Don't own 'em.


I've got an itch.

It's not an itch in the true sense of the word, but there's the reminder of something plaguing me, the undeniable feeling that there is something that I should be doing to relieve this tension that roars through my veins, a silent scream that I am unable to ignore. There are no words for this feeling that can utterly describe the agony of waiting, of attempting to strongarm through the feelings that echo throughout your mind, of trying to win that battle over a blade. There are very few good reasons for holding out, it seems - because it would leave a scar? Because other people find it ludicrous that I actually desire to watch myself bleed?

I find it ludicrous that others would will me to suffer through this; this pent-up, anxious, angry energy that soars through me at any moment, the feeling of bitter denial burning through my mind as the rage grows. Over and over again my mind screams for relief, a thousand words better left unsaid as I stare into the darkness of the night, waiting for the moment when I can finally sleep so that the stars will claim me and I can stop feeling this torment.

Still, I sit here, watching the city lights flicker, staring at the people moving, talking, laughing in the night, waiting. Wondering if I should bother to wait it out - wondering if I should simply give in to the screaming in my soul for someone, anyone, to hurt me, until it drowns out the sound.

I stand and take out Heero's knife, walking soundlessly into his room. "Hurt me," I whisper, and begin to wait once more, as his gaze meets mine.