A/N: I don't know why I wrote this, I just felt the need to write angst. Just one of those nights, eh? I hope you don't think it's too short! I really hope you like it, though it didn't take that long to cook up. I just wrote as it came to mind!!! Read and review so I can give you a cookie! Enjoy!!
Pain So Sweet
As I sit on the edge of my bed, contemplating the reasons why I should live, the only weapon that I own spinning between my fingers and glinting in the moonlight shining through my open window. My door is locked. Safe. The scars running down both my arms are exceptionally noticeable tonight, making it hard not to indulge in the pain that has been absent for so long.
Pain…it's so sweet. The feeling of blood trickling between my wounded fingers, the stinging the knife leaves behind, I have been so fond of it for years. They're everywhere. My fingers, my arms, my thighs, my stomach, my sides, my palms, the back of my hands; So many scars…it's beautiful.
When I was younger, I used to dream that my arms were full of scars and that I didn't care anymore. Now that dream is real. Everyone has gone away, left me here with my 'father'. No one cares. Not even myself. Why should I have to live through this hell? My mother is gone forever, my father hates me. You can tell by the cuts on my lip and the black eyes; the bruises.
"Be a man. Fight me. Get up. Don't be a bitch, Draco." Signs of love. I chuckle to myself as I remember the nights of my high and mighty father in my bed…with me. He took everything from me. He killed my mother…took me away from the only solace I had: Hogwarts. I don't need it, he tells me. He can teach me everything I need to know. Funny thing is, I haven't learned anything since I came home. Except how to take the abuse like it's nothing, and then reassure myself I'm still alive by revealing the scarlet liquid inside the disgusting thing that is me.
I stopped twirling the knife in my hand at the thought of feeling something other than him inside me or his fist coming in contact with my face. My eyes go out of focus as I bring the knife to the top of my wrist. Time to end the abuse, the dying everyday, the names, the pain…I hate this way they call 'life'. I dig the knife deep into my skin, puncturing it before I even move it down. Good. I close my eyes as I begin to drag the silver object down my arm, reaching my elbow. I switch arms before the movement in my left arm dies and repeat the cut on my right arm. I can already feel the blood trickling between my fingers and hear it dropping to the floor. My arms go numb and I climb onto my bed under the covers. I hope I ruin the black silk sheets under me, just to piss my father off even more. Curling up, I close my eyes and smile.
"Have a nice life without a fuck toy, father." The quill stops moving and I feel myself slipping away. Good night, I hope you feel better now that I'm gone.