With shaking hands, sixteen year old Morgan raised the razor to her lips, thankful for finding something to hurt herself with. She was so sick of the way everyone was treating her lately. Since everybody found out, they have been treating her like she is some kind of freak show. She hated the way the doctors and physiatrists told her why she was doing it and how they tried to give medical reasoning for everything. She hated the fact the fact that they thought they knew the extend and depth of her pain.

With her eyes full of tears, and her heart full of agony, she carved his name deep into her leg. For five long hours, she just laid there in a pool of her own blood, the pain completely unbearable. When she finally began to feel numb, she wrapped it up in an old shirt and found some needles and thread. She proceeded to sew her own leg up. There was blood everywhere, and she was way too weak to try to clean it up right then. She crawled into bed, clutching her throbbing leg, and cried until it felt as though her lungs were going to explode.

Getting absolutely no sleep that night, Morgan lay in bed thinking about what she had done this time. There was a huge blood stain on her floor, and her leg was in bad shape. She could not stop shaking, and she had lost so much energy. She finally made herself get up and attempted to clean the blood stain. She only made it worse before it got better, taking most of the night to make it barely noticeable.

Morgan found herself staring at the razor, wishing she had the courage to push it through her heart, knowing that she could never be brave enough, she threw the razor across her room.

With morning, came a knock at the door. Jumping, Morgan hurried to make sure nothing seemed out of the ordinary and opened her door to see her mother's smiling face. They said their good mornings and her mother was on her way. Sighing with relief Morgan went back to bed, holding her leg and grabbing a bottle of Tylenol off of her desk. She listed to her mother as she made coffee and go along with her morning, and wondered if she should ask to go to the hospital. She quickly dismissed this thought, and took a handful of Tylenol. Her leg was still bleeding, and she was scared and shaking. Terrified that she was going to die, she called her best friend and told him what she had done. Warren wanted her to explain everything and so she did.

"I carved his name. I carved it deep, right into my leg, Warren. I wanted to bleed him out of me, get him out of my body, my mind, my system. He is some kind of intoxicating drug, and I just needed to bleed him out. He won't ever love me back, and it felt so god**** good to bleed him out."

Warren started to feel major concern for Morgan. He wished to know who the guy was, but she would not tell. He was suspicious and uncomfortable, and wanted to come over right away, but to this she refused. She told him that she would be find and just needed to confess what she had done. Warren was skeptical, but told her he was praying for her and that he would talk to her later.

After hanging up the phone, Morgan took some more Tylenol and tried to get some sleep. When she woke up, she did not know where she was. She screamed; scared, cold, confused, and alone. Strangers in white and blue came running in and tried to calm her down.

It wasn't until later that she found out. Warren came over while she was asleep, and looked at her leg. He saw that from her hips all the way down to her mid-calf, in bright, bloody letters was the name "WARREN," and he had called 911. She was furious with him, but was told he had saved her life, for she would have surely bled to death.

People came to visit her, giving her looks of pity and disgust. Some felt sorry for her; some wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Some told her she was stupid, some thought she was brave and congratulated her. Some chose to pretend it wasn't happening. She felt stupid, and dumb though, bleeding for love.

She made a vow to herself in that hospital room all alone, that she would never bleed again.