AN: Another fic, another oneshot about cutting. Again, something I have never done or know anything about, because I don't have any friends that talk about it nor read any books that really describe the feelings going through the cutter. So once again sorry if this is incorrect, I just can't be bothered looking up the proper information for it, and wrote whatever came to my head.
Other than that, enjoy.
Disclaimer: No way do I own the Alex Rider series; I could never be that good a writer.
A bloody haze
You can't blame me for screaming.
The knife cut through my skin, slicing into my flesh as the new wound wept bloody tears.
I shuddered against my bed, eyes streaming as I watched the red liquid drip from my thigh, sinking into the plush white carpet beneath my body.
Similar spots of dirty brown already marred the pure color.
I dragged my attention back to the knife, the cut, the blood.
The blood.
It had spread everywhere, spider leg-like lines, creeping in every direction.
My boxers, the only thing I was wearing, had already been stained a ruddy brown.
My mind was hazy, yet, I still managed to pick up tiny, insignificant details.
The way the only lit lamp in the room cast shadows across the walls, shadows whose mouths gaped open at me, sharp teeth bared.
The sticky feeling of the blood on my hands, drying under my fingernails, and the knife as it thunked to the carpet, shiny with my blood.
The harsh rasp of my breath as I breathed in and out shallowly. My moist cheeks, the tear that fell from my chin and landed on my chest, continuing its journey down my stomach.
The headache that was pounding against the sides of my skull.
The flow of blood was slowing, no longer a steady stream, just a sluggish dribble running down my calve.
I shivered in my huddled position as I stared at the roof. I closed my eyes, intent on the deep, long line of fire that stung my thigh. I knew in the morning I would regret, I would hate myself all the more, wonder why I always found myself back in the same situation; lying on the floor with another cut and another bloodied knife.
I groaned, panting softly as I lifted a shaky hand to pick up the blade that lay next to me. Weakly, I gripped the handle, and then I threw it away from me, disgusted. It cluttered against the wall and fell to the floor, hidden behind my desk.
I slumped back once again.
The haze was pulling at my mind insistently.
I let it overwhelm me and drag me under.
AN: I guess this is an open ending, anyone who has any suggestions are wants me to continue I'm sure I can scrounge up some ideas from somewhere so, til next time. Lies.