There’s something about the way the world shifted. The mistake I made that day - thinking I could actually talk to that boy who had treated me like a human. But instead of joking around and smiling I just stood there acting like an ice cube, except for the sweat that was making my shirt stick to my back as I tried to open my mouth and talk- was all my mind would think about, all it would show me. That’s how I knew _he_ was coming.

There weren’t any heavy steps to break the silence in the cold basement pantry. Just the pricing, buzzing silence. My heart slowed down in my chest, my lungs no longer begged for air, as the tears on my cheeks dried. _He_ was here, watching me with his cold yellow eyes, reminding me of what I shouldn’t have done, pulling me by my neck with the chain he’d wrapped around me the day everything began. 

_He_ forced me to look at the knives that were sitting peacefully on the top shelf of the small pantry. _Do it! _His voice hissed in my ear. _It’s what you need . . . all the pain will go away . . . you won’t have to keep wishing for change . . . you’ll be free. _

I shook my head, the dried tears on my face now wet and cold. “No,” I choked out as my feet started dragging me closer to the black, metal shelves. The knives were high up, glowing in the dim light of the pantry. Grabbing the stool that was used for getting cans that were too high to reach, I stood on my tippy toes straining my arm as the chain on my neck tugged harder and harder towards them. 

My hand trembled as my fingers wrapped around the cool, hard handle. _Good! _He whispered, his deep voice echoing through my mind. _Now . . . finish it . . . end it . . . fix everything. _

My head slowly moved up and down, as my shaking hand pulled the blade down to my eyes. It shone back at me, its silver point glowing as I stumbled off the stool. 

I fell to the cold cement ground, sitting in front of an old mirror that was balanced on top of my mom’s toy chest that she’d treasured since she was little. This is all my fault . . . everything . . . I’m messed up, I don’t have friends, I can’t be me because I’m not worth anything. I’ll never be. 

The blade rose to my throat, it's cold sharp edge making shivers run down my spine. 

Suddenly everything flashed in front of me. Not my life, not the people I cared for. But my reflection. My tear stained face, my reddened eyes and shaking hand that held the knife that was tickling my throat. 

_See!_ He urged, as I stared back at myself. _You aren’t happy, you aren’t good enough. And that’s all you’ll ever be . . . unless you end it . . . end it now! _

What was there to disagree with? He was right, about everything. Except . . . I’m not brave enough to go through with this, I’m not strong enough to handle the pain. The knife steadily lowers itself to my left wrist that’s sitting helplessly on my leg. And without any effort I pull the knife across my skin, it stings like getting dragged across carpet. It didn’t hurt, at least not in the way it should have. The knife carves a bracelet around my wrist, with deep crimson blood following in its tracks and painting the blade. 

It doesn’t hurt? It’s supposed to hurt, I’m supposed to scream. 

_No_! He shrieks. _You idiot, it doesn't hurt because it’s right . . . this is right . . . the only wrong thing about it is the fact that this blood isn’t already dried on your dead body! _

I press the blade deeper into my skin, my eyes pooling with tears as his words echo through my mind. Why am I not enough? Why am I always so alone even when I’m surrounded by people? And why does the one person who's supposed to love me hate me? _He_ hates me, the one who'ssupposed to encourage me to become who I want, who's supposed to stop me when I’m doing something wrong. Yet he hates me. What did I do wrong? 

_Living! _His hissing voice floods my ears. _That’s what you did wrong! You’re alive! You exist! _

A choked sob escaped my throat as the knife dropped from my fingers with a soft thud. My arms crawl up my chest to my shoulders, hugging me as hard as they can.

Everything goes black as my eyelids cover my eyes, everything except for the fading image of . . . me. Instead of blue eyes, they’re a dim yellow, my lips are curved into a frightful smirk of disappointment, and staining my face are tears, dried tears. 

We stare at each other long and hard.

The yellow eyes slowly inching closer, almost as if they’re becoming mine. A shaky breath escapes me as a cold breeze runs through my veins. 

Everything is. . . _okay_. I’m _okay_ . . . better than okay, at least that’s what I tell myself everytime I look in the mirror and see those yellow eyes, and disappointed lips shining back at me. “I’m fine,” I whisper softly to my reflection, as my eyes fall to my cut up wrist. “I’m perfectly fine, trust me.” 

 Now instead of walking around with a scar on the inside, there’s finally something on the outside, something that shows my pain. Everyday since then I think about what might have happened if I’d gone through with it. All I know is that if someone walked past my grave and saw M-I-A I’d want them to say Maya, that’s all I’d want. It’s just a matter of time before my wish will come true, before my grave will be the scar to show my pain . . . to show . . . what I am and always will be. _Broken. Mistake. Nothing._