A/N: This is kinda a challenge I'm doing to myself. I love this story and am trying to change it to fit every fandom I love. It was originally X-Men. This is only the second version. Look for more coming soon!!!
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 his betrayal, but if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine him smirking at her naiveity.
For thinking he had loved her.
Slice.
For thinking he was different.
Slice.
For being unlovable.
Slice.
Undesirable.
Slice.
Stupid.
Slice.
Naive.
Slice.
For acting like the kid Dom always said she was.
Slice.
She stared hypnotized by the blood running down her arm. If he actually cared, he would be here. The Brian she knew would have fought hell's demons themselves to be with her. The Brian she knew wouldn't be ratting her brother, her team, out to the cops. Tears welled up at this and she realized that maybe she didn't know Brian. Maybe she was wrong about him being this great, wonderful person. 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 hand caressing her face.
Slice.
His lips brushing hers.
Slice.
His sexy grin.
Slice.
The memories of her own actions came forward. Demanding more cuts, more retribution.
Believing his lies.
Slice.
Forcing the team to accept him.
Slice.
Her own clumsy attempts at seduction. All nerves.
Slice.
For giving her innocence so easily.
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 the team. It's the way it was.
And as darkness surrounded her, she could have sworn she heard him enter the shop. Sworn she heard his harsh whisper as his hands grabbed her face.
And as she drifted away, she could have sworn she whispered, "Was it worth it?"
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 his betrayal, but if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine him smirking at her naiveity.
For thinking he had loved her.
Slice.
For thinking he was different.
Slice.
For being unlovable.
Slice.
Undesirable.
Slice.
Stupid.
Slice.
Naive.
Slice.
For acting like the kid Dom always said she was.
Slice.
She stared hypnotized by the blood running down her arm. If he actually cared, he would be here. The Brian she knew would have fought hell's demons themselves to be with her. The Brian she knew wouldn't be ratting her brother, her team, out to the cops. Tears welled up at this and she realized that maybe she didn't know Brian. Maybe she was wrong about him being this great, wonderful person. 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 hand caressing her face.
Slice.
His lips brushing hers.
Slice.
His sexy grin.
Slice.
The memories of her own actions came forward. Demanding more cuts, more retribution.
Believing his lies.
Slice.
Forcing the team to accept him.
Slice.
Her own clumsy attempts at seduction. All nerves.
Slice.
For giving her innocence so easily.
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 the team. It's the way it was.
And as darkness surrounded her, she could have sworn she heard him enter the shop. Sworn she heard his harsh whisper as his hands grabbed her face.
And as she drifted away, she could have sworn she whispered, "Was it worth it?"