Emilia Rossi

“I’m not fucking leaving! Fuck, Juliet! You can’t do this. You can’t do this.” I couldn’t remember the last time I cried, but now my tears mixed with the water. “If you need to get the pain out, you take it out on me.”  “I’m sorry. I can’t.” She was sobbing now.  My eyes caught on yet another razor blade in the corner of the shower niche and saw red. I held it up to my own skin and she flinched. “No. Fucking. More. You need to cut, you cut me.” She shook her head, and I pressed the razor into her hand.  “Do it.” “No, I can’t!” “Do it, Juliet! I can take it!” My voice was probably loud enough to reach all the apartments in this shit building, but I didn’t care. Nothing could compare to thinking I’d lost her forever.  I moved her hand so the razor blade was pressed against my chest, the exact same spot she’d drawn the tattoo on that first night. “Cut me. Mark me.” She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
― Emilia Rossi, His Juliet