I screamed. A rush went through my body. I sighed. This addiction was deadly.

I sliced my arm across the wrist. The tiny cut from the slice alined with blood. A few drops started to spill out. I sighed. The pain started to flow in.

The reason I cut is like any other cutter's reason; To take your mind off of emotional stress. This is a secret that I share with the blade.

It is to be spoken to noone.

I sighed, time for 10th grade social hell. I shoved the bloody blade in a plastic bag and threw it carelessly into my bag. I got up and opened the stall door. I pulled up my turtle neck's sleeves over the cuts. I walked towards the mirror. I starred hard at the girl looking back at me.

What I saw was a girl with cropped dark brown hair with blue highlights. She had pale skin and a evil frown. She had too much black makeup on, it looked like she was beaten. She held a book in the right hand and her backpack swung across her shoulders. I frowned even harder. I studied her face. I looked for every last freckle. She had 9 freckles. I have 9 freckles. Her nails were painted black. She had a pair of black skinny jeans and brown Vans on. Her turtle neck was solid black exept for a dash of red near the stomach. It was from last year's stomach cutting-craze.

This girl, the one I saw in the mirror....

She was me.