The Last Time

Dana looked at herself in the mirror. The light beside her was tilted just so only part of the room was lit, shadows on her face, her eyes sparkling as if lit by the tears behind them.

 

She knew what was happening, and she knew she couldn’t think when she was like this. She grew weak and wary and angry, she complained to herself and cried in her head and waited until those cries overflowed from inside her head and poured out. She felt her heart seize and her chest grow tight, her stomach cramped as though a fist had plunged into her side and grabbed hold, mashing organs and sinking fingers into tissues. Her breathing grew sharp; Dana leant her head back and felt her hair brush between her shoulder blades, the tears down her cheeks trickling to her neck in the process, pooling into the front of her shirt.

 

It was like standing in the rain.

 

Dana bit her lip, staring at her reflection; she looked into her own eyes.

 

Someone had told her a long time ago that looking into a person’s eyes was like looking into their soul, their heart. She wondered if people who seemed unreadable were exactly the same on the inside- if eyes that seemed cold were only a gateway to something much colder.

 

Dana stared into her own eyes and tried to see inside herself.

 

No one else was home. Her parents were out; her brother was with his friends. Dana was alone and another panic attack was sinking teeth into her, and she knew…

 

No one was ever home when she needed them to be. No one was ever awake. It was synchronized, she knew, but it didn’t matter.

 

It just…didn’t matter.

 

Dana leaned forward and brought her forearm up, resting it against the mirror and letting her forehead rest there too. She continued to stare into herself, those eyes that didn’t seem the same as they did in the pictures, that didn’t look as they had when she was little. She never saw the flaws in herself, truly, until the panic attacks came- all she did was stare in the mirror and will it away.

 

The cries in her head started to overflow again. Dirty water, tears, it didn’t matter- she had started crying again.

 

How weak.

 

Shut up.

 

Everyone talked to themselves. A heartless angel and a light knight on each shoulder. Dana knew she was far from normal, but everyone had that little voice in their head that said ‘do this’ ‘do that’ and ‘get over it already’.

 

Dana stared, still. She looked first into the pupils, plumbing darkness and coming up empty handed (again, girl, AGAIN---shut UP you f*****g freak---), and she moved focus to the iris, sifting through color. She found sprinkles of other various colors she wouldn’t have noticed before, pinpricks and smudges of emotions, but nothing that stood out. Nothing true. They were like pieces of what that true iris color could have been, but they didn’t really amount to it. They couldn’t. They were figments of emotions that simply left their mark because maybe at some point they were stronger, deeper, but now…

 

They were small. Like her.

 

Dana grew desperate and started to look at the dark rim around her eyes, skimming the waters, and still (NOTHING YOU UNDERSTAND NOTHING) she was empty handed. The whites, and obviously nothing. She barely lingered there, only finding tears.

 

Everyone had a bad person, those chains that needed breaking, that monster lurking. She never let it out, and when it grew furious… it needed to take emotions out on something, because she’d been stupid enough to get herself hurt.

 

Sighing, Dana realized she hadn’t been able to find one thing that she could cling to.

 

I made you empty.

 

Shut up. Please. Just shut up.

 

You wanted pain.

 

Dana stood back, pulling away from the mirror, her arm dangling at her side. The mirror shifted under the release of her weight and she watched her reflection, finding her fingers digging into her right pocket, squirming.

 

You know what’s coming.

 

No…NO. NO. Nononono not again not again I will NOT----

 

She was sure if she could see the argument with herself played full out, the good character would have been hit, thrown across the room and knocked silent for a moment. The bad character would have stalked over with a smirk and grabbed and thrown the good one again, because when the bad one started to win the good one grew weak and frail, likewise when the roles were switched.

 

It’s been so long since I’ve won… Dana pulled her hand from her pocket and found the knife had been fitted to her palm again, cool steel pressed to overheated skin. She thumbed it open with practiced ease, knowing the weight of it and no longer finding it comforting, as she had when she had first gotten it. It was for defense, but how could she defend herself from…her?

 

The edge of it was sickening. A small spread of blood caked the blade, crusted and red; she chipped absently with her fingernails and remembered why she was still doing this.

 

Dana looked up into the mirror and found the shadows on her face had changed (but the light hadn’t moved so it was impossible but still, she knew) and she looked into her eyes again and confirmed it.

 

Miss me?  A knowing, glowing smirk.

 

F**k off.

 

Dana’s eyes narrowed, she braced her empty palm on the surface of the mirror and stared, watching herself stare back.

 

She wasn’t insane. Everyone had ways of coping with the bad.

 

Dana had been hurt- her head couldn’t even think the word�"

 

Starts with an ‘R’, Princess

 

GO AWAY

 

---- and she needed a way to release the stress of lying. The stress of covering up. Of being the same after.

 

Dana’s lips trembled and parted, her voice slow and heavy. She stared into the dark part of herself and whispered, “This…is the last goddam time.”

 

Then make it count.

 

She’d find other ways to cope.

 

Dana turned her wrist sharply, angling the knife away from herself to tug down the waistband of her pants, just on the right, to bare her hip. The scars along it darkened in welcome, their lines shadows on her skin.

 

Her arm trembled.

 

I don’t want this…

 

Yes. You. Do. Do it. Do it or I’ll make you HURT again�"her chest grew tight and Dana gasped, her lungs grasping whatever air they could, her eyes fluttered--- NOW F*****G DO IT YOU W***E

 

…Fine.

 

Dana turned her wrist again, breathed in through her nose and held the breath, biting her lip. She pressed the tip of the knife to her naked hip and felt the skin throb.

 

Not even enough. More. MORE.

 

SHUT UP I’M DOING IT I SWEAR JUST SHUT UP

 

Dana took the knife away, only a small bead of red forming where it had been before. Her hip burned, the muscles and tendons and bones beneath the skin ached as though broken. More tears clouded her vision.

 

Dana stared into her own eyes, watched her reflection smile, and brought her arm up higher.

 

You are weak. You’re weak and you deserve this. You…her reflection’s shadows grew darker still You let them hurt you. You f*****g deserve this.

 

And what are you then? You’re the product of all of this, and you’re just a bully. You control me like a puppet and I am SICK OF IT�"

 

--DON’T YOU DARE TRY AND---

 

“�"I’M SICK OF IT!” Dana’s arm came down quick, not thinking of the consequences until the last moment (I should have more control than this--)  and she screamed when the knife’s blade cut her skin and sunk in in in until she had the will to stop it again, blood coming forth as though she’d popped a balloon.

 

Her hand slipped from the mirror’s surface and her fingers bent, aching, trailing smudges behind them. Her face wrinkled in a scream so loud she was sure the neighbors would hear but she didn’t care because the shadows faded from her reflection, her knees buckled and she fell from that too bright lamplight and landed on the ground, on her back, her hands scrambling to get to the knife, to pull it free.

 

She ripped it out and rolled to her left, gasping, more tears, more cries, and�"she looked up at the mirror--- smiling.

 

The pain from the wound was different than the original burning under her skin, the anger swelled there. It was real, relayed by nerves and junk that she didn’t care about. She shifted and saw the way the slit gaped and bled and she knew she would need help, soon, but…

 

The burning had gone, the shadows from her face were so much lighter than before and… and….

 

HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!

 

Easy. I win.

 

YOU---NONONO---YOU DON’T WIN YOU DON’T F*****G WIN---

 

“I…” she gasped, throwing the knife at the mirror, “I win.”

 

 

 

Author's Note

What does this go under?! D: There is no "I DON'T KNOW' genre XD

Let me know what you think, comments, crit, anything is appreciated. :)

Reviews

[A.Lee]

Amazing. I love the conflict because its so real. Very strong feelings on both ends. Great great work on this.

[Bard Constantine]

An aptly eerie tale of the battle with the darker side of our nature, or at least that's how I saw it. Your write well, carrying suspense without going overboard. One thing I noticed was the constant repeat of the girl's name. Take another look and count how many times 'Dana' appears in the story, then ask why it's necessary. Generally, once you introduce a character there's no need to repeat the name until a chapter break, or another character interaction that makes it necessary. Otherwise you're just beating the reader over the head with it. Good writing overall... keep it up.

[Daniel Gardner]

Great work! I love the depth of the struggle. You really dragged us into her inner thoughts and made us feel what she was feeling. I also liked that you couldn't tell who was going to win until the very end. Very intense. Excellent job!

[Angie Diane♥&hea..]

This was an amazing story. This made me think about all of the times I have done that. I think it was powerful. I think the grammar was excellent. This was a great story. I loved this story. Thanks for sharing. :)

[Lexi Nicole]

Gripping, powerful, and utterly awesome. This is written so well and I absolutely love it! It's perfect. I love how you used the two different voices inside this one character. The story flowed really well and everything here just works. Amazing work

[Georgia Gypsy]

I think it goes under the genre of....split personality, or dissassociative identity disorder(now there's a mouthful)....
You did a wonderful job of telling the story, with the switching of voices back and forth, i would like to know more of the 'why' she is like this...what emotional break made her decide to split, play on the reader's sense of compassion and really feel for this character, and therefore loath the 'alternate' personality that takes control and inflicts pain.
Okay...hope me writing a long book is okay....:):)
as always!! love your work!!!
k