I manage to get the cap off which is a chore because it’s a new bottle and my hands are slick with blood. At one point my hand freezes to the bottle causing a little panic. It only rips a bit of skin getting it off. Eventually the cap rotates and falls to the floor. I’ll pick it up later. I prepare to hurt myself again. I can’t even think of any more analogies for pain. I’ve run out. I would say it was like being stabbed, but I already know what that feels like.
The clear liquid pours onto the wound and immediately it feels as though someone is pounding millions of tiny, ice cold needles into me. I scream again and the bottle falls to the ground. It bounces around, luckily not breaking, and sprays Vodka everywhere; only adding to the mess on the floor. I hit the counter and fall onto the kitchen floor. I don’t care anymore. If living any longer means more pain I am not ready. By this point I want to stop hurting so bad I don’t care if I’m dead. Lying on my side I try to cry but can’t; I’m past that. My body can’t give anymore. My mouth hurts from clenching my teeth together, but I can’t stop. It seems to lessen the pain.
In the back of my mind I wonder why no one is helping me. I know I haven’t tried to contact anyone, but I’ve been screaming and crying a lot. And the fight with Kirsten was a bit loud. Doesn’t anybody care what goes on in their neighborhood? Of course not, they’re all drunk college kids. Fuck! That’s the problem. Its midday, of course no one is going to be here because they’re all in class. I know my immediate neighbors wouldn’t help me either. That’d be my past self screwing me in the ass again. I live in a duplex and the two guys who rent the right half are Mormons. To say we didn’t hit it off great when they moved in is an understatement. The couple that used to rent the right half were pretty cool and the idea of religious zealots living around me did nothing to make me happy. They first came over with the claim of meeting the new neighbors, but things went sour when I pointed out that they didn’t need to bring their bibles to meet new people. They frowned when they saw the alcohol posters on the walls and the beer in my hand. What could they expect? I had had a hard day. It was long and I did poorly on my mid-term. They then started in on a lecture about the evils of alcohol and that’s when I told them to shove their bibles up their asses and leave me alone. They did for a bit, but a few weeks later they returned. They claimed that Kirsten and I were too loud while “being intimate” and it was keeping them up at night. I retorted that when I wasn’t fucking my girlfriend I couldn’t sleep because their praying was keeping me up. Their horrified faces were worth it as I flipped them off and closed the door. That had been six months ago and I haven’t heard from them since. (Though I see them occasionally and get a glare from each of them when I’m walking to class.) It seemed funnier then.
Maybe if I had been a nicer person I wouldn’t be in this situation now. Instead of giving those Mormon kids shit I could’ve been more polite. I’ve heard people talk about how some aren’t that religious or that in college they kind of go off the beaten path. Maybe I could have helped them be cooler. A beer here, a party there and gone would be the suits and bicycles and the helmets and they would be picking up tail left and right. And then when I was lying in my kitchen bleeding like a fountain they would come over and help me instead of ignoring me which is what those bastards are probably doing right now!