Introduction; Over Summer I read an interview done by Christina Ricci, in which she spoke of her own self-harming, what surprised me was that it wasn't done by what I assumed to be the 'only' way, i.e a knife. Nope, she didn't say how, but she did say that she would burn herself. And that is where the inspiration for this piece came from.
On a secondary note, a previous reviewer (Kya; thanks for stopping bybtw) asked me if Leonardo is the only cutter in the family. Answer, yes. The obvious 'other' is Raphael, and whilst he is incredibly selfdestructive I don't see him cutting. Ever. He gets his rush, and he deals with his anger by going out and 'sticking it to the man'. He doesn't need to hide in a room and hurt himself because he can get his kicks (literal and otherwise) on the street.
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Disclaimer – I do not own the TMNT, nor do I have anything to do with Eminem, Christina Ricci or any one/thing remotely famous. Thank you, and goodnight!
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Feeling the Burn
"Sometimes I even cut myself to see how much it bleeds.
It's like adrenaline. The pain is such a sudden rush for me."
c. Eminem, Stan
In the kitchen; Age 11
"Ow!" the youngest turtle drew his hand back from the slick, sizzling hot pizza pan, his mouth clamping down over the throbbing patch on his hand and sucking violently. "Jeez!" Abandoning the evening dinner he rushed to the kitchen sink and stuck his hand under the cold tap. The crystal clear water ran down over the whitening patch of flesh, causing it to bump up into a thin, long green-grey line.
Flexing his thumb slowly Mikey let out a relieved sigh, it was going to sting, it was probably going to need a trip to Don's lab, but it wasn't going to scar.
Not this time which meant it was all good.
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In the lair; Age 20
Or at least it was … ya see Ah could get useta the burn, Ahm the cook man, Ah gotta. Kinda not got a choice in the matta ya see. And its not like its hard ta hide the odd mark, like Ah said, Ahm the cook, burns come with the territory. But its hard, living this way, after makin' dinner, an' watchin' the Buffster there isn't that much left ta do. Leo's cornered the market on Masta Splinter, and Don's got the internet wrapped up so tight that it just aint worth the hassle tryin' ta angle for sum time there.
Not like Ah can do anythin' on there anyway. Jus' kid myself that Ah might be able to fit in. Not much point in that, not unless they bump Halloween up from one night a year. It's always one step forward, two steps back in this line of work, it don't matter how many peeps we help out, they're always doin' the same ol' thin'. "FREAK!" "FREAK!" "FREAK!" It's like déjà vu or sumthin'.
So … guess Ah should tell ya how Ah got inta this crazy ass shit? Well, like Ah said, it started out as the odd accident. Splashin' water, red hot pans, Raph bein' a dick. Yea, Ah cuss now an' then, Raph can corner the market on sneakin' out, but it don't mean he can take the market on sayin' bad things? An' besides, have ya tried stickin' ta polite words when the spittin' oil from the fryin' pans jus' gotcha on the cheek? Man, Ah thought Ah was gonna go blind that day!
An' Ah'll tell ya sumthin' fer nothin' it didn't half hurt like a motha …
Ah guess its cuz Ahm lonely. At first Ah thought it wuz straight as a die boredom, ya know, sneak inta the kitchen, turn the oven on, start cleanin' it out. Ah figured out afta a coupla gos that no one asks Q's 'bout the metal burns on me. Oil an' hot water, they're hard ta explain away, but searing metal, that's a doodle. Ah mean, Ahm not exactly renowned for ma smarts am I? It's aint that hard ta believe Ah'd leave th'oven on or forget ta nab th'dishcloth if the grill smokin' out. So what if Ahm gettin' a bit of a rep for bein' a clutz? At least Ahm a contented clutz.
Yea, ya heard me right, Ah said contented. This way of life, well if ya want the honest truth, it sucks ass. Not that Ah can say anythin' 'bout it. Ah mean afta th'fightin' an' the trainin' Ah got diddly squat. Absolutely nada. Ah mean if Ah didn't get dinner duties, an'Ah didn't get my release durin' prep or clean up then Ah'd be down on my knees cryin' wit'boredom. Bein' the fall guy is only as easy as ya next joke, an' ah aint got no one ta joke wit' right now. Don't get me wrong, Ah know Ah need a real hobby, a healthy one. The sorta thin' Ah can share wit'my bros.
Company, a lil company would be real cool. Or maybe one person, jus'one, around ta hang wit' me like Case does wit'Raph. Ah aint picky how many, or who, jus' so long asa got sum one ta fit the bill. A Buffy fan, now that would be cool, or maybe sum one who likes movies, or likes pulling the odd good prank.
Prankin', the sport o'Kings! Not ta mention it's all good, long as ya got sum one ta beat on. Actually, now when Ah think on it, pranking was my hobby back in the day, then my bros got older an' wiser an' stopped fallin' for them. Stupid, dumbass Casey … comin' along, stealin' my bro in crime. Now tha' was a curve ball an' a half …Raph findin' his'elf a buddy …but Ahm cool wit'it. Real cool wit'it right now. Not like Ah got much choice in the matta. Anyways, Ah got myself a new friend now – Ah call her Misery, and she jus' loves a smooth, black plate surface, a lil bit of Jif (actually, this bits a new line, but Ahm sure its gonna be all good) and a patch of the ol'emmie green.
(Mikey stretches his arm into the open, pre-heated oven; his arm runs purposefully up the grooves that normally support the metal grate that lies within. Twisting around his hand pushes the green, scented cloth into the back of the grill, he is clearly undisturbed by the radiating heat that floods the small area. Humming quietly to himself he moves onto his knees, before taking the plunge. With a deft, jerk to the right he presses the full length of his forearm onto the side of the heated device.)
Holy rusted metal Batman! Sumthin's wrong! It hurts! It really, really hurts. Ahm not hummin' anymore an' ahm not laughin' like Ah do when the buzz comes. Ahm still hangin' in there an Ah can't get tha'buzz, maybe if Ah hold on a lil bit longer it'll come. Ah can feel my heart on my ribs now, its thuddin' like nuthin', an'tha' buzz still aint here. It gotta be the Jif, it's the only thin' diff'ren' from the usual routine. Ma arm, its stingin' an' burnin' in a whole diff'ren' way right now. A whole, brand spankin' new, totally non-fun way.
(Unknown to Mikey his incident has attracted attention. Standing over him Donny is taking charge of the scene, switching off the oven, before flicking on the cold water, the next few minutes are going to count for everything, but even after years on the battlefield there are some things that you are never truly prepared for.)
It doesn't hurt so much now, it's just sorta lyin' there, all mangled an' grey. Donny says Ah did some heavy duty damage, he reckons tha'th'bleach Ah used ta clean the oven out wit'along wit'th'heat messed up an' did sum funky chemical dance on ma arm. Guess Ahm lucky he heard me when Ah started screamin'or Ah might still be in there. Theresa stomach churner for ya.
The buzz came, it came real late inta the game, but it came. It was kinda funny ta be on fire after bein' literally on fire. Ah started ta crack up when Donny started ta wrap it up in cellophane. It's irony isn't it? The cook becomin' the entrée? Masta Splinter took a look inside the oven an' says ya can see bits o' me stuck onta the sides. Ah tried jokin' 'bout what we were gonna be chowin' on at dinna but it didn't sit right. 'Crispy-fried turtle' don't sound so hot when ya know how it got there. An' Ah thought he was gonna ground me or sumthin' when Ah started rattlin' on 'bout Hannibal an' brains. But then Ah'd hafta be goin' sumwhere fer that groundin' line ta work.
(Mikey's eyes move down to his forearm. On the side table lie his arm guards, and an assortment of ointments and dressings. Around his right forearm is half a roll of cellophane, the clear, sterile, plastic serving as a temporary band-aid until Donny has the opportunity, and time to acquire the correct materials and dress the wound properly.)
Actually, if Ahm honest, its lookin' pretty bad at the mo. Don't misunderstand me, Ah don't think Ahm gonna lose ma arm, think its jus' gonna be banged up fer an age. Donny said its gonna scar up sumthin' real pretty. He don't want me ta go inta the kitchen no more till its healed up either. Makes me wonder if he thinks sum thin' is up. But we both sorta skirted round that one. Instead, Ah asked him who would be goin' in if I didn't. He told me that Dad would figure sum thin' out. Ah guess Ahm jus' gonna hafta believe him on that one. Thing is, that kitchen been my territory fer like nine years … an' we all heard the one 'bout the cooks and broth right? No one else actually knows how ta cook, Ahm sure of it. So itsa Shame he can't sell what he wants me ta buy. Guess Ah need ta get me a new hobby … for the short-term anywho. One that aint gonna leave no clear cut scars.
(Dismissed, and with a blanket to hand, Mikey makes his way to the sofa, in order to catch his regular dose of Buffy. Before setting up the VCR his eyes linger on the smoky, kitchen. The scent of burnt, roasting meat begins to permeate throughout the rest of the lair. Though he doesn't realise it, hisleft hand comes up to protectively grip his numb, second-degree burnt flesh.)
Ya know sumthin? Tha'wuz a pretty close call, but Ah dunno what Ahm gonna miss more. The kitchen or the buzz. Well, it aint like Ah haven't got the time ta figure that one out …
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Additionally assuming ya read this one, if ya wanna see neurosis, and general melt down have a look at Practice Makes Perfect (Leo went catatonic in that one!) and look out for Cold Turkey (Raph's gone and done it now!)
And now that the author has completed her shameless plug, she runs away and waits for fanfic to take this down for breaking some A.N related rule.