1- A

The blade felt cold in her trembling hand. She didn't grimace anymore, just stared, waiting for the bubbling up of the blood. It was a simple thing, really. She could focus on something real for a while. It was becoming unbearable, being stuck within her own claustrophobic thoughts. It was almost soothing, really, being locked within the bathroom's chipped mint colored walls. Everything looked surreal. She pressed the razor blade's edge to the inside of her wrist, watching the way her skin pulled around it, resisting. She sucked a breath in, and when she exhaled she already felt like she was dead.

It was the moment she decided she would actually go through with it.

Her veins looked dark under her skin, and she was always surprised by how much more black blood looked than red. She was sitting in her black tights, and the bottle of lemon vodka was still only a quarter drank. This time the blade slid easily, and smoothly. She felt nothing in that moment, her mind was completely silent, absent. It was almost as if she were watching someone else drag the blade. There was a split second in between pain and the blood. But before any of it there was the sheer panic and desperation of never being able to return.