Bleed Like Me

Part Two: Summer

Doodle takes Dad's scissors to her skin

This isn't Summer.

This is someone else. Because Summer Roberts wasn't a cutter. She wasn't, you know, Ms. Morbid USA. But… this one fact didn't make her stop.

It was an addiction, a reflex whenever something hurt, whenever she didn't feel alive. She didn't want to feel okay that first time, when her razorblade nicked her leg when she was shaving and it felt—

It felt—

Wonderful.

She waited.

Until that Her Highness of Bitchiness, a.k.a. her stepmom, had left the premises. God knows she'd probably join in. Or whatever.

She grabbed her dad's scissors from his office. Cruder than the razor heads she'd been using, but still effective. She pulls her blouse's sleeves away


And when she does relief comes setting in

Horizontal.

Shallow cuts.

She may have felt horrible, but she didn't want to bleed to death.

Did she?

No.

No, just keep going.

Oh, this feels good.

She offers a satisfied smile to her wrists, where the sweet, sticky blood is slowly tracing its way off in tiny, crimson beads. She's alive. This river of life trickling down her arms is proof.


While she hides the scars she's making underneath her pretty clothes

Bang.

The door's just opened, shuttering the whole house, and she wipes the blood from her arms with a sheet of paper towel. The sleeve comes down and shields her dirty secret, and she runs to greet whoever's just come in.

Cohen.

"Why the hell didn't you knock?" she yelled.

She'd tell him tomorrow.
She sings:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me


Next Up: Kiki, but not 'til tomorrow.