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19 February 2014 @ 10:01 pm
One-Shot: The Deeper You Cut  

Title: The Deeper You Cut
Summary: Dying for release, she gets interrupted… By her saviour. TRIGGER WARNING: Self-harm
Rating: R
Author’s Notes: To Write Love on Her Arms – Hawthorne Heights. This song is a catalyst… Sometimes it makes me feel better, sometimes it sends me into a tither. The title is from the song… A thank you to the person that saved me… Hope that I never get bad enough for this to have to happen.
        



Thick, dripping slowly down her arm was the familiar sensation of blood. She looked down, watching as the incision neatly diagonally across her wrist spotted with blood, sliding away from the cut, slipping over her tattoo – one that was supposed to signify her getting better – and down towards her fingers. She didn’t have the energy to stop it as it ran down her palm, across her little finger and pooling in a drop only to fall off onto the white tiles of the bathroom floor.
        Drop after drop, she allowed herself to watch it. She was so numb – she didn’t care anymore. She wanted this pain to end. She needed this release so desperately. Tears had slid slowly down her cheeks, slowly. It wasn’t the pain – she had stopped feeling that years ago. Disappointment in herself that she had done this once more; desperation and frustration that the pain was that she could not feel the relief she was so used to getting when she felt that cool metal break the soft skin of her wrist… Her thigh. She looked at the small craft knife and picked it back up, but this time she went straight down, along the veins. She watched as the blood flowed thicker than it had ever flowed before, coming out like a torrent. Pain hit her, the relief came straight away, a satisfied moan left her mouth. This is what she wanted – it was all she wanted. All she could think that she needed.
Blood trickled down her arm, faster than before. She had to hold onto the sink, the light-headedness had come back. Something that came every now and then… Nothing that she could have prevented, though. She knew she had gone too deep – as she would often do.
A sob wracked through her body as she looked down and saw the blood coating the sink. What had she done? She knew that she didn’t want to stop though. Just one more, she thought to herself. She was slowly losing control, once more this compulsion had taken over and she wasn’t sure how she was going to prevent it.
“Babe…” the voice made her jump, the soft voice calling from the front door. She gulped, ignoring the voice. She needed this. She wanted it. “Where are you?” It called again, a more urgent tone this time. He was worried – she knew that he had figured out she was in a bad place again, it wasn’t very hard to hide anymore. She had always tried to keep it from him. Something that had always been hard, you can’t hide scars from someone that sees you naked most days.
Footsteps. She could hear the footsteps frantically pacing in and out of every room until he got to the bathroom. The handle went, roughly being pulled. He banged on the door. She reached for her blade. “Open the door… What are you doing?” Pain coursed through the voice – one of the worst sounds in the world, she thought. She shook her head weakly, hands shaking. She lowered the blade. He broke the lock on the door and stormed in.
Both stood frozen at the sight of the other. His eyes darting to her left arm, the blade covered in drying blood.
“Give it to me,” he said softly, tears threatening to fall. All she could do was sob. “Please, put it down. You don’t need to do this,” he whispers. His eyes scanning her broken form, then looking at the copious amounts of blood on the floor and sink. He took a step closer, his hand outstretched, knocking the blade away from her. He pulled her into his arms, holding her as she sobbed, her whole frame shaking. “I’ve got you,” he breathes, stroking her hair soothingly. He scoops her up into his arms, kissing her temple, wrapping one arm under her legs and cradling her. He slid to the floor and rocked her softly; grabbing hold of her right wrist and applying pressure. She hissed, it stung, and he knew that she was regretting it now he had walked in. He never asked why she did it. He just hoped that she would get better one day. “Let’s get you a bath,” he whispers, leaning down and kissing the maimed arm softly, wiping the tears from her eyes, fighting back his own.
Running the bath in, he slowly undressed her, throwing her clothes into a corner of the room. He had no time for neatness at the moment. He took her back into his arms, rubbing her back softly. “You break my heart, silly girl,” he whispers, sitting her in the bath tub, he strips his now bloody clothes off and sits behind her, cradling her to his chest. “Every time I see these… See that you have a new one… It makes me think I’m not doing a good job of fighting these demons with you. I don’t want them to win – for your sake.” He kisses her hair, resting her arm under the warm water, still running in the bath. “I know there’s nothing I can do to prevent you doing this. Just know that, no matter what, even if you carry on doing this, I will always be here for you. Will always have my arms open for you to crawl into, okay?” She looks up, looking at the sadness behind his eyes and nods. She never meant to hurt him – that never crossed her mind… All she wanted was to find that relief… He helped, he always helped. But sometimes the memories came back, things she hadn’t told him. Seeing the face of one of the men who had hurt her when she was just a child. She couldn’t escape that. He already knew more than anyone about her damaged goods than anyone else. She didn’t want to burden him with this last detail.
“Sorry,” she whispers, leaning up to wipe away blood from his lips, she kissed him softly, tears still streaming down her face, mingling with the tears that had started to flow from his eyes.
“Never apologise,” he whispers and squeezes her tight. “You never have to apologise for this,” he whispers. “I love you,”
And in that moment, for the first time, she would hope that she could stop this – more for him than herself. She didn’t want to see that heartbroken look on his face once more.
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