Deeper Wounds [[Chapter 5]]

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I can feel a vibration on my side. I groan and put my buzzing cell phone underneath my pillow.
It keeps ringing. But I’m too tired to answer it.
The insistent buzzing finally quiets. I put my pillow over my head and wait for the darkness to pull me under again.


Dazed, I sit up. I reach for my bedside table and flip open my phone. I have two texts and seventeen messages. I press RETRIEVE TEXTS.

Sophia, please answer me. I’ve tried calling you, but you haven’t answered. Call me back. Or message me.
- Jenny


My heart sinks as I read the next message. It’s from Jenny as well, but it’s in capital letters. It has a more urgent.
With shaking fingers, I retrieve my voicemail.

Jenny, one-fifteen AM: Sophia, can you call me back as soon as you receive this?
One thirty: Please… call me back.
1:40: Sophia. I need to talk. It’s urgent.
2:10: Sophia… Please… Call me.
From 2:20 to 3:56, she hung up four times.
4:03: I need you. There’s no one else…
4:15: I’m… I’ll… not much longer now.
4:31, through tears: I’m so sorry. I told you I would wait for help… but it’s too much. I’m sorry, Sophia.

I toss my phone against my bed. Tears well in my eyes and flow down my cheeks. She called me nineteen times and sent me two text messages, and I didn’t answer. Even when I told her I would help her.
I was too tired to answer.
I go into the white-filled bathroom and slice my arms. Blood pools into the sink. I cry until my throat constricts. The razor sneaks back into the cabinet above the sink.
Chloe comes into my room an hour later. “Mommy says you have to come downstairs.”
“Tell her that I’m busy.” I snap.
“She says it’s important…” She rebuts.
“Fine. Will that shut you up?” I glare angrily as I follow her downstairs.
When we come down, Mom is sitting on the couch. Frown lines are deeply etched into her skin and her hands are tightly laced together.
“What?” I ask.
“Chloe, go play with your toys. I have to talk to your sister alone.” Mom instructs as I sit down.
“What’s this about?” I repeat.
“Please, sit down.” Mom directs, gesturing to the couch.
I obey and sit next to her. She sighs heavily before opening her mouth.
“Your friend Jenny…” She starts. “She was found this morning, in her bedroom closet. She was suspended from the ceiling by a belt. Police are thinking that she killed herself, but they have yet to perform the autopsy.”
My heart falls into my shoes. I nod numbly. I can’t speak. I nod, pretend I’m communicating with her, but really I’m starting to break into tiny pieces.
“I’m sorry.” She rises from the couch. She pushes by me. “I have to go to work. Chloe will be at the babysitters.”
What is your problem? You just told me that my best friend is DEAD and now you have to WORK?
I swallow my emotions and go back into my room. I sink against my wall. Jenny called me… she called me…
She took the time to try and call me before she died. And I didn’t pick up the phone.
My world implodes around me and I cry until I get sick.




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Woah, that's some intense stuff.

But you dove into that way too quickly. We never even got a chance to really meet Jenny (and I did go back and read the other chapters this time), and now she's already dead. It feels much too contrived at this point - it is extremely evident it is only a plot device to further Sophia's depression. You need to fully introduce Jenny in order for this to have any real impact, and you need to give a pretty thorough explanation for why she did it. Either edit that in the previous chapter, this chapter, or next chapter, but you gotta have those in somewhere if you want readers to get emotionally invested.

But still, I like your story so far, and your style. :)




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Hey, this kind of sounds like Wintergirls by Laurie Anderson. Just saying. You rushed into this girls death way too fast. You should have made it slow down a bit.


~Jasmine Bells~
I am nothing
but a mouthful of 'sorry's, half-hearted
apologies that roll of my tongue, smoothquick, like 'r's
or maybe like pocket candy
that's just a bit too sweet.

~*~



The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity.
— Amelia Earhart