Disclaimer: I don't own PR. Deal with it.
I sat looking at the blood trickling slowly down my arm. Feeling the rush of contentment flowing through my veins. Not caring that I was making a mess all over my bed, I grabbed a towel to dab at my arm. Suddenly feeling as if one cut was not sufficient, I took the razor blade on my hand and slowly drew it over my wrist. Feeling the absolute pain, followed by a release comparable to having an orgasm. I reach over and grab the towel to clean up once more. Not bothering to find a bandage, I lay back and close my eyes.
Thinking back, I don't believe I can pinpoint the exact moment in which I decided to become a cutter. I didn't sit down and think of ways to hurt myself, nor did I ponder committing suicide; for very long, anyway. Flipping listlessly through the channels on the huge television Tommy had convinced me that we needed, I came across a Lifetime movie dealing with self-mutilation. It was as if a light bulb had gone off over my head. I had barely heard of cutting, and yet it was right in front of my face. I had a razor in the bathroom..
Growing up in Angel Grove we never really had the problems facing young people today. My friends and I were incredibly sheltered. Though a few of us had our crosses to bear. Billy for instance, losing his mother so early in his life, scarred him a little bit. It showed in his dealings with Trini and I, as well girls he developed crushes on. He never had a feminine influence in his life, and his father was so busy with work, with running from his own pain, he rarely had time for his only son.
Tommy also had hidden pain no one knew about. He was adopted, and loved his adoptive parents more then life itself, but there was something lacking for him, family wise. He never knew his birth parents, and there was a gaping hole in his heart that would never mend, no matter how deeply he was loved by his adoptive parents. Only I knew the tears he shed when Ms. Appleby gave us the assignment of making a family tree in high school.
I myself had an invisible burden to bear. My parents divorced when I was about thirteen, and it broke my heart. My mother was always so busy helping me be the best gymnast I could be, from finding the best coaches, to traveling with me to competitions, I believe that my father came second to me, in my mothers mind. Her marriage wasn't as important as a smile lighting up my young face as I received another gold medal. My father was a deeply loving and patient man, but could not bear his wife choosing their daughter over him. I blamed myself, as most children do when their parents divorce, and it was very hard for me to open myself up to a serious relationship when I grew older.
Growing up, Zack also had things he blamed himself for. The Taylor's moved to Angel Grove when Zack was a younger kid who was very rebellious and wasn't prone to following rules. He was kicked out of many schools because they just could not deal with such a hyperactive boy. His mother had many roots in his hometown of San Diego, and was heartbroken when they had to move to Angel Grove just to find a school suitable for Zack. Seeing his mother's tears was a wake-up call for Zack, and he matured and grew up to be the wonderfully caring person he is today. Though he is still very bouncy.
Angel Grove High was our sanctuary. Though being constantly assailed by Rita and her monsters, we always knew school was a safe place. There were no fights, no violence, other then the random school science project being zapped into a two hundred foot volcano. And surprisingly enough there were no teenage pregnancies, no anorexic girls walking around, and no drugs and alcohol problems. All those things affecting every other high school in America just kind of seemed to skip over AGH. The happy and tight-knit group of friends that wandered those halls wearing our ranger colors is no more. At least to me it is.
Opening my eyes, I glance down at the shallow slashes I have made over my left wrist. I do not do it to die, though if that happened because of my cuts, it is of little consequence to me. I notice that the deeper of the two cuts is still bleeding, and won't stop. I stare at it, eyes slightly glazed over in pain. Maybe it will stop, and maybe it won't. I should probably be afraid. But I can't seem to muster up the will to care.
A.N: Thank you all for the lovely reviews that I have received, it means a lot to me. Sorry I made you cry, Shamrock, but I couldn't help it. Expect some new chapters to come within the week. Thanks all for being patient. I haven't pre-written any chapters, so I'm kind of just winging it.