Monday, 14 April 2014

Clutching my cure, I tightly lock the door; I'm picking me apart again...

Since you all asked so nicely...Here is half of chapter three of BLAME. It is amazing to watch the number of page views climbing so rapidly over the last few weeks (comparatively speaking). It feels like a dream. You are all so amazing and you make me almost feel like a real writer. Thank you so much for your support. It means the world to me. Thank you.

Don't forget you can subscribe and follow...I feel a little weird bringing that up all the time, but those numbers matter to potential agents. I've got a better chance of being signed if I can say 'LOOK people ALREADY love me! They will totally buy my books!' And you all will...Right? :p You don't need a Blogger account to do it, by the way. I'm just saying :p

Also, some people have been trying to leave comments and getting concerned when they don't show up. I moderate my comments, which means I have to approve them before they appear. This is because I am getting spam comments -- which is actually kind of cool when you think about it, because I wasn't getting them before. It must mean that the spammers think that enough people look at my blog to make spamming me worthwhile...Right?? That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Anyway...Enough rambling! Happy reading.

If you need to get caught up, you can do it here.

As always, this comes with a TRIGGER WARNING. Stay safe.


Title lyrics: 'Breaking the Habit' by Linkin Park


She stands in front of her bathroom mirror, staring into her own hollow eyes. The pressure inside her increases, coiling around inside her like a tightly wound spring. She knows there is only one way to release it and she unzips her sweater, pulling it off roughly. She tosses it onto the floor and stops, looking up at her reflection. The girl in the mirror looks scared. She tightens her jaw and checks that the door is locked before unwinding the stained gauze around her arm. Some of the fibres stick inside the cuts and she yanks it back impatiently, smiling in grim satisfaction as the pain causes the spring inside her to loosen slightly. She turns on the tap in her basin and holds her arm under the cold water, washing away the dried blood and inspecting the damage. For a brief moment she thinks that maybe she has done enough for today, that maybe doing anything more would be a mistake, but the spring inside her tightens at the very thought. It is the only way to ease the pressure threatening to consume her.

She squats down, searching in the bottom drawer for what she needs. Once she finds it she sinks onto the tiles, holding it tentatively in her right hand. Her left arm almost seems to tingle in anticipation and she takes a deep breath, closing her eyes.


Her heart skips a beat and she drops the blade, looking for the source of the voice. The room is empty. She takes an uneasy breath in and picks up the blade, blinking rapidly.

Now is not the time for tears.


She gasps, dropping the blade again and leaping to her feet. She automatically turns towards the door, but it is closed. She looks in the shower and in the bathtub, but both are empty. She is alone. The pressure in her chest is replaced by an uneasy knot and she hesitantly bends down to retrieve the blade from the floor. She holds it, waiting.

The room remains silent.

She breathes uneasily and places both hands on the lip of the basin, leaning forward. She hangs her head between her shoulders and closes her eyes, breathing slowly. The blade slips silently from her fingers, hitting the tiles with a barely audible thud.

This is ridiculous, she thinks, shaking her head. There’s no one in here. I’m alone.


She opens her eyes and straightens up, glancing in the mirror. Her eyes lock on the reflection of the boy standing behind her and she screams, turning to face him and preparing to run from the room.

Nobody is there.

She whips around to look in the mirror. Her own frightened eyes stare back at her. She gazes into the mirror for a moment before tightening her jaw and leaving the bathroom, forgetting the blade on the floor.