After I got home from school that day, I heard a voice I could recognize it from anywhere, it was - ‘You're a worthless piece of shit, you know that right?’  It said, ‘one loves you, nor do they even care about you!’

‘Oh shut up, besides Bexley cares,’ I called back.

Is that actually true, or is that what he just tells you because he feels guilty leaving you because of those?’ I couldn’t see them, but I knew that the voice was referring to the scars plastered along my body.

‘That's what he tells me.  He says he’s my friend, so I believe him.’

‘Are you sure he is?’ The voice shifted; it sounded like Bexley. ‘I’m only your friend, so I can help you.’ The voice morphed back to its original sound; I couldn’t hear Bexley anymore. 

‘Please stop, he . . . he cares, really, he does.’

‘See Kit, even you pity yourself. You know I’m right, and you just don't want to admit it.’

‘No, he . . . he cares, he does, he really does. Pleasejust leave. Please!’

‘I can’t leave. I am you Kit, you are me, we are one in the same, so don’t you trust me?’

‘I do, but I - I want to trust him too.’

‘Kit, I’m the only one you can trust, so you’ll listen to me right?’

‘Yes, but-‘

‘You trust me, so you know the best thing to do for you right now is to die, right?’

‘Yes, but people care- they- they worry about me!’

‘No, they don’t care. They won’t worry, in fact, they’ll be relieved so you heard me. Kill yourself.’

‘NO!!! I WON’T!!!’

‘Kit, this is for your own good. No one loves you, not Bexley or your parents.  So you heard me, KILL YOURSELF NOW. GRAB THE KNIFE AND DO IT!!!’

‘NO! JUST SHUT UP!!!’

‘I'LL SHUT UP IF YOU GRAB THAT KNIFE AND KILL YOURSELF’

For a split second, I just believed the voice, believed everything it told me. I believed it for just long enough to take a knife sitting on the counter and- ‘DO IT!’ the voice yelled and without second guessing, not even thinking twice I jabbed it into my stomach. As I pulled the knife out of my stomach, I was watching the crimson red blood flow out of the cut. I watched  the blood, no, my blood, as it dripped from the knife. Soon this miserable thing called living would be over. 

I laughed remembering my favorite Edgar Allan Poe quote.  I mumbled, “To die laughing must be the most glorious of all glorious deaths!”  I don't know if it was meant to be a metaphor, but I laughed, and I laughed.  To the outside world, I must have seemed insane seeing my blood drip from the knife and not being able to do anything but laugh. That was all I could do until I breathed my last breath.