Red liquid runs down her cool arms as she stares at the white ceiling. Her eyes notice not the blank canvas, for her mind has created a stunning image for her as though she were not lying dazed on the laundry room floor. Oblivious to her self-inflicted wounds, her imagination rescues her from the world she hates so much. The only time that she can deal with reality is when he is there, holding her and telling her how important she is. She knows that she’s important, of course. The people in her alternate world tell her so, but she longs so much to hear it from him.
The dryer buzzes sharply and she is jolted back to reality. She sits up and stares at her bleeding skin. It frightens and excites her simultaneously. Shakily, she stands and walks to the big sink to rinse away the blood. The cuts are not so deep this time. Had he come to see her earlier, she would have been laughing instead of bleeding.
Nervously, she glances at the wall clock. It is 4:14 AM. He forgot about her again.