Disclaimer: This is completely stupid. If I owned Big Time Rush, they would be at my house every day & all the things I write about would happen in their real life/show. Has that happened yet? Then I guess I don't own.

Warning: Cutting & A Small Mention of Abortion

Edit Date; November 17, 2012.

Status: Squeaky clean and pretty.


Chapter One: Bleeding

V

V

Pain wrapped itself around my body.

Every time the silver, gleaming razor came to my wrist, I would whimper.

A line of blood would soon follow.

I kept slashing away.

I couldn't stop.

I WOULDN'T stop.

The pain felt good against my skin.

There was just one bad side-affect to it.

Every time I sliced at my skin, it made me remember what my dad said to my mother.

It made me remember what my father told my mother.

When she told him she was pregnant with me, he simply said, "Get an abortion."

He didn't want me.

All he wanted was the perfect baby boy and he had it.

That perfect baby boy, my brother, was named Kendall Knight.

I use to hate Kendall because he was always perfect in my dad's eyes.

Then I just gave up.

My mother always disagreed with him, saying she wanted a little girl to spoil and take on shopping trips.

He didn't like that answer.

He tried to make Mom lose me.

After a couple of attempts, he gave it up.

Seven months later I was born.

He had a grim facial expression while my mom was crying tears of joy.

A healthy, innocent, pure little baby girl; that's what she has always wanted.

My father walked out of the delivery room and didn't come back to the hospital to see me again until my mom and I were released from the hospital.

I still don't think he's my father, but according to my mom he is.

After three days of staying at my house, he decided to try something when my mom wasn't home.

I was in my crib, being as innocent as a one week old baby could be.

Dad was drunk.

He came stumbling in my room with a butter knife in hand.

He made long cuts over my fragile body.

I still have small, gray scar lines to prove it.

My mother divorced Dad when she finally noticed them.

She said he was an a-hole and she couldn't imagine how he could do that to a totally defenseless baby.

He yelled back that I should have never been born and said I should just die when he tried to have Mom get a miscarriage.

We moved to Minnesota.

At age nine, I became the outsider.

Also known as 'Girl with weird markings on her arms'.

I paused. I grabbed a towelette from the bottom drawer in my room and gently began to tap at the fresh blood lines, hissing as it stung.

He was right.

I should of die.

I wasn't worth it.

I'm ugly, not-perfect, weird, and a total burden.

That's why I have no friends.

I'm too weird for them.

I mean, come on, what sixteen year old would like to gamble with guys twice her age and sneak around in in air vents of hotels?

Immediately, you would scream "None!".

My point exactly; I'm weird.

With the towel still wrapped around my still bleeding wrist, I snuck into the bathroom and slammed the door behind me, locking it. I reached into the medical cabinet, the cabinet that Logan designed himself for him, James, Carlos, Kendall, Mom and me, and grabbed a roll of bandages. I let go of the blood-soaked towel and let it fall to the tiled floor.

Damn.

Better get that cleaned A.S.A.P. or it'll leave a blood stain.

I quickly wrapped the bandage around my wrist and cut off the extra bandages I didn't need. I rolled the extras back up and put it on one of the levels. I moved my bandaged wrist around, testing it out to see if it was too stiff for me to move.

It wasn't.

I looked down at the pool of fresh blood and looked around for something I could wipe the blood off. I saw a huge white towel on one of the small golden hooks and snatched it off, throwing it on the blood pile. I wiped the floor with my right foot and then took the towel off of it. The floor looked as if no blood was on it. I sighed in relief.

I wiped at the non-existent sweat on my brow.

I wonder if I could make some more marks right now.

It's not like anyone is home.

Plus, it's not like anyone knows I'm a cutter.

I'm sly, cunning, and sneaky.

I could keep a secret forever.

And I wear long shirts all the time.

People shrug it off, saying I have some sort of fetish for them.

The same fetish my brother has for flannels.

We're practically the same, but we have some huge differences.

He doesn't have to work at making friends.

He's handsome.

He's famous.

Not to mention he isn't a cutter.

I think a cutter girl is a turn-off to guys.

That's why I think Kyle broke up with me.

I didn't like to reveal any part of my body.

I don't blame him for breaking up with me.

"Katie Knight! Are you done in the bathroom yet!"

My eyes widened.

Mom was home.

She'll notice the huge, fluffy white towel with blood covered on it.

Shit shit shit shit.

I threw the towel underneath the bathroom sink and prayed to god she didn't need anything under the bathroom sink.

I'm going to have to wash that later.

"Yeah! I'm coming out now!" I yelled.

I flushed the toilet and turned the cold water on, put some soap on my hands, and scrubbed the small bits of dried blood on my hands. I wiped my hands on the green towel, the towel that hung on the back of the bathroom door, and unlocked the door and opened it. I ran to my room and slammed the door behind me, sliding against the closed door and wrapping my arms around my stomach.

Hello, my name is Katherine Marie Knight, I'm sixteen years old, and I have been cutting for about two years.


Fin.