The one without a happy ending

Most of my works tend to have an uplifting end or at least some form of hope to them. Not this time. This woman is myself.

She would cry herself to sleep at night, with an empty bottle of wine beside the bed. 

She would wake up late in the morning, blurry eyed, makeup stains on her pillow.

Nauseous and in pain she would slowly make her way to the bathroom and start a shower. 

While the shower was warming she would vomit hard and then wipe her eyes. 

She would stand in the shower for thirty minuets, sometimes more. just letting the water run down her body and warm her. She would take her washcloth and scrub hard at her skin, until she was red and sore. She would get out, wrap a towel around her and walk to her kitchen and take a breakfast of 3 aspirin, 1 glass of water and dry toast back to her bedroom with her. 

Finding whatever clothing happens to be clean, she would throw them on and head off to work. 

Tossing on a fake smile and a perky voice, she would go through the rest of her afternoon and evening, counting down the minuets until she could leave. 

Finally home, she goes to the cupboard and grabs that orange bottle, grabs a new bottle of Barefoot wine out of her fridge, opens it and places them on the nightstand.

After pulling off her clothes from the day she turns on the news.

She takes the orange bottle, gives it a shake, "Good, plenty left" she thinks to herself. 

She pulls off the top and pops two small white pills in her mouth.

She picks up the bottle of wine and takes 3 large pulls from it. 

before her buzz comes, she reaches into the drawer next to her and pulls out a small, silver blade, pressing it to her thigh, she takes a deep breath...then during her exhale she quickly pulls her blade to the side, cutting her deeply. she doesn't even feel the pain of it anymore, but the blood pooling to the surface satisfies her. But not enough. Again and again she cuts into her flesh...once more, twice more, three more times. Each time with more anger behind it. 

She doesn't care about the blood running down onto her mattress. She picks up the bottle of wine, Now finally feeling the buzz from her pills, and takes gulp after gulp, finishing off half the bottle in no time. She then gets up slowly and pops another pill in her mouth. She grabs the blade and the bottle of wine, she makes her way into the bathroom and runs a hot bath. she sits on the cold tile floor and polishes off the bottle while the bath runs. finally stumbling around, she climbs into the tub and feels the hot water sting her fresh cuts. She sits for a moment, drunk and broken...she picks up the blade and presses it into her wrist and she pauses...thinking about it all, all the pain, every hurtful word, every time she was hit, all the beatings, all the hurt, every single tear...she closes her eyes as tight as she can and quickly pulls her blade up towards her elbow, then quickly does it again. Two rivers of deep red blood begin to pool out of her arm, into the water, she drops her blade into the bath and lays there...feeling light headed and numb...she smiles and closes her eyes...feeling all pain leave her body.

Author's Note

I know that my story changes "Tenses" (its intentional) but I would love to hear what you have to say about this one.