Um, wow. I love the reaction I'm getting to this (even though it's only one reviewer so far, it's amazing). So shout out to my first reviewer, Ruby-Ashley. You're the biggest reason I'm going on. Here's an interesting little fact about this fic: I started it based off of an actual friend of mine with no intention of it turning into a fic. Now, it's my very first fic and it's really exciting. I changed the rating to T because of the mention of cutting, promiscuity, and abuse in this chapter. So, without further ado, here is the next chapter.

I hate feeling this way. I remember being able to feel once, and it was wonderful. The feeling of love continues to linger in the back of my mind, teasing every thought. I have tried to feel again. After a year and a half, it seems I have tried everything. A week after he left, I started trying.
I had just gotten out of an hour long shower that was so hot I saw that I had burned myself on the back of my neck. I could not feel it. The razor sat on the counter, nothing special or intriguing about it. Before I met him, I used it often. When I knew him, I had no reason to use it. After he left me, I struggled to stop myself. I had gotten so close to doing it before that night. I held the blade to my arm, tempted to break skin. I knew that once I started, I would not be able to stop. This time, however, I had a desperate need to feel again. The smell of blood filled the air, nauseating me. I began to feel faint and dizzy, but I did not feel pain. I threw out the razor and never cut myself again.

A month after that incident, the scar on my arm had faded to the point where I could wear less bracelets and shorter sleeves. I was trying to move on, but for some reason, I could not get a date. Not a single guy was interested. I looked in the mirror one day and I realized that I was not pretty enough. I was too fat, so I stopped eating. I lost a lot of weight quickly. I blamed my lack of appetite on the heartbreak.

About two months later, once I had lost enough weight, I started going to clubs. My desire to feel again caused a lust for that kind of lifestyle. I tried drugs once. I was known as the girl who would try anything once. They had little effect on me, so I never did them again. One night, I got horridly drunk and ended up spending the night with a stranger. I woke up in an unfamiliar hotel room, and I could not remember anything about the night before. There was blood on the sheets, which terrified me. Was it mine?

"You should have told me you were a virgin," he grumbled at me.

"I… We… Uh, I'm sorry. I have to go," I was babbling, but I did not care. I threw on the first things I found and ran out of the room.

That was not the last time that happened. At first, I felt lust and excitement. Eventually, I became bored and complacent. I stopped the promiscuity three months later after one particular night, a night that I would love to undo. I went home with him, but he did not use me. He did not want to take advantage of me in my drunken state. This flattered me. He seemed like a pretty good guy, so I took a chance on him.

After two months of dating him, I fooled myself into believing that he loved me, and I trusted him. This was the first night he hit me. I left in a daze, not saying anything. I did not talk much anyway, though, so no one regarded my mute stage as strange. He convinced me to come back after a couple of weeks, apologizing profusely, showering me with gifts, going out of his way to prove himself to me. Only a week after getting back together, he started to beat me. I stayed with him though, because he manipulated me into believing that he was the only one that cared. He died in a car accident on our six month anniversary.

On the outside, I looked like a beautiful, young, single girl. I immersed myself in my work, robotically attending to my duties. Life was dull, the color and vibrancy I had once seen had drained from it. It was cold and empty. I have been alone for two months, unwilling to try anything else. I cannot even trust myself.

Everyone seems to accept my new lifestyle. Then again, no one pays much attention to me. I have become boring. I lost my job and was forced to move back home. I did not tell any of my old friends that I was back because I did not want to see anyone from my past. The constant reminder of him would have been too much to bear. Even though I was numb, the damage was still being done. I was unraveling. I was falling apart. I was broken.

Now, I sit here, wallowing in my own self-pity. A faint knock on my door causes me to jump. I walk towards the door slowly, afraid of who may be on the other side. Probably just a Jehovah's Witness, right? I hesitantly open the door, revealing someone who was certainly not a Jehovah's Witness. Someone whose face stirred something deep inside me, something light and warm.

"Hey, Sonny."

Okay, I hope you all enjoyed that. It's got a little angst, but I have a feeling it'll start picking up soon. Please review for more!