The Cutter Stories 3 Hurt

by EVOLEHT

Lydia doesn't know why, but there seems to be multiple worlds all on one planet, and one after another she finds most are filled with hurt and pain is the only release, until that last one, that last world she finds shows her that pain is not the only release, that the world she thought she knew was only filled with hurt, and that all the worlds are they same, that they're not all.

Three years ago my life ended at two in the morning on a park bench. Why I was at a park at two in morning, I don't remember, but what I do remember is that I was introduced to an entirely different world than I used to live in.

I used to look forwards to sleepovers because every thirteen year old knows the most popular girl has the best sleepovers, and I used to want to have a wonder bra so I could have bigger breasts than the other girls, and I used to want to have my perfect first kiss (at the valentine's day dance with my crush under the strobe lights with a romantic song)

Now I just want to feel that feeling, that feeling that the world is in the wrong direction and the street is above you and you're walking in the sky, while everything feels perfect and everything about yourself is perfect, and everyone else is perfect, and you're just so happy and you can do anything. That's all I want is that feeling, and I'll do anything to get it.

Even if getting it means lying, cheating, stealing, or getting hurt. Hurt is what mostly happens, so much hurting, and all I have to do is get that feeling and it goes away, but when it doesn't I just release it all, let it flow out with the blood under a jagged knife, let it out when I climb on top of a guy in a dark apartment with his roommate in the room next to us. There are so many ways to let it out, so it didn't bother me.

I'm even hurt in the safety of school, all of the mean people, and when I have that feeling they kick me out and don't let me come back and my mom has to move us again and I lose my connections, and for weeks all I feel is hurt, and the only way to let it out is under that blade until I'm nearly bleeding to death and it feels so good, and there's no more hurt for a few minutes while I lay with the fuzzy edges and slow heartbeat, watching that blood drip, that hurt drip, and then all I have is pain.

The taste of hurt is better than the pain, the taste of blood, staining my lips red as I press them to the cuts, just to feel the hurt flowing out, just to feel it, that's it, another feeling I like. No more hurt, maybe a better feeling than the one where everything changes.

Then it was the day the world changes again, could there possibly be more? So many worlds on one planet, thirteen years in one world, three in another, so how long was I going to be in this world? How long in a world so much worse than the other two, a world where there is only hurt and no release. Where there is no pain, just hurt, no release, no sweet blades to release the hurt and bring in the pain.

Eventually my mom was going to do something other than move us around and try to have kids with her two week boyfriend's so she can have a kid that doesn't fail in life. It came in the form of a mental hospital, where there was only hurt, screaming at two in the morning, being injected with big needles, wanting that feeling so bad, all I did was scream, and be put to sleep, and then wake up and scream because it hurt so much.

Then two weeks of that world only filled with pain, another comes in to play, except it was more like two worlds stacked on top of each other, two worlds of hurt and no pain, no feeling, no release. My mom hated me more, so much she didn't want me back, so much she threw all of my things away, used my bedroom as an office, and I was hurting so much I screamed and they couldn't put me to sleep anymore, because it might harm the baby I was carrying. The baby with the father I didn't know, even though they asked all the people I had climbed on top of in the past four months and I said I don't know.

Five months of hurt and screaming and pain and then there she was. There she was and I didn't want that feeling, I didn't want that pain, and there was no hurt, and I didn't need a release, those two worlds weren't just hurt, they were good.

"Lydia, your baby girl, a healthy eight pound nine ounce baby girl, she's beautiful." The hospital nurse with the blue hair handed me a perfect baby, a baby that was healthy, somehow, because my mom did something soon enough, to save the baby girl in my arms. I wanted to thank my mom; I wanted to hug her, and show her the healthy baby girl and tell her thank you until thank you didn't sound like thank you anymore, but just sound.

"What are you naming her?" The nurse from the mental hospital that had come with me then I went into labour asks me. I hated her two minutes ago, before they brought that perfect and healthy baby girl in and the worlds suddenly became bright and happy and so very perfect.

I thought hard, thought about all the mean people, and all the people who I thought were mean for trying to help when I didn't want help, I wanted pain and feeling and now I think back and I like them, I want to thank them to, and I feel like a different person. Then I realised these worlds were all the same, just different sides, all the same.

I thought about my mom, and I thought about before all of this happened, the days when the size of my breasts and having the perfect first kiss were all that mattered. I thought about whom I knew then, who I loved, and then I knew.

"Allison." And I looked at my baby girl with the name Allison and I knew it was perfect. The girl I had grown up with, the one who died for me, who pushed me out of the way and got hit by a car just to save me, she was Allison, and so it would only be right to bring her back into this world, because after so much hurt, I should only feel a feeling that's not where the world is upside down.