“How could you?!” She yelled at me, her voice rising each syllable. She just kept looking down at my wrist over and over again. The bathroom sink was still running, the water making a drip, drip. Her face was as red as the blood dripping down my arm.
“Mom, I can ex—”
She threw her arms in the air, almost hitting my head. “What has gotten into you these days?” Maybe the fact that my best friend died last month. She gripped my arm tighter with each passing second, the skin becoming a yellow. I never liked to dissappoint my mother, but I knew that I will never reach her expectations for me. I wasn’t even sure if I could reach mine.
“How long have you been doing this to yourself?” She asked me. I could barely make out her words she spoke so fast. “About a month,” I answered meekly. I was cringing now, as if the blood that poured out, carried my energy. I looked down, unable to bring my eyes to hers.
“Why?”
I looked up just quick enough to see the tears tumble down her cheeks.