Nessie's imprinting never happened...

"She's all alone, feels like it's all coming down..." Stand In The Rain - Superchick

Leah POV

Slowly making my way inside, careful not to cry; I drop my bag by the door and drag myself into the bathroom. Cautious not to make any loud noises and risk disturbing anyone, I close the door and, leaning against it, slide down onto the floor, collapsing in a heap at the bottom.

When did it all become such a mess? Sam. Emily. Dad. Jacob and that stupid leech-lover. My life just suddenly seemed to spiral out of control. Is it fair? Sometimes I don't think that word should ever exist. It certainly doesn't in my life. And now it's all too much, I can't go on any more, struggling and coping and waiting for the next tragedy to hit, to send me running back into myself.

I lift my arm and wipe it slowly across my face. Drying the tears that never cease to run, that nobody ever seems to see. Reaching out blindly I grasp hold of the sink and pull myself up. I quickly locate the object of my desire. My razor. The sharp blade that holds all the answers and promises. The only thing that keeps me going.

I wonder what Sam and the others would think if they could see me now, see what they've done to me. If they could hear my thoughts, the ones I've spent so long hiding from the others. My body too quick to heal for them to ever notice otherwise. They wouldn't understand. They wouldn't. Not the intense desire I feel, the need, the power, the utter hopelessness to try and resist. Futile, it won't work. Besides, it not as if they'd ever listen intentionally now anyway, they've all learnt better than to pry inside my brain.

I push up my sleeve and stare at the blank, clean slate that is my arm. It never ceases to amaze me that no matter how many times I do this to myself, a mark is never left.

What would happen, if one day I pushed a little deeper, hitting a vein, and artery. Would I bleed out? Or would I heal far too quickly anyone to notice, leaving nothing but a mess that I'd have to clean up and hide.

I lift the razor to my wrist. Like a surgeon my cuts are precise, accurate. I know what I'm doing. I've done this far too many times to count now. Dragging the knife back across my wrist, I hiss at the fresh sting of pain. It feels so good, much better than I was expecting, even after my crappy day. Raising the knife again I push it deeper into my wrist this time. End it. End it now before you back out. Slicing through a major artery my head quickly begins to spin. There's no way I can survive this surely? Raising the knife again I pull it sharply and deeply across my other wrist.

I briefly wonder what they'll think when they find me Will they feel pity? Remorse? Sorrow? Doubtful. The dots in front of my eyes begin t blur together as the rushing in my ears starts roaring and bubbling over. My last thought is of my brother Seth.

And then I close my eyes, as the door suddenly splinters into thousands of pieces.