WARNING - Unlike my previous two stories, this is not a fluffy romance with a happy ending. If that is what you like (& nothing wrong with that) then please do not read further. This story contains strong themes that I have tried to treat seriously and sensitively. My intention is neither to condone nor condemn, glorify nor vilify.
Big thanks to Kate-Emma for being an ace Beta. Also thanks to Feebee, Kate-Emma & Faerienutmeg for providing the original inspiration in our forum discussion a few days ago.
It was a well crafted ritual, carefully planned although rarely executed. Resorting to it too often would only diminish its potency. Millie reached under her bed for the suitcase. She undid the buckles then unzipped it to find another smaller case inside. This one required a key that was hidden in one of the pockets of the larger case. She searched each pocket, finding it on the third attempt. The key opened the small padlock for the small case allowing its zips to be drawn down either side. Inside this case was a holdall bag, inside that a small wash bag which in turn contained a makeup bag. Millie usually gave up and put everything back by the time she reached the wash bag. She hesitated for a moment waiting to see if her willpower deserted her this time. It didn't, this was the only way. She opened the smallest bag and took out a small indistinct looking box, not much bigger than a matchbox. Lifting the lid, she regarded its contents, glinting at her in the light, looking at her disapprovingly like an old friend she hadn't kept in touch with, making her feel guilty. You know I can make you better, it seemed to say. I can make everything alright.
Millie took the box into the bathroom. Calmly she placed the box on the side of the bath and removed her shirt and bra, wrapping a towel around herself for warmth instead. She sank down to floor and leaned back on the side of the bath. She looked at both her arms, milky white skin which was flawless apart from a few freckles until the underside of her upper left arm. That was her favourite place, not the only place of course, she'd experimented over the years. It was important to get it just right so that no one else would know, this wasn't a past-time for sharing. Communal changing rooms made it tough, but underneath her upper left arm had come out as the best option. She ran her fingers across the faintly raised lines, made so long ago now that they were barely noticeable. Nobody knew about the scars, except Max. Once, while they were in bed, he had stroked her arm and felt the raised lines, he'd looked up in askance but Millie had turned away and he had never mentioned it since. She should have known by that alone that he didn't care enough to want to know or understand. Instead she told herself that she was relieved to not have to go through it all again, that it would only have scared him away. Besides, it was all in the past, until now.
Millie looked up to her old friend and removed it from the box. A razor blade. She inspected it closely, re-familiarising herself with its shape, weight and size, holding it to remember the best angle, there was nothing worse than slashing away aimlessly, she was never sloppy. One strike, that was all she needed and everything would be okay again. Any more than one cut would be unnecessary. Satisfied that she had the right grip and angle she held it to her arm resting a corner of the blade against her skin in line with the existing scars. It had to be exactly right, no margin for error. She made her decision. Millie watched the blood burst out in a little ball as the blade punctured the surface of her skin and sliced through it for little over an inch. Not a long cut, but it was deep enough to allow her blood to trickle down her arm into the crook of her elbow, the rich deep red streaking her translucent skin.
It hadn't started off as a bad day in fact, it was pretty good. She was paired with Nate, who was always entertaining to be out with, even better now he was in love so that she didn't have to listen to the grisly details of his female conquests and narrow escapes from their boyfriends. She wasn't sure that she was really comfortable with being congratulated for being a "good girl" by Max when she called with some vital information for his current case, but she could address that later with him. It was better than being dismissed by him, but of course that was of course what did happen when she got back to the station. When Nate asked what was wrong, she could only mutter back "who knows" despondently. That's what their relationship was all about. He would throw her titbits to keep her on his hook, only to then casually ignore her when it suited him. Later in the pub he had plenty of opportunities to talk to her, engage her in conversation, but he didn't. He didn't even acknowledge her when he left, he could have at least sent a text to suggest that they meet later, but there was nothing. Shouldn't she be used to this by now?
He had pursued her after her abduction several months earlier. That night she had refused to have anything to do with him and had been surprised by his reaction to her rebuttal. She thought he would have forgotten all about it the next day, but he didn't. Instead he cornered her by the coffee machine and explained to her, almost as if she was a child that they had to talk through the events of the previous few days. If they didn't it would only get in the way of their working relationship. Millie couldn't help herself, she was still so tired that she found herself swept up by his self-assurance and agreed. It set the tone for the relationship that would follow, if it could be called that. Max would call Millie sporadically, maybe once or twice a week but maybe not for two or three weeks at a time and at the sound of his voice on the phone she would go, running. Their 'dates' would usually consist of little more than a couple of drinks well away from Canley and then back to her bed. He never stayed all night, his excuse being that he couldn't sleep for more than a few hours and didn't want to disturb her. It was about the only time he ever expressed any kind of consideration for her and desperately wanting to believe he cared, she would let him go without complaint. Millie rarely saw her friends from outside work and never made plans in advance anymore, just in case he called. She hated to let anyone down at the last minute. When they were together she felt as though he completed her, he could control her happiness and her confidence with a single word or touch. She told herself that he didn't mean to be controlling, it was just how he was in a relationship. He couldn't see beyond any case he worked on, it wasn't personal, he was just really focussed and committed to getting the bad guys, nothing wrong with that and if it meant that she had to fit in around his work, then so be it. It would have been worse to believe that he cared so little that he only thought about her when there was nothing else on his mind, because that was rare. But it was getting harder to believe and each slight, each rejection hurt and confused her more, was she even in his life or just on the periphery waiting to be let in? Thirstily lapping up every drop of attention he bestowed on her. Should she wait or walk away? If she walked away would he follow? She knew the answer to that so the only solution was to wait, and she could only do that with the help of her old friend to dull the pain he caused by inflicting something sharper on herself.
Millie watched the blood flow and waited for the peace she knew would come to flood her. Except it didn't. She waited and waited but instead of peace, her agitation increased. Why wasn't this working? What was wrong with her? She squeezed her arm to encourage the blood, its flow surged but she felt worse, not better. Tears pricked her eyes, if this didn't work, then what would? Stiffly she pushed herself up to stand in front of the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door and stared at herself dumbly. She barely recognised herself stood there in dark jeans and a white towel with her blood streaming down her arm providing the only colour in the picture. Her hair looked dull, her eyes sunken. She felt lifeless but the blood caught her attention and something sparked in her. That's me, she thought, that's my life that I'm pouring away. Why am I allowing this? Why am I allowing myself to be used like this? She would later be amazed to realise that was the point when she woke from the living nightmare following her kidnapping, the point when she regained the confidence to take back control of her life.
The next day she realised that she had cut too deeply. Blood had stained her sheets through the bandage. Damn, she thought, this is going to be tricky to hide. But somewhere inside she realised that she didn't care if anyone noticed. She wouldn't flaunt it, but she wouldn't be scared, not anymore.
Millie took a deep breath. There was no other way out of the writing room than to go past Max. Well, she was going to have to do it. "Stay calm, stay calm" she whispered as a mantra.
"What happened to you last night?"
"What do you mean?"
"I called you, even left a couple of messages but you didn't call back." To Millie he only sounded pissed off that she had ignored him rather than been concerned about her wellbeing.
Millie shrugged her shoulders and continued past him. Max reached out to pull her back, his hand locking on to her upper left arm. Millie yelped with the stinging pain as his thumb punctured the scarcely healed cut. Max stared at her in confusion before looking down to his hand. Under his thumb a patch of red colour was spreading on her white shirt. Slowly he softened his grip but didn't let go.
"What happened?" Millie didn't respond. "Millie, what happened to you?"
She lowered her chin slightly. She could see he was taken aback by determination in her eyes that she rarely showed and pulled her arm away from his hand.
"Nothing that is anything to do with you anymore" she spoke her words quietly and deliberately so that he couldn't fail to understand that it was over. Finally it was over, and for the first time in months she could see her future.