Chapter 1 - Take Me Back To The Tracks

I sat on the floor in my bedroom, next to the full-body mirror hanging from my wooden door, bashed in a little and broken from some fights with mom. No one was home and my hands were trembling as I held my razor.
"I'm sorry." I say to myself.
I didn't know what I was apologizing to myself for, but there was definitely something that needed to be apologized for.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm f*****g sorry." I say again, touching the razor to my bare shoulder.
The sleeve of my Memphis May Fire band tee fell onto my shoulder, and I quickly scrunched it back up so I could do what needed to be done.
"I'm sorry."
I touched my shoulder again, this has become almost like a routine.  My phone screen lit up, it was a text from Jesse, the guy I had a thing with. It was complicated. I ignored it, and went back to focusing of my shoudler.
"I'm so sorry."
I dug the corner of the razor into my shoulder and dragged it across my skin. It stung, but it felt so damn good.
The second one stung a little too.
The third one went a little deeper, and stung a little more.
The fourth one went even deeper, but began to feel like nothing.
The fifth one was equally as deep, but didn't hurt at all.
The sixth one wasn't any deeper, and still felt like nothing.
The seventh one was even deeper than the rest, and yet still, felt like nothing.
It didn't physically hurt, and it sort of mentally calmed me down a bit.
The eighth one was deepest, and didn't feel like anything but sweet relief at that point.
I took the razor away from my skin, and put it back into the little black box I hid it in. I looked down at my shoulder, blood was trickling down my arm. I got a tissue and cleaned it up a bit, tears streaming from my chin, onto my arm as well. I gathered the couple band aids I managed to get without it being to noticible that I took any, and ripped them open. I covered the fresh slices as well as I could.
"I'm sorry." I said once more, as I wiped the tears off my face, but they just kept coming.
I got up, put the little black box back into the drawer I kept it in, and sat back down, facing the wall. I checked my unread texts, I was in no state to reply to anyone right now, so I locked my phone and slid it to the other side of the room.
I sat there and imagined. Fantasized. About my death.
I couldn't wait to get back to my dad's house. I had some plans for the train tracks by the house.