A/N: These aren't my characters xp
Written for Fiori Omega 's Unhealthy Addictions Challenge.
Regulus Black with pain addiction, which could go a million different ways, "giving, receiving or both," and I figured cutting is along that line.
Regulus smiled weakly to himself as he watched the red-mud like substance bubble over the pale alabaster wrist. Without hesitance he dragged the silver dagger once again across the same exact place, creating a deeper cut and more dye. The sting caught in his throat. He reveled at the burning sensation his cells gave off as they were separated, crying and pleading. It made him want to chuckle, but he couldn't find his voice.
No one could know the same experience, the same pleasure, of cutting oneself until they did so themselves. It was like their brain had created a type of euphoria to escape into, where no problems, or real life scenarios could penetrate. No Hogwarts, no Horcruxes, no Sirius, no Voldemort. It was perfection, and perfection alone to let cover go over, and slip further into the darkness than anyone'd ever gone before. Your brain would try to escape the pain- even if your body welcomed it. It was a weakness of the mind. Punishable.
To cut, to release the hold on your tight skin, to let flow your soul from yourself- if you believed in that sort of thing. It left one's mind in a state of ecstasy. Buzzing in the back of your skull, appearing in front of your eyelids.
The blood burned like acid in his veins, poisoning his very system, his pounding heart, working limbs. As it escaped his body languidly he could feel the warmth freeze over to be replaced with a drying cake-like sensation that tingled his insides sensually. It was the pain, the hurt, that he desired; the hurt and pain that he sought. His mind would scream its protests, his arm instinctively pulling away, making him slam it back, slashing and digging further in his opposite arm.
It disassociates your mind from your body, sends thoughts sailing through your brain. Regulus smiled at the pain insanely because he liked it and was addicted to it. It made him feel alive, even if he'd rather die then suffer. Red flowers dripped onto the sheets, the floor, the desk. Hungrily he dug his fingers deep into the wide-open wound. If he could imagine it, he thought he felt a thin spidery vein. So beautiful. The beautiful patterns, they wove deep in the boys body.
No helplessness, or want, or terror. Just satisfaction. Satisfaction because he'd survived another run of the addicts downfall. Never again would he withdraw a fix. He needed it more than he needed air to breathe and for the first time Regulus frowned.
Grabbing a white cloth off the ground he wrapped his right arm in the white bandage- the pureness of the cloth slightly sickening his stomach, sending a shiver down his spine. Immediately the everlasting red stained the bandage, the bleeding hadn't ceased.
With a light head Regulus pulled down the sleeve of his shirt to hide the soiled wrappings, doing the same on the left side; not even bothering a glance at the also patterned Mark.