Author's Note: First off let me say that this story has been in my head for several weeks now. Everything that played out in the story is how it played out in my head. I had just been too scared to write it let alone post it.

Second, I would like to thank author, CandyApple75 for their story, "Butterflies", who came forward with their own admission and struggle with SI which is what gave me the strength to finally write down the story I had in mind.

Admitting what you do, how you cope and handle things isn't easy especially when we still live in a world where often times the very subject of self-injury is considered taboo and should not be talked about.

I'm going to quote Mary Margaret here and say, "The truth can be painful but it can also be cathartic." It was from those words that I also gained the strength I needed to write down this fic. I am not a talker, for the most part. A lot of the time I let my writing do my talking for me. And what better way than to write, I guess an AU story, where a character that I love on a show I enjoy, deals with something that I struggle with on a daily basis. Was it painful to write, certainly but it was also helpful, a way of letting my pain work vicariously through a character that Adam & Edward created, so that I may work on my own healing processes.

So to all of you struggling out there- the road we're on isnt' easy. There are times when we will stumble and fall but the important thing is we get up the next day and we move forward and fight like hell to make it out of our battles alive.

Trigger Warning: Deals with the topic of self-injury as well as some depression. I do go into some details in regards to certain things like the ritualistic behavior that comes from being an SI.


Part I: To Myself I Turn (Ritual)

Thoughts raged in her mind. A restless sleep occurred the night before. Her time in Storybrooke had been anything but pleasant since her arrival nearly five months ago.

Emma knew it was only a matter of time. She was alone, other than living with Mary Margaret and having Henry in her life, she felt isolated still, cut off, sometimes the feeling of disassociation weighed heavily upon her. She could feel it coming, that need, that desire of taking control in a way that most people probably wouldn't understand. She hated the feeling but sometimes there was nothing she could do and sometimes there was that rare glimmer where she welcomed the feeling because she did have control, at least over this.

Mary Margaret wouldn't be home today. There was a school function from what she had told her earlier. Good. No one to answer to, no getting caught.


It was late in the evening when Emma reached for the box under her bed. It was a blue stationary box with a flower in the center. She took it over to the desk and sat down. Touching the box she hesitated for a moment. No, she needed this. She had been without it for five months. Both the need and the desire were too great now, the thoughts and the fantasies running through her mind like a never ending cycle. She needed the movie in her mind to stop.

Emma opened the latch of the stationary box. She removed the note cards. Underneath them was a small green wash cloth. She removed that and found the contents of her desire: a screw driver, a pair of blue sharp scissors, alcohol prep pads, and some extra large band aids and sterile strips.

She sighed in relief, grateful that her tools were still in their rightful place. One by one she pulled out each item and began her ritual: First the sterilizing, then searching for the right place and then she began.

To her the feel of the blade on her skin was like the moving of a bow on a violin, back and forth, back and forth. Music to numb her ire and racing thoughts, the pain and the tingling to give her a focus and take her mind off of the focus where she did not want it to be. It was the high she needed, the fix that for months she had been forced to deny.

Emma Swan was no stranger to this form of behavior. Growing up in the foster system hadn't been easy. In a short amount of time she had learned not to complain but also learned to be silent. Silence came with a price. Though it could be a gift, the silence could also be a curse. The good thing was no one could see your pain if you kept silent about it. The bad thing was no one could see your pain if you kept silent about it.

For sixteen years Emma suffered in silence. If it wasn't the blade doing the talking it was the wall, both of which had become forms to express her pain over the years. It was easier than talking but there was a price to pay from them both in terms of the nerve damage and the scars.

She knew she should stop. She had reason to but stopping wasn't easy. She had tried time and time again, making empty promises to herself that she never kept.


The first part of the ritual continued for another five minutes. Then after looking over her work and feeling mentally sound and satisfied, she began the second part of her ritual: pull the tabs off the band aids, the cuts weren't deep enough to require stitches, she never allowed it to get that far but they were deep enough to bleed and she was certain these would scar. Second, pull out another alcohol swab and clean her tool to get rid of the trace evidence that the blood had left behind on the metal blade, and finally the rest of the clean up and placing her tools in the proper order before placing the cards back on top of the wash cloth. Close the lid of the box and place it back under the bed.

Emma smiled to herself. It had been such a relief to let go and simply feel numb for a while. The throbbing would start in a couple of seconds but she didn't mind, at least it gave her more of that high that she had endured while doing her task but the smile was more than just about letting go. This was her personal pleasure, a secret no one knew and in that was a personal satisfaction.

Pleased with her task and with herself, Emma lie in bed and drifted off to what she hoped would be a relaxing sleep, minus the throbbing from her wounds. She could handle that. At least they would keep the nightmares at bay.