Razor-Sharp Blood

(Sherry's POV)

' "You stupid girl! You can't do anything right! Why? WHY was I cursed with such a horrible child! You have soiled our honorable family name yet again!"-A loud SMACK can be heard-" Get up and act like the civilized Bellmond you are!" The young child looked up at her mother, tears streaming down her now bruised cheeks. She feebly stood up and looked up to her mother. But this time, where her mother was standing before, Brago stood in front of her as she was now her normal age. Brago had pure rage in his menacing eyes. He was the angriest she had ever seen anyone. "You worthless human." He hissed dangerously, charging forward and slashing her in the stomach-DEEP…'

I shot up in bed, breathing heavily as my head shot from side to side, eyes darting around my bed room. That horrible dream… I had it again. Attempting to calm myself, my gaze fell upon Brago. He was simply sitting on the couch near my window. His eyes were closed, but I supposed he was just in deep meditation.

Slowly, I pulled the covers that shielded me from the cold night and slipped out of bed. Keeping quiet enough not to let him know of my movements, I snuck over to a drawer though the darkness. I stuck my hand in and felt around a bit. I knew I had found it when I felt a small streak of pain briefly run across my finger. Putting my wounded finger into my mouth and making sure Brago was still 'sleeping', I pulled out the object I searched for. Then, I snuck out of my room and into the bathing room.

As soon as I was there, I felt secure enough to go to the sink. I sat the razor I previously retrieved down gently on the edge. As I rolled up the sleeve of my night gown, I strangely thought of Brago. 'What would he say if he found me doing this again?' Shaking my head, I tried to get him out of my mind so that I would have no second-thoughts. I glanced down to my now bare arm…so many cuts and scars covered the normally smooth surface of one's arm. I realized that when I pushed my sleeve up, a few started to bleed again. I ignored those.

I picked up the razor, held it to small, unwounded part of my wrist, and closed my eyes waiting for the pain to come again. I loose my breath, as I drop the blooded razor in the sink by surprise- I had never cut quite that deep before. The bitter-sweet stench of blood reached my nose and I quickly turn on the faucet. The pure water burned at first, but then my wrist became numb, just like before-like a demented, sick hobby.

I remembered how I would never do this when I was young, even if that was when the pain began. It's not that I didn't want to, but I was just too afraid. When I was younger, I tried many other forms of this practice, but all less painful. Now I realize, in the end, they're all the same. But after Koko saved me I stopped…at least, for a while.

I blame my mother. She's the one who convinced me to jump the bridge that day; the day I should have died. My mother would delude herself into thinking I was the cause of all her suffering, then brutally take it out on me. She was completely mad, crazy in my opinion. Sometimes after a beating, I would just hide in my room and wish (more or less pray) for her death. She pretended to be a great mother, just like she pretended to be oh so perfect and flawless. She was always pretending to be something else.

I vowed I would not cry as I watched my blood mix with the water, turning it a new tint of crimson. I watched and wondered as the blood seemed to pour forever. That was all I could do, seeing as it still hadn't stopped. I made no effort to stop it, either. Perhaps this was the end had had been waiting for so long for. Finally! Maybe the end was near-

Suddenly, I slightly jump hearing a noise outside of my door. I franticly search the surrounding area of the sink for something to cover the self-injured wound. When I found nothing in my grasp, I had no choice but to simply place my hand over the blood-pouring wound. The door burst open. "Brago…" I breathed. His clouded eyes fell from the blooded razor in the sink to the blood now seeping though my fingers.

"I've told you to stop that." His fists were clenched and anger flashed though his eyes, yet he only let out a small sigh that sounded more like a growl, really. I merely stood there, ashamed like a child as he opened a cabinet and pulled out a towel. I removed my now blood-drenched hand and he wrapped the towel around my arm with great care, but still fiercely. The mamodo was quite strange that way; he could be described one way, but also the exact opposite at the same time. It was just another quality that made him…unique and mysteriously attractive. Wait, wait… since when was Brago 'attractive'? He is only helping me get what I want, and I helping him. Nothing more.

When he finished wrapping my arm, he turned again to face me but somewhat gentler this time. "Sherry, once again, stop doing this. You can't die now. Remember what we fight for. Do it for me, your friend,…and for yourself." He said…kindly? Since when does he speak to me 'kindly'? But still I turn away, tears collecting in the corners of my eyes and rolling down my cheeks. Then, I do something unexpected to both him and me. Sobbing, I turn back to face him and throw my arms around his neck. I burry my face in his shoulder and cry. Since when does nothing make sense anymore?

"Th-thank you…I promise, I won't…n-not anymore." I choke. I'm not sure how long I stood there, clinging to him. Of course, he never returned the embrace, but I understood just allowing me to was good enough. After what seemed like a glorious forever, he (I supposed) decided I wasn't about to let go any time soon. He picked me up and carried me back to my bed.

I'm not sure if I said this, or thought it, or even dreamed it, but before I let slumber grasp me, I heard myself say; "Goodnight, Brago. I love you."

A/N: The last bit was sort of self-conscious.