AN: I don't claim to own South Park or it's characters that all goes to Matt and Trey!

Just Another Reason:

We, as people, cut for many different reasons. It just depends on who you are. Some people never cut themselves, not even on accident. Then there are people who almost never make it out of this world alive because they cut so much. There are the dumb cutters, the ones who display their scars proudly. Then the smart cutters who cut in places no one will see anyway. Even the sneaky cutters, ones whom no one would suspect of cutting and never see the cuts even in obvious places. There are cutters who blame it on lost love, never found love, or not accepted love. Cutters who blame it on non-existent parents, forgetful parents, or overbearing parents. Then there are cutters who have just made a habit out of it. They are the ones that cut once because of some lame excuse then again because they felt better, then again because they wanted to see blood, again because they wanted a scar, and again but they ran out or reasons why. They realize they just want to cut. I guess I'm like those people…

I'm not some Goth kid. I wear purple and smile a lot. My hair shines and I take care of my skin and appearance. My parents have a lot of money and they care for me but not too much. I have many friends, all though I wouldn't say I was popular. I even had a boyfriend most of the time. I guess I don't have a good reason to hurt myself, but then again does anyone?

This little addiction started in eighth grade. That's when our little town heard about the epidemic of cutting. Middleton High had just been shut down because all the eighth and ninth graders were cutting, for fun. It was a club they had formed within the school. When asked about it the kids just said that it was a way to pass time and it was a way of releasing anger, depression, and love.

I didn't understand why they would want to release love, till I fell in love. I should have realized that I would fall in love with the asshole. After all the fatass and I do have a lot of similar traits. But he would never return my affection and I knew it. That's when this all started.

I can remember the first night I cut myself perfectly. What's odd is I don't remember the first cut. I remember the pain though. The way my wrist burned for minutes after the steak knife left my wrist. I saw the skin that had been torn and only a little blood flowing from my wound. After that I made another cut, crying through the pain, wanting more blood -a deeper wound.

Every Saturday I would cut myself. Never enough to really do any damage and always in the same place. I play in sports so people believe it's easy to open up a scar. So when I come to practice I make sure to throw myself into something or onto the ground in a way that could have opened the scar. I'll pretend to feel pain for a minute and everyone believes me.

I'm in twelfth grade now. The scar on my wrist has healed nicely over the last few days. I smile knowing that it will be opened again in only a day. It's something I look forward to during school on Friday. The thought of my own pain is all that keeps me going.

I sit in my seat next to the fatass. I'm glad I was partnered with him. It reminds me of third grade. Only this time Bebe doesn't have to explain my feelings and he's doing some real work. I smile at him as I sit and look at his outfit for the day.

I have never seen him in a tee shirt. Not this year at least. I always remember seeing him in his little jacket or something because I've never seen his arms before. He has nice arms, big -like the rest of him- but they had muscle and looked strong.

I placed my hand on his forearm and noticed he winced a little. When I removed my hand I could see the small amount of makeup residue on my fingertips. I looked at his arm and sure enough small spots were now lighter than the rest of his arm.

All Eric does is turn away. It makes me smile more knowing he hides his shame the same way I do. He covers up -all though his way is with makeup- with the story that nothing is wrong. I hide as though I just got a cut and it keeps reopening, and he is hiding that anything is wrong using some of his whore of a mother's makeup.

I smile remembering what Stan and Eric -Kyle and Kenny as well- had said to me when we were in third grade. They told me I was acting crazy. At some point in my life I started to believe them. So I acted crazy till I really became crazy. It doesn't matter though, cutting is just one more way to bring me closer to Eric.

"Eric what do you use?"

He could see me looking at his arm. He's smart enough to know what 'm really asking. I am sure he can see in my eyes that I want him to answer truthfully. I don't want him to hide from me.

"Anything that's lying around. You?"

I didn't know he knew about me. The question stuns me for a moment. I thought I had hid myself well. I thought no one knew. He was the one person I didn't want to show my weakness to and he knows.

"Steak knife."

"That's what I used the first time."

Anyone would have sent us to the nuthouse. If I had said this to Stan he would have sent me away quickly. Eric understood though. Sometimes it's not about self-harm it just becomes an addiction. He understood. If you can't have what is really causing the pain you need something to blame it on. Then you just get to use to doing it.

"Why?"

I shouldn't have asked him that. It's way too personal for me to be asking. Yet the question slips from my lips. I guess he is thinking about answering since he hasn't yelled at me yet.

"A girl at first, but now I just kind of do it."

I smile. It's another reason that this addiction is bringing us together. I can't hide my smile from him. He knows that I'm a happy person I know he knows that.

"I did it because of a boy at first but now it's just because I want to. Plus he does it too, it's like it brings us together."

There we were just staring at each other. We both knew that this addiction had gone too far. But we didn't care. We were normal kids. We both did okay in school. We both had good friends. We had families. We just didn't have each other. That's okay though...

I see Eric smile at me. I know I'll never be with him, it's not possible. But at this moment I feel like I've always been with Eric Cartman. I smile back at him knowing he knows he's the reason for my harm. I can't help but think this addiction will forever be with me. I won't ever be able to stop until I know he has stopped too. Maybe because I really am crazy, but that would make him crazy too. Just another reason cutting brings us together.