A/N: I've gotten over the fact I'm writing this and have moved on from disturbed to actually trying to write something that resembles a story and a plot. Below I reiterate my inability and happiness of not owning or having a stake in Victorious. I can only hope that neither of the Actresses reads this because... well... I'd have the urge to find them and apologize in person over and over again.
Disclaimer: I own nothing… thank God.
Cat POV
You run your hands down her arm and that's when you feel them. Scars. They're faint but they're still there. You're furious because you don't know if it was self-inflicted or someone else. Either one is unacceptable. No one is allowed to mark her except for you, no one is allowed to paint her skin except for you. You grab her arm harshly you feel her flinch. You shove her wrist into her face and demand to know. She refuses to look at them or you. It only makes you angrier when she doesn't answer. She'll pay for that later, right now you want answers. You grip harder, you know you shouldn't because it'll leave bruises but right now you don't care, she has to answer you.
When she does tell you, you want to know when. How long has she been hiding this? How long have you not known? How long has she been lying to you? She's yours and she should know this by now. She does know this by now, or if she doesn't her body certainly does. Her next response almost makes you forgive her, almost. Forgiveness is not in your nature and it in your mind has to be earned by her, not given. You embrace her, determined to play this right. She felt abandoned by you when you went after the stupid boy, and she was so lost. You tell her what you know she wants to hear, but in your mind you're planning.
When she finally relaxes, you force her to meet your eyes and tell her that she's not allowed to hurt herself. No one else is allowed to do so either except for you and you're going to teach her that lesson right now. You tell her to stay and if she knows what is good for her she will obey you. You get a knife from your brother's room; adults are so inept if he can get his hands on them. When you return, you're pleased that she hasn't moved.
As you approach, you tell her that she brought this upon herself. You tell her that you don't want to do this but she has to learn. You tell her that this will hurt you more than it will hurt her. You tell her that you are doing this because you care. She doesn't believe you, but by the end you know you'll have her singing to your tune.
Hours later, you've reopened several of the scars and she's not resisting you at all. Her eyes are glazed, and there are tear streaks on her face. You scold yourself for getting carried away. When she's like this she reminds you of a doll and she doesn't flinch from your touch. She doesn't flinch from the knife either as you run it down the side of her cheek not quite piercing the skin. You don't like it because she's not here with you. You discard the knife and bring one of the healing wounds that you've inflicted to your mouth and suck on it. It has the desired effect as she gasps and comes back to the room. You roll her to her side gently and press yourself against her back whispering in her ear until she falls asleep. The best part is, when she wakes up, she'll look at you and only you with nothing but adoration. You long to have more sessions like this just to remind her of her place, but you have to reign yourself in because things get destroyed if you push too hard.
And there's so much you still want to do to her.