Drip Drop

June 11, 2010
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Drip-drop. The liquid continues to drop from the rusty pipes that gleam silver. I sit in the corner of the bathroom, waiting. When will she come? Will she ever come for me? Drip-drop. My breath comes out short and shallow. I pull my knees close into my chest. Drip-drop. The beaming brightly lit white tiles reflect my dark, dilated pupils. Drip-drop. The fluorescent lights strike the tiles again and again and again. The lights keep on striking; they will not stop. Drip-drop. A shudder racks through me and my eyes roll up into my head. Stop! Stop! Drip-drop. Please stop!

A sigh of relief escapes me. My legs stop shaking. My hands stop quivering. When will she come? Will she ever come at all? Drip-drop. I feel it again. My muscles tighten, my eyes grow huge, the black hair on the back of my neck and arms stand erect. Drip-drop. A shiver shakes through me. I squeeze myself into a little ball. I look at the porcelain bowl across from my corner. Drip-drop. A tightening sensation grips my gut. It’s coming again.

My whole body begins to shake, my eyes roll up until only the white part can be seen. My head bangs against the wall. Everything is blurry, so blurry. Drip-drop. That’s all I hear. I attempt to crawl to the porcelain bowl; I know this is what I need. Drip-drop. I reach the bowl and throw up into it. The shaking does not stop; I try to hold myself still by gripping the bowl with an iron fist. Drip-drop. It is my lifeline. It is what is keeping me from falling. If I hold this tight enough, the darkness will not reach me. Drip-drop. The shaking ceases. Everything becomes clear again. Drip-drop.

I wipe my face clean with my ratty t-shirt and move back into my corner. I pull my knees close into my chest. Silence is all I hear. There is no sound. All I see are the brightly lit white tiles. The fluorescent lights strike them. The lights keep striking again and again and again. I wait for it but it does not come. Silence is all I hear. That’s when I see the shiny metal. The metal’s blade is not exempt from the cruel light. I reach for it and bring it close to me. The blade is sharp but I hold it tightly in my hands. Silence is all I hear.

Slowly, I stand up and walk to the mirror. Where is she? She told me that she would come. I look at myself in the mirror. My pale face shows no life. The stubble on my cheek does not cover the burns. My shaggy black hair sticks up in all directions. I hold my hands up and all I see are the marks. The vertical slashes on my wrists stick out from the rest of my skin. It appears they have not healed yet. Silence is all I hear. She has not come and now I don’t think she ever will. I raise the blade up to my face and bring it so close to my eyes. I look at how sharp it is.

Silence was all I had ever heard in my corner in that bathroom. Drip-drop.

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