Tear me to pieces, skin to bone

My mind was doing everything to keep my hand from turning the handle.

It was telling me twisted things the monster would do to me.

But looking down at my scar-littered arms, knowing that they were regularly embedded with my razor blade, is what made me twist the door handle.

Sure, the physical pain I would more-than-likely endure would be unbearable, but if there was even a sliver of a chance to mend my emotional trauma, I was sure as hell going to take it.