One
A drop of red on pale skin
Two
Another line cut deep
Three
Gentle relief in silent pain
Four
Silencing the desperation
Another cut, another scar, a reminder and a relief.
To forget, to hide and to pretend for just a moment
Chase felt the pressure on his shoulders lighten as he brought the blade across his skin a fifth time. The red that pooled from the shallow cut seemed to calm his heart. Each drop that rolled down his skin matched a deep calming breath he released.
Chase hadn't looked at himself without a shirt on in over two years. He didn't want to see the repercussions of his form of relief. He did not even like to look down at the pale scars that ran up his arms, so close together one might mistake it for his actual skin tone. He didn't want to look at his chest and so a shirt never left his body. Almost seventh months ago in a depressed rage he cut deep long scars across his chest. He twisted the blade to leave the thickest cuts he had ever made. The scars left behind sunk inward as if the muscle and flesh had been scooped from his body.
One might think he had tried to kill himself with the size and number of these scars. Those people might be right. Still to this day Chase didn't know if he had meant to die. The pain and anger had blinded every thought and all he could think about was the numbing relief that accompanied his razor. He probably would have too if Marcus hadn't snuck into the lab to rig the explosives that went off days later.
The android must have been shocked to find an unconscious Chase lying in a pool of blood that still flowed from his chest like a river of death. Chase had awoken in his capsule, blurrily watching his friend's back as he disappeared into the elevator. The machine had healed him but the scars remained as they always did.
Chase shook away the memory. Those kinds of thoughts were locked away in the deepest depths of his mind where they could never see the light of day. He didn't want to remember. All he needed was the feeling of a blade on his skin.
The razor cut into Chase's palm as he added the sixth line. It was like an art, His skin was his canvas and his blood was his paint. It was a beautiful ruby painting that fed off the pain and sadness of Chase's heart.
Chase closed his eyes for his final cut. He never sliced more than seven cuts at once. It was a limit that needed to be set because Chase knew there would have come a day where he couldn't have stopped. The relief would numb his mind enough for him to crave the silent oblivion of death. He would wish to leave the world that called him nothing, to leave the people that thought of him as dirt and to leave the team that he had been meant to lead till the very end. There was no respect, no caring. His only thanks were hatful words and mocking laughs.
Chase blinked and stood from the corner had had been huddling in. The wonderland he had been blessed with moments ago collapsed against the tortures reality that never truly left Chase. The world sped away from him and Chase knew it was time to clean his cuts and go on with his life like always.
He'd lost the hope of a better life years ago, even before a razor fist touched his skin. Now all there was, was a darkens and a duty to protect those in danger.
Another one of my Chase cuts stories. I think it was pretty good though. Please review and tell me what you think. What did you think of my poem?