Cut Along The Dotted Line
He looked up at his reflection in the mirror, the glass smeared with fresh blood. His eyes were red and puffy, his hair dishevelled. His cheeks were stained with tears. As he stared at himself, sneering in disgust, he attempted to steady his breathing, gripping at the sides of the sink until his knuckles turned white.
'All you can do now is wait, Paul.'
He bowed his head and looked down at his arms. Freshly butchered, the blood streaming down to his fingertips, where they formed on the sink in little pools. The carving knife sat on the toilet seat, the blade stained with deep red.
The front door of his house slammed shut, and in the darkness outside he could identify Richard walking angrily to his car parked outside, muttering to himself angrily. Paul shakily reached out a hand and ran his index finger lightly along the window, tracing Richard's outline. A fresh set of tears brewed in his eyes, and he bit down on his bottom lip, shaking his head. Richard sat in the driver's seat and remained motionless for a second, rubbing his temples and looking out to the house. Then he started the car and drove away.
Paul watched Richard's car disappear out of view.
'Come back', he tried to say, but no sound came out. 'Don't leave me.'
But he knew that Richard wouldn't return. That's why he was doing this.
Becoming aware of the fact that he was getting weaker, he slowly turned around and crawled into the empty bathtub, drawing the curtain across to hide himself. It wasn't that there was a chance of anyone entering the room; it was that he didn't want to see the world he was soon about to leave. He sunk down into the tub, turned on his side, with his knees drawn to his chest and his hands clawing through his hair, sobbing freely. He thought he could almost hear his own heart breaking.
And when he was all cried out, he went silent and closed his eyes, never to open them again.
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