Note: This is mid way through the book, so yeah. Just so ya know. The italics is the voice in her head.
Angie moved around kate's office (Kate is a social worker and angie witnessed a murder), restless, curious, jumpy. Kate was pissed off about the sketch. She'd hardly said a word all the way back from the police department.
Guilt pricked Angie like so many tiny needles. Kate was trying to help her, but she had to look out for herself. The two didn't necessarily go together. How was she supposed to know what to do? How was she supposed to know what was right?
You're nothing but a fuck up! You never do anything right!
"I'm trying," she whispered.
Stupid little bitch. You never listen.
Scared was what she was, but she would never speak the word, not even in her mind. The Voice would feed on her fear. The fear would feed on the Voice. She could feel both forces gaining strength inside her.
I'll give you something to be scared of.
She clamped her hands over her ears, as if she might be able to shut out the voice that echoed only in her mind. She rocked herself for a minute, eyes wide open, because if she closed them she would see things she didn't want to see again. her past was like a bad movie playing over and over an over in her mind, always right there, ready to pull to the surface emotions better left buried deep. Hate and love, violent anger, violent need. Hate and love, hate and love, hateandlove--all one word for her. Feelings so intertwined they were inseparable, like the tangled limbs of two animals attacking each other.
The fear swelled a little larger. The Zone was zooming in.
You're afraid of everything aren't you, crazy little bitch?
Trembling, she stared at the fliers tacked to Kate's bulletin board. She read the titles, trying to focus on something before the Zone could sweetp in and suffocate her. Community Resources for Crime Victims, Rape Crisis Center, The Phoenix: Women Rising to a New Beginning.Then the titles blurred and she sat down, breathing just a little too hard.
What the hell was taking kate so long? She'd left with no explanation, said nothing more than that she'd be back in a few minutes, which was---how many minutes ago? Angie looked around for a clock, found it, then couldn't remember what time it had been when Kate had left her. Hadn't she looked at the clock then? Why couldn't she remember?
Because you're stupid, that's why. Stupid and crazy
She began to shiver. It felt like her throat was closing. There was no air in this stupid little room. The walls were pressing in on her. She tried to swallow as tears flooded her eyes. The Zone was zooming in. She could feel it coming, could feel the change in the air pressure around her. She wanted to run, but she couldn't outrun the Zone or the Voice.
So do something. Make it stop, Angel. you know how to make it stop.
Frantic, she shoved the sleeves of her jacket and sweater up and scratched a stubby thumbnail along the thin white lines of the scars, turning them pink. She wanted to get at the cut she'd opened yesterday, to make it bleed again, but she wouldn't get her sleeve up that high and she didn't dare taker her coat off for fear someone would come in and catch her. Kate had told her to wait there, that she would be back in a few minutes. The minutes were ticking by.
She'll know how crazy you are then, Angel.
The Zone was zooming in...
You know what to do.
But Kate was coming back.
The shaking stated.
The Zone was zooming in...
She didn't dare take the box cutter out of her backpack. How would she explain it? She could stick it in her pocket--
The panic was setting in. She could feel her mind begin to fracture just as her desperate gaze hit on the dish of paper clips on Kate's desk.
Without hesitation, she grabbed one and straightened it, testing the end with her fingertip. It wasn't as sharp as the razor. It would hurt more.
Coward. Do it!
"I hate you," she muttered, fighting the tears. "I hate you. I hate you."
Do it! Do it!
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" She wispered, the pressure building in her head until she thought it would burst.
She dragged the piece of wire across and old scar on her wrist where the skin was as thin and white as paper. She cut prallel to a fine blue vein, and waited for her tear-blurred vision to fill with blood. Rich and red, a thin liquid line.
The pain was strong and sweet. The relief was immediate. the pressure lifted. She could breathe again. She could think.
THAT my friends is a detailed writing of a cutter cutting, now maybe some people will understand more.