That night, Ashley just stared at the ceiling above her bed. She couldn't believe she had done it; done it and liked it. She actually liked cutting herself. No matter how hard she tried, she found herself picturing the blood in her mind over and over again.

"This is sick, this is so sick," she insisted to herself over and over again, trying to put the thought out of her mind, but she couldn't. She slowly admitted to herself that she didn't really actually think it was sick. She just kept telling herself that because she knew she should think it was sick. Intentionally cutting skin, well, that's just disturbing. Or it was supposed to be. Ashley didn't really think it was anymore. It felt so good, so right.

With the thought of blood and knives in her head, she drifted off into sleep.