Hello, readers! Gotta love the surprise stories, right? This was a request from another author on this site by the name of BrokenAskeus. I'm not entirely sure how long this will go or where this story will end up (we're still working out the details now) but I wanted to get right on writing chapter one. So, buckle up for the adventure, I guess. (:

So. Wow. This story got really dark, really fast. One chapter in, and I have to give a self-harm warning. Seriously, if you fear you're going to be triggered by this, or at any time start getting anxious, please do yourself a favor and walk away. Readership be damned. There will be no hard feelings.

Chapter One

Marcia drew in a deep, shuddery breath, letting her head fall into her hands. Her room had never seemed so small, but suddenly it was like she couldn't get enough air.

Keeping her eyes closed, in case the walls really were closing in on her, she reached one hand up to fumble with the top button on her shirt. It was March now and really too warm to still be wearing sweaters, but she only had so many long-sleeved tops, and anything else was out of the question with her wrists looking the way they did.

The top two buttons undone, Marcia stilled, opening her eyes again. She rarely thought about her 'situation' so frankly. But she had gotten to the point where she had to accept that, yes, she did have a situation. There was too much physical evidence to pretend there was nothing wrong any longer.

Though her eyes felt unnaturally hot, she didn't realize she was crying until she saw the first tear take the plunge and create a tiny stain on her skirt. She fixated on that spot, trying to block out everything else. She took another deep breath, certain that if she could calm her breathing, everything else would fall into place behind it. She took one breath after another, trying to ignore the way her hands were just itching for the bag not a foot behind her on her pillow.

Marcia didn't straighten up until she was sure she looked composed and put-together. And staring into the mirror on the desk in front of her, the only thing out of place was the redness of her eyes. But that would soon fade too. All she had to do was keep breathing.

She stood and exchanged her seat on the bed for a seat on the chair at her desk. Just a few steps away from the bag behind her, but still, the distance was empowering. She could do this. She just wished she could pinpoint when it started.

She had been in her room, on a night very much like this one not long ago, when she'd first realized she was doing it. Marcia had sat down in front of her mirror, about to brush through her hair for the night, hoping it would calm her as she thought things through. She couldn't deny it, she was stressed. Randy had been so distant and stressed himself lately. She could tell something was going on, but he wouldn't tell her what. Cherry was getting similar treatment from Bob, making her a real killjoy lately, too. And she couldn't remember the last night she hadn't fallen asleep to the sound of her parents arguing.

She hadn't realized it at first, but she'd begun dragging the teeth of her comb over her wrist as her thoughts swirled in her head. Marcia had been frozen in horror the first time she'd realized what she'd done, but it had left nothing but an angry red line across her skin. It would fade. She was safe. That feeling of safety was her first pitfall.

It had all gone downhill from there. She soon learned that the little pricks of pain brought on by dragging the forked surface of her comb across her skin was incredibly calming. It was sick, she knew, but it flew out of her control so quickly. Now she wasn't sure she could stop even if she wanted to. And did she?

If it wasn't the comb, it was something else. She'd taken to bring her knuckles up to her mouth and subtly biting down in such a way that everyone else would think she was simply resting her chin against her palm as she pondered something. But when she took her hand away, there would be bruise-like red dents littering her fingers, from the pressure of her teeth.

She knew there was something wrong with her, but who could she tell? The fact that she was getting relief from pain… it would get her locked up in the loony bin in no time.

And yet… Who was she hurting, really? It was hardly like her life was in danger, and so many times in the past week alone, her little tactics had successfully driven away tears as she felt the stress gearing up to wash over her head like a wave and overwhelm her.

Marcia was torn. She knew it was wrong, but it was the most effective way of coping she'd ever known. And now, even worse, more traitorous thoughts were beginning to rise up.

She'd heard talk—just hushed whispers, really—of people who took knives to their skin—and actually cut themselves open! In the past, she had always responded with the appropriate amount of horror—those stories always ended up with the perpetrator being institutionalized or trying to kill themselves—but now she wasn't so sure. She would never go to such extremes, of course! She didn't want to do herself any permanent damage, but she had begun to think that many the base thought behind their way of thinking wasn't so crazy after all.

If simply biting down on her knuckles—leaving an extremely temporary mark—led to such calm and clear-headedness, she imagined the effect of actually drawing blood would be drug-like. The thought was terrifying. And thrilling.

Lately, she'd begun taking her comb with her everywhere she went—it was currently sitting at the bottom of her bag—running it over her skin so frequently that it had begun to leave a more permanent mark. Her blood was beading up closer to the surface of her skin, ready to spill over if she just gave it a strong enough prodding.

The desire to give it that final push was just about overpowering. For curiosity's sake if nothing else. Even now, if she tried hard enough, Marcia could convince herself that she was still in control. She had to know what it felt like. If only just once. And then her curiosity would be sated, and she would return to her more tame way of dealing with things. And nobody would ever have to find out.

But how to go about it? It was hardly like she owned an array of sharp objects. She supposed she could find something around the house, but it would be nearly impossible to do it without being caught. Her mother was a professional housewife. She'd always been absolutely meticulous about everything, but she'd gotten more so recently as Marcia's father had begun critiquing her more and more harshly. No, there was no way even one of the knives in the kitchen could disappear to Marcia's room without being noticed.

Slowly, an idea dawned on her. In fact, it was almost a little too perfect. She knew where she could get a knife.

Review please!

I don't own the Outsiders.

But I do love my cliffhangers…