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As I washed my hands, I stared at my cheap razor, sitting on the counter. It seemed to quietly speak to me there in the dimly lit bathroom.

Do it Dani. Cut the pain out. You’ll feel better.

My heart beat quickened. It was so tempting… Another voice spoke, more tenderly than the first one.

No Dani. You won’t feel better. Only I can take the pain away.

I stood frozen, with my eyes glued to the razor. I stood for a long time, slowly growing bitter and angry with God. I knew it’s probably unjustified. God didn’t force Samuel to disrespect me. He didn’t force my mother to kill herself either. Nothing was His fault. But I can’t help but ask, why? Why God? Why didn’t you do something to stop it? Something, anything to change it? Why do you sometimes intervene, and sometime not?

It seems like an eternity that I stood and stared at that stupid taunting razor. Its enticing voice continued to grow louder and louder, until it was screaming.
Do it Dani! Do it! Cut the pain out!

No Dani... You know this is wrong. This still, small voice of reason slowly became drowned out by the first.

I broke my razor apart in fury and despair, and released a single blade. I sat on the toilet in my underwear, and stared at the old scars I’d always kept hidden. So old… I’d done it the first time at fourteen, when my father-- but that was the past. I wasn’t that girl anymore. This was a mistake and I knew it, yet I was more than ready to sink that blade into my flesh. The blade’s voice rooted me on.

Do it! Cut it out! You’ll feel better! Do it! Do it! Do it!

No Dani……

I broke the skin with that blade and its voice shut up, as if it was an addict who’d finally gotten their fix of a stress relieving drug. Or was I the ex-addict who’d just rebound? I felt ashamed, and very dark and lonely. I felt like I’d fallen from Grace, and was slowly slipping away. The atmosphere fit my mood. For a long time there’s only been a nightlight, because the mice had chewed the wires of the bathroom lights. The Davis’ didn’t think it was worth fixing. And so the room had an orange glow over my pale bare skin. My blood looked black as it filled the little gash in my thigh.

What happened next was completely unexpected. I don’t know why I hadn’t locked the door. How could I forget a daily habit? It shouldn’t have mattered though. No one was supposed to be up at this time. But I suppose if one hadn’t gone to bed yet, then one might need the washroom at 3 in the morning. One was Samuel. He walked in innocently, and beheld my indecency, my scars, the blood, and a small blade in my hand. I was frozen in my place, without a thing to say. What was I supposed to say anyway?

Samuel dropped to his knees in front of me, and took the blade from my trembling fingers.
“Dani, why?” His soft, pained voice brought me agony. “I thought you stopped”. He watched my face, but I didn’t look him in the eye.

“I had.” I whispered in shame.

I subconsciously chose to retreat within myself. I hardened my heart, and betrayed no emotion when I spoke. I didn’t want to feel anything but the physical pain right then. I took a breath then finally looked Samuel in the eye.
“Go ahead. Call me a hypocrite.” I said coldly. “I know you want to.” I was still glaring into his eyes. I saw so much pain in them. They gleamed with tears, but I chose not to let it break me. I wasn’t ready to feel sorry for him. If hurting myself, hurt him, so be it.

“No Dani.” Samuel said quietly. “You’re right. I’m the hypocrite.” He touched my broken skin, and his fingers got bloodied. “I’m not worth this.”

'Yea, probably not.' I thought bitterly. Why did he have to be right? Why did he have to care so much? I wanted to hate him. But he isn’t easy to hate. Never was and never will be. I wished I could make his mistake go away. I looked upon his lips. Had I really kissed them? How could I not remember? I felt extremely uncomfortable, suddenly remembering that I was indeed in my underwear, in the presence of the guy I was sure I loved, but hated for taking advantage of my most vulnerable moment, and lying about it. I pushed his hand away and stood abruptly.

“Don’t touch me.” I said sharply.

I felt blood trickle down my leg, and I felt Samuel’s eyes follow it. I threw on my Pajama pants, and returned to my room. I laid awake still feeling angry and bitter, but for entirely different reasons. I knew it was stupid. I knew I’d accomplished nothing by cutting myself. I didn’t feel any better. I felt worse; more broken than before. I was angrier than before, but not at God. I was angry with myself, because God was right, and I ignored him.

Lesson learned? That still, small voice is God trying to intervene…





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