She slid the razor slowly down the length of her arm. The cold steel ripped through her ivory flesh, already marred by a patchwork of scars. She felt no pain, only satisfaction, as blood trickled slowly onto the pristine whiteness of her bedroom floor. “Beautiful…..” she murmured to herself, making no move to remove the stain. A jagged gash was etched across her arm, open and raw. It reminded her of a cat she saw once. The animal had been run over by a vehicle and the impact had ripped its stomach open, spilling its guts all over the road. Though large and prominent, the rupture wasn’t enough to kill the cat instantly. She remembered its glassy eyes rolling madly in soundless agony, seconds before a lorry severed its head as it sped past.

The blood was starting to cake around her wound. It formed a crust that stopped most of her bleeding, much to her disgruntlement. All of a sudden, she felt empty, that old familiar feeling creeping stealthily from the pits of her stomach, threatening to impale her from the inside. She choked back a sob, suppressing the flood of emotions struggling to escape.

Her vision blurred by hot tears, she groped around for the razor once more.