A/N: This is kinda a challenge that I'm giving myself. I took one of my favorite stories that I wrote and I'm redoing it to fit every fandom that I like. So far, there's been the XMen and the Fast and the Furious. This is my first O.C. fic, so please be nice.
It didn't even surprise her when the blood ran out. It was kind of seductive, beckoning to her. The pain faded quickly aggravating her. That was the whole point behind it. The fucking psychologists that said this was done to overpower the emotional pain were idiots. They had no idea why it was done. They sat in their cozy little offices with their perfect little lives fucking their perfect little secretaries and made money off of ignorant theories like that. She wasn't naive enough to think that a few cuts would make her forget the pain. She wasn't trying to overcome the emotional hurt she felt, she was trying to add to it.
This was her punishment, her atonement. Each cut symbolized a mistake she had made, a fuck up she had ignored until it came back to bite her in the ass. The first cut was simply a test, an experiment to see if the pain was enough. It wasn't, but it was probably her best bet. She'd just have to remember to press harder. There was no way the knife could be as sharp as the pain, but she could try.
For thinking he had loved her.
Slice.
For thinking he was over Theresa.
Slice.
For being untouchable.
Slice.
Undesirable.
Slice.
Stupid.
Slice.
Naive.
Slice.
For acting like the rich bitch everyone thought she was.
Slice.
She stared hypnotized by the blood running down her arm. If he actually cared, he would be here. The Ryan she knew would have known by looking at her that she was at her limit. The Ryan she knew wouldn't have fucked another girl. Tears welled up at this and she realized that maybe she didn't know Ryan. Maybe she was wrong about him being this great, wonderful person; her savior. Maybe he wasn't.
The untouched canvas of her other arm cried out for the crimson warmth. The pictures played silently in her mind. Tormenting her still, more painful than the cuts.
His sideway glance at her.
Slice.
The occasional smile that everything seem okay.
Slice.
His hands holding her tight.
Slice.
The memories of her own actions came forward. Demanding more cuts, more retribution.
Her own clumsy attempts at seduction. All blushing and nerves.
Slice.
For giving herself so completely.
Slice.
For knowing she'd do it again.
Slice.
The knife slipped out of her blood covered hands, landing on top of the picture that mocked her. She was too weak to reach for it again and really, what was the point? She could go on and on about how she fucked up. How she should have known...should have stopped wanting him. But really, there was no point, because it was done. She fucked up and he fucked Theresa. It's the way it was.
And as darkness surrounded her, she could have sworn she heard him enter the room. Sworn she heard his harsh whisper as his hands grabbed her face.
And as she drifted away, she could have sworn she whispered, "Was she worth it?"