I pull out the knife. I don't know why I can't stop. Its addicting. As addicting as drugs. I slice on my foot.

The foot cuts hurt a lot and take a long time to heal, but are easy to hide.

One cut.

Washington just got home from going to pick up groceries.

Two cuts.

He's in the kitchen putting them away.

Three cuts.

Someone is coming up the stairs.

Four cuts.

Just Jefferson, I'm ok.

Five cuts.

Oh shit I got blood on my hoodie.

Six cuts.

Someone else is coming.

Seven cuts.

Just Hamilton.

Eight cuts.

Wait is that Hamilton?

Nine cuts.

I'm running out of room.

Ten cuts.

Moving onto the other foot.

Eleven cuts.

Someone reached the top of the stairs.

Twelve cuts.

I'm feeling a little dizzy.

Thirteen cuts.

That's a lot of blood.

Fourteen cuts.

Fuck someone Just came in my room.

Fifteen cuts.

"Peggy?"

Sixteen cuts.

Is that Lafayette?

Seventeen cuts.

I'm about to throw up.

Eighteen cuts.

I made that one to big there's no more room.

I wrap up my feet and pull on some socks. I unlock the door and wall out. Lafayette rushes to me and scoops me up. He sets me on the bed and slowly takes of my socks. A tear runs down his face. He picks me up and carried me down the stairs to Washington.

What's wrong with me. Why to I always make people cry? Why can't I just die?