This is a short one chapter stand alone story. I know that there is not
specific mention of Karen being a cutter on "Will and Grace" but I'm
thinking "What if?". What if she was a cutter, and no one knew? Most
people don't know I am, so it's entirely possible. There is just a bit of
cursing, and it has dark themes. Please read and review.
~~*~~ ~*~
*
I am Karen Delaney-St. Croix-Popeil-Walker. Most people don't look past the booze and my brashness to see the human beneath. I know I'm a pain in the ass, and that I'm worth less than the trouble I always seem to cause, but it's because I'm trying to keep people away. Far away from me, so they won't see me. So I won't see me.
**~**
I take another swig from the bottle. It burns all the way down; to the point of bringing tears, but I don't let them fall. It hurts too much to not cry, but it hurts too much to cry. I can't imagine crying. It's something that I can't explain, but it's something that I know far too much about. I take another swing and pass out.
I can feel the stares. The ones that let me know that I've screwed up big- time. It's my cousin's wedding, and I've made a drunken ass of myself. At least my mom wasn't there. I can't stand that winch. She made the first 18 years of my life hell, her and her cons, and I can't forgive her. I now drink to block the pain, among other things. Most of my friends know that I am a horrible drug addict. They don't know about my other little 'friend'. the razor.
I cut myself sometimes. It's never bad, and it's never often, but sometimes the booze and the pills don't work. I have a secret place that I cut; in Rosario's bathroom, and I have a secret place where I keep my razors. In a black film container, in a black pouch, in my black underwear drawer. No one dares to look there for anything, and no one suspects anything.
I cut where no one will see it; my thighs, my upper arms, and sometimes my ankles. Something shallow, something that if it's seen, it's easily explained "I bumped into a dresser," "The incompetent winch of a leg waxer injured me," and I go on and laugh. It hurts to laugh, but I do it anyways. It makes my story more believable. But what happens when I can't believe it anymore. When I break down with no one around me. What about me?
~~*~~
Jack and I are just fooling around, like usual. He starts kissing me, and grabs my bicep. I had to cut there the day before, and I hiss uncontrollably.
"What is it Karen?" he asks, naively.
"Nothing, honey," I say. I offer no explanation. Jack's features darken as he asks again.
"Karen, what's there?" he asks again.
"Nothing. It's nothing," I say, desperately trying to prevent an interrogation. He lets me off, this time, but the mood is tense. "So." I say.
"Hmm." he says, smiling.
I'm relieved. Crisis is averted, for now.
~~*~~
The End
~~*~~ ~*~
*
I am Karen Delaney-St. Croix-Popeil-Walker. Most people don't look past the booze and my brashness to see the human beneath. I know I'm a pain in the ass, and that I'm worth less than the trouble I always seem to cause, but it's because I'm trying to keep people away. Far away from me, so they won't see me. So I won't see me.
**~**
I take another swig from the bottle. It burns all the way down; to the point of bringing tears, but I don't let them fall. It hurts too much to not cry, but it hurts too much to cry. I can't imagine crying. It's something that I can't explain, but it's something that I know far too much about. I take another swing and pass out.
I can feel the stares. The ones that let me know that I've screwed up big- time. It's my cousin's wedding, and I've made a drunken ass of myself. At least my mom wasn't there. I can't stand that winch. She made the first 18 years of my life hell, her and her cons, and I can't forgive her. I now drink to block the pain, among other things. Most of my friends know that I am a horrible drug addict. They don't know about my other little 'friend'. the razor.
I cut myself sometimes. It's never bad, and it's never often, but sometimes the booze and the pills don't work. I have a secret place that I cut; in Rosario's bathroom, and I have a secret place where I keep my razors. In a black film container, in a black pouch, in my black underwear drawer. No one dares to look there for anything, and no one suspects anything.
I cut where no one will see it; my thighs, my upper arms, and sometimes my ankles. Something shallow, something that if it's seen, it's easily explained "I bumped into a dresser," "The incompetent winch of a leg waxer injured me," and I go on and laugh. It hurts to laugh, but I do it anyways. It makes my story more believable. But what happens when I can't believe it anymore. When I break down with no one around me. What about me?
~~*~~
Jack and I are just fooling around, like usual. He starts kissing me, and grabs my bicep. I had to cut there the day before, and I hiss uncontrollably.
"What is it Karen?" he asks, naively.
"Nothing, honey," I say. I offer no explanation. Jack's features darken as he asks again.
"Karen, what's there?" he asks again.
"Nothing. It's nothing," I say, desperately trying to prevent an interrogation. He lets me off, this time, but the mood is tense. "So." I say.
"Hmm." he says, smiling.
I'm relieved. Crisis is averted, for now.
~~*~~
The End