The Puppet Master

**Flashback, morning of the 21st**
*Emilie's POV*

My jaw practically hit against the floor. My brother's gaze remained utterly blank as we stood in timeless entrancement, wrapped in silence's cruel embrace.
The phone rang. I ripped my eyes from the screen and stumbled to answer it.
"Hello?" my voice was distant to my ears. It was so even. That voice couldn't of been mine. Mine should've shook.
No greeting, the other end asked "is this the Brighton household?"
"Yes." I answered, still shocked at the lack of tremble.

She finished all she had to say. I gently put the phone on the receiver but it fell off. I didn't move to amend it. I meandered upstairs, dumbfounded and zombie like. Numb. I was nothing. There was nothing. No feeling. A shell. In that moment, I did not exist.
I SHOULD HAVE FELT SOMETHING!
Any feeling, any slight emotional response. I should've been screaming in hysteria but all I felt was nothing.
I closed my bedroom door. Without thinking, I had the cold metal in my hand. My old friend. Always there when I needed it.

Many describe self destruction beautifully. They make it sound so romantic. They compare it to painting. So stupid. Painting creates, blades only destroy; the skin, the person inside, relationships. The only thing blades can't ruin is the monsters inside.
They talk as if cuts are the only way to destroy, but there are people who starve, purge, burn, bruise and worse.
They tell you cutting is like a fire but honestly it's not, not at first.
It starts with cold as the metal makes contact, then a sharp pinch as it's pressed down. You feel nothing when you drag it across. Then, then and only then is when fire starts. It rages and consumes all, even the demons shrink from the blaze. It aches and itches. It doesn't bleed immediately, it's like cutting fruit, the juice doesn't pour forth the second it's sliced. The skin gets all puffy and red like cherries and swells slightly. And oh, God, it burns, but it's not fire, it's worse.

The pain brought me to my wits. I had a doctor's appointment at Daniel West's office. I had to go. I pulled on a jacket, semi-coagulated blood stuck to the inside of the lining and began dripping down my hand. I stumbled downstairs to the bus stop, hopping on board and handing over my student card. Nobody noticed. Everything was blurry. The bus stopped after the short trip but my jacket sleeves became soaked anyway. I stumbled into the office, my feet scuffling on the carpet.
"Hey, I'm here for my appointment." I muttered to Sam on the check in desk, grabbing it to stabilise myself.
"Oh, hey, Em. You're early. Daniel will be there in a second, he's just changing out of his sweaty work out clothes." Sam smiled.
"Okay, I'll sit and wait." I murmured, falling into a seat. Sam's eyes fell upon where my hand had rested. Her eyes widened.
"DANIEL!" She shrieked, rushing over to me. "DANIEL!"
West rushed in, his shirt only partially on as he pulled it over his head.
"Oh my God! Emilie!" He grabbed me onto his lap and pulled off my jacket. His face hovered in a blur above me. "Sam, call an ambulance and get me a first-aid kit. Hold on Em. Why'd you do this?" he whispered to me, stroking my hair.
I couldn't help it, I curled into his chest. "They're being made to leave. They're going to come home in a box. And she's gone." I cried.
"Who's gone?"
"Elizabeth. Altzhemers finally caught up to her. She died this morning. Nan's gone."
"Oh, Emilie." he whispered. "Hold on."

I faded into black and I could've sworn I heard Andy telling me to go back- or was it Ashley?
My eyes flicked open again. I looked around. Hospital.
Daniel stood at the foot of the bed. My family to the left, all had obviously been crying.
I didn't bother checking right of me, until I felt the hand on mine.
I looked to the side and was met by bright blue eyes.
"Hello." A low voice muttered

Notes

-TheBunnyRegimeQueen
I knoyou've been waiting forever to find out about this. XD Another cliffhanger! Who is it?
And I feel like you've all just stopped giving feedback. Please comment, we don't bite!