Never Forgiven

I seriously cannot believe what I am about to do to myself. Everyone I know who does it says it takes the emotional pain away. Although it hurts a bit physically, people say it feels... well good. Something that will leave you satisfied.

I am only about to do this because of him. Oliver Oscar Oken. The jerk. He's a freaking fag for crying out loud! Literally and seriously, a fag. Pervert.

I can only imagine what went on in his head. He probably wanted me to do this. Because he cheated on me... not only cheated, but had sex. With a guy. I mean, we hadn't even had sex yet! And then he decides that his "sexual needs" haven't been fulfilled. And goes and sleeps with Jake Ryan! I mean, Jake is irresistable with his shirt off, but come on! And I didn't even think Jake was like that. That's so nasty to even think of.. Oliver and Jake in a bed together. Oh God! Bad visual!

So, I have finally come to my conclusion. This is Oliver's fault.

I sat on my bed, home alone, all the lights off. It was about 7:00, give or take. I was too distraught to look at my clock.

I looked down to my hands, left hand empty, a razor in the right. A razor. Something I'd normally shave with, not a tool.. or a weapon... to damage my skin and soul with.

I breathed deeply, in and out, almost on the verge of tears. The image kept coming into my mind.

He was my love.

My supposedly one true love.

The image of me, walking into Oliver's room, seeing him and Jake in his bed, with clothes strode everywhere.

It was unbearable.

Me, picking up a shoe, which at the time I wished was a knife, and throwing it at Oliver. Me, yelling, screaming and crying all at the same time. Me, saying, "It's over!" and walking out, with Oliver chasing after me, naked except for a pair of boxer shorts on. Hm, I was surprised he wasn't wearing a thong. And suprised Jake wasn't whipping him. Great. More disturbing images.

And now, I, Lillian Truscott, am about to harm myself. With a razor. I was dreading it. But it seemed my only way to escape this nightmare.

I held the weapon up, examining every inch of it.

I brought it down, making it barely touch my skin. Tiny ends of a bit of arm hair was shaved off. Whatever, I could care less at this point.

I pushed the razor down on my wrist some more, and then moved it to the left with medium force.

I winced in pain at first, and found that it did feel good. In a way. A very sicko, disturbing, complicated way.

I looked down at my wrist for the first time, thankful I didn't cut myself over the vein. The cut was bleeding a bit, not a lot to lose a lot of blood from though.

Reflecting, I was shocked at what I had done. I soon felt the warm tears slowly trickle down my cheeks and fall onto the still bleeding cut. I fell backward onto my bed and began to sob. Hard. Harder than I can ever remember.

What have I done to myself?! Why can't you just take me now, God?

I stood up dizzily, walked over to my window, and threw the razor out of it. I hope Oliver was hit with it.

I ran to the bathroom, clutching my wrist, and wrapped it in a small towel.

I unwrapped the towel from my arm around thirty minutes later. I had stopped crying and imagining what Oliver could be doing.

When I finished unraveling the towel, I was pleased to see the bleeding had stopped, but a scar was very noticable.

I almost smiled. I'm over what I did to myself. I still don't understand why I was acting so retarded, but everyone makes mistakes I guess. Especially Oliver. But he is not forgiven. I doubt he'll ever be. Never forgiven.

A/N; Okay, that was kind of weird, but oh well. It kind of creeped me out to write that, because like, I would never cut or something. It just scares me. But I do base this sorta off personal experience, but I do have a few friends that used to cut... o.o

Love it? Hate it? Flames accepted.

And I MIGHT make it a two-shot, three-shot, etc. but I dunno. You tell me! D R&RRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

-Imagineee