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Cutting Deep

Novel By: AubreyMaxx
Young adult

Bianca Withers is a freshman at highschool. Divorced parents, two best friends, pretty normal, right? Wrong. She suffers through depression and has been a cutter since she was little. Trying to overcome this depression she struggles with it. And then she meets what she thinks is love -- until it kills her. This is Bianca's story. In her eyes. View table of contents...



Submitted:Apr 1, 2011    Reads: 125    Comments: 19    Likes: 3   

Cutting Deep
I pierced the blade into my tight ivory skin and let the blood run. This time I was going to let myself go. This time I wasn't going to live. It was this cut that would finalize my life…
Inhaling the salty air of blood, the temperature was thick in the room. The fade of my eyesight was taking over. So I closed my eyes.
And then I lost myself.
Chapter One
My name is Bianca Withers. I'm a freshman in high school…I'm fourteen years old. School was never the place for me, and still isn't.
I like to think I was a cutter since birth. I would pick up blades and slash my arms, laughing. I don't know why, though. I liked to do it. It got worse in kindergarten - I would cut, and then suck the blood out. Kids thought I was weird, and isolated me to myself. They would yell ''Vampire, Vampire!'' in the playgrounds. I would just mind my business, hiding in the bushes with my sharp scissors I would bring to school.
The whole cutting thing carried on as I got bullied. Several girls in middle school used to call me names. After school, they would corner me and jump me until they got tired of my helplessness. I got used to it. After I walked home, I washed up so my mom wouldn't see me. And then I took a sharp blade I got from the dollar store - and cut.
In the eighth grade I noticed I wasn't the only person who did this…I met two of my best friends, Kali and Britney. Before then, I didn't know what friendship was like. I mean, one day they just walked up in a pair and asked me what my name was at lunch, and started chatting with me. I guess they must have sensed who I was just seeing me.
They didn't tell me they were cutters right away, and I didn't tell them right away either. But whenever we did, it felt like a natural situation.
''So, do you cut?'' Kali asked in a casual manner while we were all on a three-way phone conversation.
I took a couple seconds to answer, but it was then that I knew they were both cutters just like me. ''Yeah, you?'' I asked them anyway, to keep the conversation still sparking.
They told me a lot about their cutting experience. Kali started cutting when she was 11, Britney at 9. I was a bit shocked at how young they were - I mean I seriously started cutting at 5, but to know anyone else had started out in an odd age group startled me.
My mom never sensed anything about my ways. I always put on a front for her to think I was that little angel of hers. In the meantime, as I told her, every Fridays I was going out with Kali and Britney, which I was. But not to go to the mall or movies…just to sit in Britney's bedroom cutting and listening to screamo music. It was our way of hanging out. And no one else had to know.
Those were my friends. And if I ever lost them, even one of them, I would die.
* * *
My dad left when I was 5, after he found out I had been cutting myself. He saw the sharp scissors in my book bag and burst in my room as I was watching Tom and Jerry…one of my all time favorite shows as a kid. I don't know why I liked it so much…
He gripped my hand tightly and lifted the sleeves to my nightgown up.
''Daddy, please! Why are you doing this?!'' I would whine as he did so. He saw the scars on my arms, and the new fresh cuts I had created in the last couple of days. He stomped downstairs and had my mother by her wrist. I whined again. ''Mommy, daddy was looking at my arms!''
My mom just looked at him, fear in her eyes. She broke out of his hold, rushing to me. Grabbing my arms she examined the cuts. She looked up at me, a worried expression smothered onto her fragile face.
The little innocent angel I was, I smiled at her, and said, ''It's only cuts, mommy. It will heal. Promise.'' I kissed her forehead and turned back to Tom and Jerry.
Then, my dad grabbed my mom's neck, and smacked her in her face, leaving a flash of mahogany red on her cheek.
Before leaving he said, ''You're a useless tramp. You let my baby girl slash herself. And I'm leaving you, you good for nothing broad!'' He gave her another slap, and this time my mother lifted her hand and gently felt the red spot. It looked as if her cheek was burning. She looked at me sympathetically as tears streamed down my eyes. I ran for my dad as he walked out and down stairs, tugging at his pants. He kicked me to the ground and said, ''Get away from me. I'm not your daddy. If I was, you wouldn't be raised to be a mental kid.''
This is why I remembered this memory so vividly.
I used to think he would come back for me. But as I grew older, and time passed, I realized this wasn't going to happen. It took me a while to not care.
And now I could care less if he came back or not.

And actually, if he did come back, I would just say ''get away from me.''


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