Keith looked down at the boxcutter in his left hand, then back to his right wrist. How hard could it be? He’d seen others who had done it; it wasn’t like this was rocket science. He could feel his pulse speed up as he brought the blade down and across his pale flesh. He winced through the cut. He was breathing slightly heavier. Blood rushed to the surface and poured out from the wound he’d made. Keith’s features set themselves into a frown as he watched the blood.
Mike pushed through the bathroom door; he probably should’ve locked that.
“Kay, there you are. I- what did you do?”
Keith just stared as his cousin started grabbing first-aid items from the cabinets and drawers around them.
“So you’re cutting now?”
Keith’s eyes drifted to his marred wrist. He shrugged. “Not really.”
Mike shot him an incredulous look before pushing his wrist under the faucet and turning it on.
“I just wanted to see what it felt like.” Keith watched the water wash the blood down the drain. “It hurt.”
“I guess I just expected it to feel… more…”
“More what?” Mike turned off the sink and squirted some hydrogen peroxide on the cut. Keith winced again.
“Just more.” He thought a minute. “Maybe even profound. But it didn’t, it just hurt.”
Mike applied the neosporin then looked his cousin in the eye. “So I’m not going to have to worry about a repeat peformance; am I?”
Keith shook his head. “No, it doesn’t do anything for me. I think I’ll just stick to smoking.”
Mike laughed and covered the cut with a bandage. “You do that.”