Neon Fire {dl}

Chapter 1

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Neon Fire

WARNING!!!!

This story in a lot of parts will be extremely triggering. I'm writing this as it would happen in real life, no fairy tale crap. It never happens anyway.

Please be careful and if you're feeling in any way like I've described in this story please tell someone. Get help. Live.

Much love

L x

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Pain.

If you asked anyone else what pain is they might pinch your arm or give you a basic description. But not me.

Pain is the single most pure emotion anyone can feel. There's no grey area, you're either in pain or you're not. There's different levels of pain, sure. But it's always there. A full throb. A biting flash. It makes no difference it's always there.

~Leah

I bit down on my bottom lip hard as I ran the blade across my tanned skin. I closed my eyes and released a shaky breath.

You know you want to do it. You're worthless, this helps you. The pain is worth it.

I screwedmy eyes shut even more, trying to drown out the constant hum of voices in my head. Telling me to do this. I felt a strange feeling of euphoria as I watched blood ooze out of the cut I just made on my forearm and run right down to my fingertip, dripping into the white sink in front of me.

This always happens, I go into a trance each time I cut. Not caring how deep in actually go. Craving pain that I can control.

"Leah? If you're in there get out. Now." A voice came through the locked bathroom door behind me, snapping me out of my trance.

"Shit." I muttered, trying to clean up the bloody mess I made and wrap my shredded up arm in loo paper.

"Hurry the fuck up, Leah. You need to come downstairs." The voice of my brother resonated around the bathroom again, making me wince.

"I'll be right out, just-... Just give me minute." I stuttered back. I heard his footsteps fade and sighed in relief. I wrapped my arm in more loo paper, I had run out of gauze last night so it would have to do, and pulled my hoodie back on to disguise my arms. I looked in the mirror and, as usual, was repulsed.

My long red hair looked dull and was slightly greasy from not washing it this morning but somehow maintained a little bit of volume. My brown eyes, framed by dark lashes, were bloodshot and dull. The gold flecks in them that usually reflected light seemed more a sick yellow today. My skin was tanned but I was pale from the pain and slight blood loss.

As my eyes trailed down my body I resisted the urge to be sick. My oversized hoodie hung off my underweight frame and more scars from cutting were just visible underneath the legs of my shorts.

I blinked away tears as I took in my reflection, wishing for the millionth time that I was dead, or someone else at least. I walked out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. My only safe haven.

The walls were covered in pictures of Victoria Secret models, with their perfect figures and curves and beautiful bronzed skin. From a young age I aspired to be like them. Every night as I lay on my bed, my stomach growling painfully as I skipped my meals, I would reassure myself that it was all worth it. That if I endured this, I would be like them. Happy even.