Page 2 of The Guru: Shadow

A release for all the overwhelming, consuming emotions.

A release for the images tormenting her mind.

A release for the hate she felt towards everyone and herself.

For a moment, her gaze wandered down to her right forearm, reminding her visibly how often she couldn’t cope, like a personal account of all her life’s failures.

Because my life is so fucked up.

I am so fucked up.

Thanks to my fucked-up parents.

And the fucked up world.

Right now, the word fuck wasn’t even enough to cover the magnitude of shit in her life.

I need control.

So, she stood up, got the biggest knife from the kitchen, and returned to her pre-warmed spot on the otherwise cold hardwood floor.

The only two people in the world she had ever trusted betrayed her. A part of her had realized it, and yet she did not.

So, she let the blade, in a rush of betrayal eating her soul, glide with pressure over her skin. Not too deep, but deep enough to watch her skin part and feel warm blood emerge from the wound. She needed it. To feel the pain, feel the control, feel the power.

In retrospect, the worst of the whole situation was the audacity Chris had, telling her straight to the face that it was her fault he did it. His exact words were, ‘You are so uptight, Emma! It is normal for a man to fuck others, especially when you’re never opening your legs for me.’

Recalling these words made her feel sick with anger. The injustice of it was beyond what she could handle. He was the one sticking his dick into her best friend, and he had the audacity to blame her for it. Never had she expected him to be capable of such a betrayal, of such lengths. Never.

How could I have been such a poor judge of character with him? Why didn’t I see it?

With a second cut, she cracked the skin open on her forearm once again, coloring it in a beautiful deep red.

If there was one thing in the world, she couldn’t stand, it was injustice.

Well, and the lies.

Okay, there are two things, but damn, I fucking hate it!

If there was a single person far away from uptight, it was her. It was him being an absolute dickhead, trying to make himself feel better. He, with his wounded ego from never getting her off and pressuring her for sex, now sought to place the blame on her.

She pressed the knife onto her arm one last time. It slidthrough her skin like a hot knife through butter.

Three times. Like always. Only this time, the relief she craved didn’t come. Frustrated, she stabbed the knife with force into the hardwood floor. The loud thud issuing from it resounded in the empty room.

She turned around to let herself fall backwards onto the floor while she stretched her legs up against the wall. The cold hardwood beneath her felt warmer and softer than her heart right now. Lying here, she let herself take in the sensation on her arm, the warm blood slowly floating out of the cuts with their sweet prickling sensations. It was supposed to hurt more. Make her more grounded in reality.

What have I done to always get hurt?

Why can’t I, for once, be happy?

My whole life is such a fucking mess.

My entire childhood, just everything.

Even after all those years, it still hunts me.

At that moment, to add up to everything, her cat retched.