You once heard someone say that love hurts. You memorized it perfectly, their words, their voice, their exact cadence, just so you could repeat it in your head, as many times as you wanted, until your bruises and cuts melted into warmth and you knew you must have been the most loved person in the world. You could smile so brightly when they took turns kicking your stomach because your friends loved you so much. You were so happy when the cigarette burns on your arm left scars so you could treasure them and keep them forever as precious treasures from precious people. You wouldn't run away from them anymore, you would offer your body willingly, eagerly.
At the end of the day you always wonder why you're back to applying disinfectants and wrapping bandages around your wounds. You're so skilled at treating the pain, almost like you want to wipe it away. Before you would cry so much when they pulled out your hair and hit you with rulers, but you were so happy to have new wounds to treat, a chance to be useful, if only to yourself. Now you can't cry over the pain because you know they love you, and all your tears are saved for that moment when your trembling fingers can't wrap the gauze right because you don't really know if it's okay to do this because you're hiding their marks their love you can't even do it anyway you are useless useless uselessuselessuselessuseless