A girl walks into her bedroom after a long day of school, flips open her laptop and lays down on her bed. She opens up the Internet and starts browsing facebook. After a while a little number one pops up over the messages tab. She opens it up; its from her old best friend, Lindsey. Then she starts reading the longest message she has ever received. Every hurtful word she reads brings another tear to her eye, she continues to read even though she wants desperately to stop. The countless names Lindsey calls her just brings her down more and more. Once she has had enough, she slams her laptop shut almost breaking the screen. The tears stream down her face and she lays her face in her arms. Her hands shaking, she walks into her bathroom.

As she sits down on the edge of her bathtub she grabs the blade taped to the bottom of the drawer. In a hurry, she goes to pick it up, knowing her parents will be home soon. Slowly, she brings it to her wrist, slicing her delicate skin and waiting for the blood to come rushing. The blood comes quicker, much quicker than she expected; she's scared but at the same time she enjoys it. The physical pain is bad, but the emotional pain is even worse. Cutting is the only way to release the mental pain. The pain rushes through her body but she keeps going. One, two, three, more slits in her wrist. The blood and tears puddle on the floor and then the sound of the door unlocking downstairs rings in her ears.

She doesn't know what to do. All she can do is fall back into the bathtub and wish the pain would all go away, to rewind the day and make different decisions. Then she hears her mother's footsteps come into her room. “Delia?” Her mom calls out, with no answer. She hears the footsteps come closer to the door. The door creeks open and her mother is speechless. No one knows what to do or say. Her mother rushes out of the the room and dials the phone. Delia doesn't know what to do until she hears the familiar sound of her fathers voice on the other end of the line. Now Delia knows she's in trouble.


As fast as she can, she cleans up her wrists and the rest of her bathroom. She throws on her favorite sweatshirt and packs a small bag. Delia actually doesn't know why she's leaving. She feels embarrassed. All of these years where her parents thought she was perfectly fine, her mother walks in on her self-harming. What else can Delia do? She doesn't to live in a house where her parents will be constantly checking up on her. She is never going to have any freedom or any privacy.

She runs down the stairs, her mother is chasing after her, but Delia was on the track team, her mother will never catch up to her. She knows this town like the back of her hand. She runs to the closest bus station knowing the bus will arrive any minute. The bus arrives just as her mother's figure appears over the hill to her right, she shrugs it off and steps on the bus. “Where to, miss?” asked the bus driver, without hesitation Delia replied, “Anywhere but here.”