Crimson pooled between Charlie’s bare feet, staining the white tile of the bathroom floor.
He slid the blade across his wrist again, holding his breath. Marveling at the feel of the cold metal piercing his flesh. The familiar bite of the blade sliding into his skin.
There’d been an itch there, a dull ache, For as long as he could remember. A sort of pain that nothing else could ever seem to alleviate.
Except for this. Now.
Finally being able to scratch that itch.
He slid the blade across again. Shuddering.
In that moment, there was nothing but the feel of the razor in his skin, the blood making his fingers slick. The sound of his life slowly draining away onto the floor.
How close to the edge could he get before his fingers grew numb?… Before he lost the ability to control his movements… Before he would begin to slip away from this world.
…From this life.
…From this agony.
How far would he have to go before he could feel what he had felt?
How close could he get?