with her reluctant date and the friends who didn’t talk to her anymore. So what, who cares—right? Maggie turned over the glittering, limo-shaped frame and slid out the velvet back. Tossing the photo aside, she wrapped the small square of glass in a dishrag. The assembly-line dresser nearly begged her. Come to me, it said. Wedge that piece of nostalgic pain between my fake wooden frame and slam it until it becomes the tool you need.

A week ago, Maggie’s two best friends had searched her room. They found every shard of glass, every razor blade, every box cutter-- and removed them. It was for her own good, they had said. Why did she need all that when she had them?

Because she was fucked up? Yeah, that was it.

Maggie pulled back the drawer and slammed it with every shadow in her dark heart. She slammed it so hard that the neighbors knocked on the cardboard that served as the walls of her dorm.

“Sorry!” she called out to the wall, “My bad!”

“Shut up!” came the voice from the other side.

Maggie sighed and picked up the dishcloth, now brimming with shards of razor-sharp relief. She trudged over to her desk, covered in graffiti by the hands of those before her. “Mallory wuz here,” she read, carved into the desk’s surface. Good for Mallory. What an accomplishment. “Angie and David 4 Eva,” said the permanent marker on the corkboard attached to the desk. Forever. What bullshit, Maggie thought. She would bet her last pack of ramen noodles that David had told Angie he would love her forever the night before he turned around and told her to fuck off. Hell, she’d go double or nothing David had a new girlfriend and Angie was still wallowing in her newfound personal hell. So what, who cares, right?

Maggie pulled up the latest music-theft program on her brand new Dell computer. Thanks mom and dad. “Time for the depressing emo song of the day, don’t you think?” she asked no one in particular—unless she was talking to the glass. Maggie examined every edge, determined to find the sharpest shard. It’s cool to be edgy, right?

“Hate me today

Hate me tomorrow

Hate me for all the things

I couldn’t do for you…”

Maggie rolled up her sleeve and traced the long red scabs with her black-nailed finger. She examined the crosses and lines, pored over her first attempt at carving, on the upper part of her left forearm. “Hate me,” it said. The wound was from before the song had come out. Go figure that such a poser could unconsciously predict the next big thing. Maggie took the glass and drew it slowly across the underside of her left arm. She never drew blood on the first swipe. The first pass was always a test run. How sharp was the glass? How much pressure should be applied? Was she in the mood for fast swipes or slow; how quickly could she handle her therapy today?

“Hate me in ways

In ways hard to swallow

Hate me so you can finally

See what’s good, for you…”

Her phone rang. Tess was calling to see when she’d be coming to set up for the party at Nikki’s. Maggie knew from experience that her former roommate’s apartment would be messy, and it was she who always helped Tess and Nikki clean up before they got so drunk it didn’t matter anymore. She held the glass between her front teeth.

“Hey girl! What’s up?” she said.

“Hey, yo it’s all kinds of funky over here. Kate’s on her way. She wants you to do her hair tonight. When’re you coming over?”

“Yeah, I’m about to run out the door. See you in twenty?”

“Ok, hurry up, I’m swimming in dishes here,” Tess said.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”

“K bye.”

“Later,” Maggie replied, ending the call and turning her phone on silent. She was far from done. She pulled up her journal and began to type, crying and taking breaks for pass after angry pass. After she updated the file, she took a while to swim in the past.

* * *

If I could die right now, I would. If it would kill me to jump out my window, I would do it. I wish with every breath that I could just cut. Cut everywhere. And bleed on his parents’ carpet in my room. And leave a note that said I loved him, and did it just for him, so that he would never have to look at me again.

I need a release. God, please release me.


Chapter Two- The Magic Elixir

The ritual is complete, Maggie thought, I can go on now. She checked her phone. Two missed calls: Kate, Tess. She knew she’d better get going.

When Tess opened Nikki’s door she was frowning, hand on hip. Maggie held up a bottle of wine. “I know, I know. I was downloading some new songs to burn onto a CD for tonight, but my computer froze. Hey, at least I brought a peace offering,” she groveled. It seemed to Maggie like she made lots of excuses nowadays, and did an awful lot of groveling.

“Oh alright. Come in. I did the dishes already. Kate’s in the shower, and Nikki went to get the vodka. You vacuum; I’ll throw all the crap on the floor into Nikki’s room.”

“That’s a deal, boss,” Maggie said, saluting. As she began to walk past, Tess grabbed her arm. Maggie winced inwardly, only smiling broader for Tess.

“Hey, you weren’t cutting again, were you?”

“Oh come on, what do you think? What would I cut with? You guys stole all my sharps,” Maggie hedged.

“Yeah well…. Whatever you say. I’d better not find out you did. Ill kick your ass, you know,” Tess threatened, punching her arm for good measure. Maggie tried not to gasp at the pain that shot through her.

“I know. The vacuum?”

“Oh yeah, I left it in the bedroom,” Tess said, throwing a shoe through the open doorway to the spare room. Maggie tossed her bag onto the couch and skipped playfully into the bedroom, passing Kate in the short hallway of the small apartment.

“Hey hoe-bag! You gonna do my hair?” Kate flipped her waist-long blonde hair over her shoulder, still wet from the shower.

“Duh. Gotta vacuum first though,” Maggie replied.

“That’s fine; I’ve got to get dressed anyway. I’ll plug the curling iron in, Kay?”

“Yeah,” Maggie mumbled around the coils of vacuum cord in her mouth.

“Hey you!” Kate called after her.

“Huh?” she grunted again, her mouth still full of cord.

“You didn’t…”

“Nu Uh.”

“Okay.” Kate continued on into Nikki’s bedroom to get dressed, and Maggie finally made it to the living room with the vacuum. Same old same old, she thought. It got old; the endless gauntlet of questions. Somewhere inside she knew that a big reason she did what she did was a cry for attention. She’d been crying for attention all her life. But people were getting fed up with her—and she couldn’t blame them. She knew how pathetic she was. She knew what a problem she was for her friends, her parents, her teachers. They were all ready to give up on her, and she wasn’t about to give them a new reason. She couldn’t stand to be alone. Not any more alone than she already was.

* * *

Maggie stumbled into the little kitchen, braced herself against the cheap plastic countertop, and poured herself another glass of the Sangria that one of the guys had brought. She spilled it everywhere, of course, but managed to take a sip and make it to the small front porch to light a cigarette. Some guy she barely knew who played trumpet in the band wrapped his arms around her and began to kiss her neck. Everyone was talking, not that she could tell what about. As she tried to ignore Mr. Trumpet, she saw the topic of conversation walk up: namely Michael, Nikki’s ex-boyfriend. He still lived there with Nikki, although he stayed most nights at his new girlfriend, Amber’s house.

Ah, Michael. Back when she was still with Andrew, they had all been the four Musketeers, as cheesy as it sounds. The four of them constantly double-dated, did homework together, even slept in the same room in the boy’s dorm. Now, months after she and Andrew had called it quits, Nikki and Michael were over too. Even though he had been like a brother to Maggie, he ignored her most of the time now, or looked at her with pity. As he passed through all the drunks on his front porch, Michael shook hands with the people he knew, all the while laughing at their behavior. When he got to Maggie, he stopped. As the others continued their conversations, their shots, and their cigarettes, Michael pulled her aside. She giggled.

“Look, I know nothing is the same anymore. But are you okay? This really doesn’t seem like your scene.”

“Hey man, you’re the one who left everyone behind. I’m great. Just peachy,” she took a sip of her drink, sloshing a bit onto the concrete. “And anyway, what would you know about my scene, or me in general, for that matter? You have a new life. What’s it matter to you?”

“Hey Michael!” Nikki called from across the room. “You here to hang out?”

“Nah. I just came to get some stuff.” It went unsaid that he was getting these things to take them to her house. Even though Nikki and Michael’s breakup was far less hateful than Maggie and Andrew’s, and they were making an attempt to remain friends, the eggshells were there-- and they were tired of walking on them.

“Okay, whatever.” Nikki returned to the guy at her side, a random neighbor who had heard the party noise and come over to get in on the action. He leaned in and whispered something in her ear, and then they were making out again, forgetting Michael—and everyone else, for that matter. Michael glanced Maggie’s way again, and she took a long drag, pretending to be immensely interested in what was being said on the porch.

* * *

Later that night, when everyone else had left or passed out on the floor, Maggie found herself alone again. She was sitting on the porch, rocking back and forth. It was coming, and she of all people knew how to puke like a pro. Putting aside her current Band-Aide of constant drunkenness, Maggie had been puking to solve her problems for years. A stint with Bulimia was always just what the doctor ordered. From kindergarten shyness to high school unpopularity, throwing up had always been her solution. This time, however, she was too drunk to do things properly. Instead of over the second-story porch railing, her intoxicated aim hit the stairs. “Fuck, I’ll have to clean that up in the morning”, she thought. Maggie rested her forehead on the cool iron of the porch railing. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.

“Is this it?” the little voice nagged her. “Is this as good as it gets?” She breathed deeply—in and out, in and out—and tried not to think about it. Then, as it always did, the second voice, the worst one, answered the first: “This is all you deserve.” Maggie lit another cigarette and passed out with it burning between her fingers, her head against the railing, and the front door to the apartment wide open. So what, who cares…. Right?

Chapter Three- The Green Monster

“Why isn’t it working? I just don’t get it,” Nikki said, as she passed the joint to Maggie again. “Ok, lookit. This is what we’re going to do. After the joint, you are going to smoke this pipe to the face. We’re all already high anyway.”

“Are you sure? I mean, isn’t this stuff expensive?”

“Not that expensive. I’m going to get you high, dammit,” Nikki replied.

As Maggie pulled on the pipe, tapping the carb with her finger to ensure maximum smoke intake, Howie jumped up from his spot in the circle on the floor and pointed at her.

“I’ve got it! I know why it’s not working!”

“Why?” Maggie choked out in between coughs.

“Yeah Howie, what is it? I knew there had to be a reason!” Nikki said.

“Just watch her drag! Maggs, take another hit, so Nikki can watch!” Maggie pulled on the pipe again, treating it just like the cigarettes she smoked in excess every day.

“I see it! She’s fucking smoking it like a cigarette! Maggs, don’t hold it in your mouth—straight throat it!” Nikki screamed excitedly, “You’re supposed to straight throat when you smoke green.”

“Um... straight throat?”

“Yeah, pull the smoke straight into your lungs, and hit twice—then hold it in as long as you can. That might help too.”

“Okay, I’ll try.” Maggie drew the smoke in, making a special effort to take as much as she could straight into her lungs. She soon began hacking and coughing, choking on the smoke.

Nikki and Howie both patted her back triumphantly. “You did it! That’s how it works! Finally!” They cheered and high-fived each other as Maggie tried desperately to breathe again.

“Why would you ever do that on purpose?!” She gasped. “It burns all the way into my nose and down my throat!”

“It’s supposed to silly, that’s how you get high,” Nikki said.

“I don’t know if I want to get high that bad,” Maggie returned, staring at the menacing pot pipe.

“Oh, you do honey. Trust me, you want to be high that bad.”

* * *

An hour later Maggie laid on Nikki’s bed, her head on her best friend’s lap. “Stop moving so much,” she murmured.

“I’m not moving, Maggs,” Nikki said, giggling at her. “Are you so stoned or what?”

“Yeah,” Maggie said, “this has got to be stoned. Everything’s moving. And twitching. Stop twitching your leg.”

“Babe, I’m not moving. Chill out.”

“I am so chilled dog. So chilled. Hey Nikki?”

“What Baby Doll?”

“What if the police come?”

“Are you serious? You mean this stuff is illegal? Shit!” Nikki laughed at her own cleverness.

“Stop making fun of me! I’m so freakin' serious it’s not even funny! I can’t go to jail! If my parents found out….”

“Way to prioritize,” Nikki said, attempting to control her laughter. “Look, the police aren’t going to randomly come to my apartment and want to check things out, just for fun. Not only that, but its illegal, so they CAN’T do that. Plus, it’s not illegal to be high, or smell like pot. It’s only illegal to have pot in your possession. And believe me, we totally smoked it all.”

“Oh, ok. Hey Nikki?”

“What is it, princess?”

“It doesn’t hurt so much anymore.”

Nikki knew what she was talking about. She smiled at her no-longer-so-innocent friend. “I know Baby Doll, that’s why I gave it to you.”

You can only bury it so long, Maggie thought to herself. But so what, who cares, right?