"Tick..tock..tick..tock..". Such a simple noise managed to echo far and wide through the silent apartment of Lucy Heartfilia. Perhaps it only seemed louder since it was the middle of the night, or maybe it sounded louder because she was begging for a distraction from her own mind. Every time she closed her eyes, her aggressive and self-destructive thoughts acted as if they've been handed a megaphone and loudly reminded her of everything that was upsetting to her.
She looked at the clock which read 3:20 am. She sighed, realizing that she's been up for an hour and has gotten nowhere with attempting to sleep, although that's not to say that she wasn't tired, which had done nothing but aggravate the situation. She grumbled as she let her eyes close once more, but then came the ever so familiar "Dark Lucy" as she calls it,
"Hey! Remember when your dad treated you like you were less than garbage? Maybe you're that worthless to everyone else! You're nothing, you get that?" it whispered. In a flash, her eyes were snapped open again.
As an act of giving up, she went into her kitchen and started to brew herself a cup of coffee. If she can't sleep, she might as well use her time to do something useful by working on her novel. While she was boiling the water, her eyes trailed to a kitchen knife left on her countertop. She reached over to grab it and place it in the sink, but as her hand inched closer, her mind started to run once more.
"When was the last time you cut yourself? Years ago, right? Don't you miss it?" her mind ran. Lucy flinched her hand back and aggressively shook her head.
"Do it again. It's been too long," she started to pace back and forth. Her mind flashed mental images of her previous acts of self-harm. She started remembering the first time it happened, how it felt, how it made her feel, how it distracted her from her terrible life at home with a neglectful father, how it helped her cope growing up, and how often it would happen.
"We had so much fun with it! It made you happy! Do it again!". Tears started to come to her eyes. She was finally over a year clean from cutting, but the urges were so hard to handle, she often thought if it was even worth it.
"Shut up shut up shut up shut up," she spoke back to it quietly. At that moment, she realized that she had stopped pacing and started to punch her thigh repeatedly. She quickly stopped, looking at the red mark she left. She must've only been doing it for about a minute since it doesn't look too damaged, but she hoped that it wouldn't bruise. She headed back over to the knife, quickly tossed it into the sink, and went back to making her coffee.