-1She hasn't done this since high school.
Not that she hasn't thought about it.
She thinks about it a lot.
She knows this isn't the best thing to do.
But as soon as she feels the cold sharp metal against her skin, she feels the familiar spark in her veins, and she knows she cannot deny herself the feeling.
It's a single razor blade. Cold, sharp, shiny, the perfect instrument. It was lying there, almost teasing her with its dazzling appearance.
She doesn't prefer razors. Razors make more than one cut when they are pressed against delicate skin. Too many little blades that deny the pleasure of one, single, cut.
The feelings that will come with this blade dragging across her skin are almost unimaginable. She can't explain them. She won't. She's long passed trying to explain to people, she can't even make sense of it.
All she knows, is that she likes it.
She's been able to squash the familiar pull in her body to do this to herself for years now. To resist the urge to cut. Cut. She doesn't like the word. It seems too harsh, and when people speak of it, they speak as if it's a disease. She knows if they only knew how it felt, they wouldn't speak of it like that. They'd think twice about using that word. That hurtful little word.
She accept it though. She's a cutter. Has been for years. And ultimately, as she told Craig, she will always be a cutter, even if she doesn't do it for years. She can't escape the jagged little lines across her skin, each cut with its own story to tell.
She doesn't have many problems now, but it's not like she actually needs reason to do this. That's the point. Of losing control. She wants to feel the blood bubble to the surface from a wound slashed carefully through her skin.
Of course, she could always snap a rubber band to take away the urge. She scoffs and rolls her eyes. A rubber band? She knows that those don't work. They don't bring the satisfaction of the blood, or the feeling. Sure, a little sting here and there. But really, who wants that?
This is a love-hate relationship.
She knows that while she can tell herself that this is a little one time thing, that would be a huge lie. It's never only one time. You can tell yourself it will be. But you'd only be fooling yourself. Even if you've never done it before, and you say to yourself, 'only one time,' you better be prepared to deal with the reality that is, in fact, not only a one time thing. You'll feel the urges when you see a sharp metal instrument. Start thinking of everything as a weapon to use against yourself. As much as you'll want to stop, and wish it could have only been a one time thing, you won't be able to. You'll regret doing it. With every little line burnt into your skin forever, you'll have a regret for each of them, and you'll hate yourself for it.
The urge to cut. A powerful urge. One part of the process that she doesn't enjoy. She can compare it to a heroin addict needing his next fix. Powerful, and hurtful. And even if that addict hasn't touched the stuff in years, if he sees some, he'll get the urge, to inject, snort, smoke, it will all come rushing back. He'll have to fight with himself to not go down that road again.
Ellie knows the urge. She may not be a heroin addict, but she knows a thing or two about the urge, the urge of addiction. Seeing a sharp object, it all comes rushing back, and that's the part she hates. It first starts with the fire burning through her body, blood rushing through her veins. Turning into an itch beneath the skin. An itch that can only be scratched one way, through the skin with something sharp. It begs to be scratched, and when the urge is denied, the itch gets stronger. It won't stop until it gets what it wants. That's why the 'one time' is a huge fucking lie.
She looks at the blade, she knows she needs it. It's been too long. She hasn't done it since tenth grade, lifetimes ago. While she knows that she needs it, she knows that with it will come the secrecy, the lying, the promise of layered clothing and weird looks. And while Marco and Paige have had no right to be suspicious lately, she knows they'll notice if she begins to wear her arm warmers or long sleeves in the hot weather.
So she makes a choice. The only choice. Cut across the thigh. An easily hid place. Many believable excuses and ways to hide it from the outside world. She doesn't like wearing short shorts, they make her feel uncomfortable, she doesn't want to be stared at. No, she doesn't want to put on a bathing suit and go swimming. She never really liked the sport all that much, and she's proven her lack of athletic ability.
Many more excuses can float from her mouth if given the chance. She knows this game well. The game of lying, becoming somebody you're not, to satisfy something out of your control. Something you both love and hate at the same time. Leaving the sane world behind. Friends, family, people who trust you, you betray. It's easy for them to believe the lies if they've believed the truth for so long. It's almost a free ticket on the ride. The ride that sends you on many a twist and turn. The ride producing senses of exhilaration and pleasure, sometimes fear as you take some big drops. The ride that doesn't seem to ever end, with few exceptions, such as stopping, or, in most cases, death. The latter is more likely to happen than the first.
She holds the blade to her exposed thigh and she can feel her heart beating in her chest, the blood running through her veins, and most of all, the itch. But the itch knows it's going to win. It's almost sneering at her weakness. It's full of anticipation.
As she brings the blade down and drags a perfect line across the sweet, unmarred skin, she feels the rush, the high, and as she sees the blood bubble to the surface and fall, she feels at home. It hurts, but that's why she likes it. The cliché. The 'I cut to feel something' line. It's true, and she's not going to deny it. She loves the pain, would give anything for it, and knows she will.
It's a love-hate relationship.
She loves the feeling, the blood, the way she knows this is the one thing that won't ever let her down.
At the same time, as soon as the high wears down, as the blood stops flowing freely from the cut, she hates herself. She knows that won't end any time soon. The self-loathing part of it. Another part she despises of her favorite activity.