AN: After two months of writer's block I was finally able to right a good story (at least in my opinion) and well, actually I wrote four. This is the first in a series (kind of) of four stories. I call them 'The Cutter Stories' different people (really they're all Lydia, but the principal behind it is that they're different girls), different problems, different lives, all with one thing in common (not hard to guess what). I might add some, depending on if this streak of writing lasts. For now though, I just wanted to reduce confusion. So here you go, my first cutter story.

The first time I pressed that blade to my skin I knew it was over. Maybe not that second, but later, now, I know. The first time I felt the sting, the first time I watched the blood drip out of that cut, I knew it wasn't going to be the last time.

The second time it was a syringe, just to watch the blood flow up and fill the tube, then feel my body needing that blood, to feel the edges turn fuzzy, to watch the syringe fall from my hand and spill blood on the bed as I fainted.

Six more goes with the syringe before I was too weak to walk, to clean up the mess when I woke up, too weak to unlock the door, to answer as my mom banged on the door demanding to know why I've locked myself in my room for the past day and a half.

I wanted to answer, but I couldn't. I wanted to get up and open the door and ask her to help, I need help, I wanted to ask, but when I opened my mouth all I could do was whisper. "Help me, help me, please Mommy, help me, I'm scared."

I wanted to think she heard my whispers, that she knew, deep down without me saying anything. That's only what I wanted, but she turned and left and I heard her steps go down the hall and into her bedroom without doing anything to help.

I would've turned and grabbed my phone and texted her, but I couldn't. I couldn't even open my eyes anymore. My body didn't move but I knew I was crying, begging for my life back, I didn't really want to die, I didn't take all that blood out to die, I just liked the feeling.

Was that the case? Deep down I knew the answer, where I couldn't even reach I did, but I didn't know it. Like a drug I told myself. Told whoever I was begging, whoever heard me, I begged whoever was connected to me enough to feel it and help me, but no one did.

Terrified, more than terrified I willed my body to move, sucked in all that breath and pushed, and my fingers moved, but they didn't really. That part of my brain had shut down, just my thoughts, barely my heart was beating, barely my lungs processed the oxygen to keep me alive, barely was I able to breathe.

Why? Why did I do this, why did I do that, cut myself and like it. I should've stopped because it hurt, I should've thrown up at the thought of what I was going to do. Instead I liked it, liked my blood outside of my body, instead of inside, and I wished I could go back and fix everything.

I wished I could go back and fix that night, that night I snuck out, that night I met that boy, disobeyed my mom, that night I let that boy, no that man, I let that twenty year old stick a syringe in my skin and inject fluid into my veins, that night I let that man touch my bare skin and see me with no clothing and do things to me I'd never done before.

Then it was that day I let that girl that nobody talked to give me a pill, a pill that turned the world upside down, that pill that made me sleep while still awake and made my brain burn and erased my thoughts and then I cried. Then I liked it, and stole money, and bought more from the dark scary girl with the normal name Allison, and met that man again, and again, he stuck a syringe in me, and he touched me and then I was no longer me.

In the back of my mind I watched that man climb on top of me, I watched his face change, but I didn't feel anything. That is when the first cut happened. To feel I needed that; I wanted to feel, because I couldn't.

Then I realised why, why my mom said I couldn't have a boyfriend, why she said I couldn't go out by myself, why I couldn't go out with people she didn't know, why she kept me locked up safe in the house, because I was safe, I could feel, and I was safe, then I stepped out, when I knew my mom would kill me if she knew I did, and then I couldn't feel and I was alone and I was far from safe.

"It's for your own safety Lydia; do you know how many sixteen year old girls are getting raped and pregnant and into drugs and getting all those diseases nowadays?" She would tell me after she said no, and I would get mad and go to my room and lock the door and think of ways to get back at her, and then I met that man, that twenty year old that told me to call him Stilinski when he climbed on top of me, and then I snuck out and called him Stilinski when he touched me and climbed on top and kissed his smile when I did, but I think it was only because of the fluid that I liked it.

I tried to cry and I couldn't and so I cut. I watched the blood and deep down I knew it was the end, but not that second, maybe way deep down where I couldn't reach. Then I met the man again and he used the syringe, and climbed on top of me while I watched his face and I got an idea.

I thought I was a genius, I took one of those girl's pills and my brain burned and I thought I was so smart. I wasn't. I used that syringe and took my blood and let it spill and then I wanted that man to inject that fluid in me, and I wanted him to climb on top of me, and so he did. I showed him my pills and he took one, and paid me with a different kind of pill.

I waited until I could sort of feel, and my stomach wasn't in my throat, and I took the other pill and then the world changed again and I felt too much and I liked it and then I couldn't and I wanted to cry, but I couldn't and I took more blood. Two times in a row, before I could pass out, I let the blood go on my bed and do I took some more and then I fainted and woke and took one of the girl's pills and my brain burned and I wanted that man's fluids to be in my blood again.

I didn't know what they were, the fluids, the pills, I didn't care, and I liked them all, even taking my blood, even that was a drug. Then the man didn't want to climb on top of me and inject me with his fluids anymore, the girl wanted more money than my mom had in her purse, and then I took more blood than my body could handle. Four times in a row and then for a day and a half I lay trapped in my own body wishing, knowing why, and begging for help.

Then I wanted that fluid so bad I felt my insides scream, but I couldn't move and my body wanted to move so it could scream and my brain screamed too and I cried so much I choked on my own tears and that's when I got help.

My mom helped me, she had went in her room and called the police and they knocked the door down and I felt even my thoughts shutting down, I couldn't hear anymore, I couldn't open my eyes, and I couldn't hear my mom scream but I know she did, I saw when a man opened my eyes and I saw her there screaming and crying with her hands to her mouth, and another man trying to calm her down.

I wish I could've lived long enough for her to calm down enough to come to me and hold me, but I choked on my tears and I couldn't breathe and my thoughts shut down and I wasn't alive enough to know if she did. My heart failed with no oxygen and not enough blood and it was over. And I just wished I knew it was the end at the beginning.