Scars and Nightmares: Chapter One
AN: If any of you know anything about me you won't be surprised by this story. Anyway, I couldn't let this go. If you can't handle it I suggest you stop reading right now, this story is disturbing. Suicide, rape, torture, murder and cutting are all mentioned here. Please don't think I condone any of these things, just understand that I've been there. Seek help if you need it, please. You don't have to live in pain forever, it does get better even if it never completely goes away.
I know it's not usually typical for an adult to be a cutter, but it isn't unheard of. So just go with me on this.
Originally I only intended this to be a one-shot, the main reason being that the emotions here are so raw. I changed my mind though as the subject deserved more than a paltry mention. Let me know if you want me to continue this one. I had no intention of posting any of it until I finished one of my other ones, but I need to know that I'm not wasting my time here.
For the most part, I think this will be from Jasper's point of view, only occasionally delving into Edward's mind. The chapters will be cut into much shorter ones, mainly because it's hard to digest strong emotions all at once.
Characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, although I doubt she'd like this story.
Death. It was such a small, insignificant word, yet powerful. The word alone incited fear and terror in some. For others though, like me, it was my salvation, my saving grace. My salvation from the terror of my mind, from the things I kept hidden. Death was my peace. I would take it, welcome it.
Who was screaming? I had to get to them, it was my job to save them. Why couldn't I move my legs? It was like trying to wade through sand. Kids were all screaming, little boys to be more specific. Where were they? "Please save us." I heard from far away. "No... don't touch me." Another little boy's scared voice came to me. "Where's mommy?" Questioned a boy in a small voice. "You'll pay for this." Said what sounded like an older child.
Trying to push my legs to move I slapped at them hard. That's when I realized I'd been having another nightmare. I'd been having these nightmare's ever since Emmett had brought me those videos of those little boys. I awoke sweaty, wrapped up in my sheets and fell out of the bed still cocooned in them.
My body was shaking and in desperate need of a fix. Getting myself out of the sheets I went into the bathroom. I was falling apart again. Opening one of the drawers I pulled out the razors I kept there for just such an emergency and sat down on the side of the bathtub. I usually had to hide them out of sight because when I felt well I had a tendency to throw them out. Whenever I got bad, like now, I'd end up at the grocery store shaking and sweaty like an addict, I got fewer question's this way.
Taking out one of the shiny blades I pressed it into my thigh and dragged it across making another line across it matching the others. I always did this here as the arms were too noticeable. I let out a moan of pleasure, of the pure release of pain that I felt. It was odd to get pleasure from this kind of pain, but I did. I relished it, it kept me sane in this insane world. It felt good. If I thought I wouldn't get caught I'd cover my entire body in these little cuts. So few people ever understood what that felt like, the agony and the delight.
I wasn't insane, I'd just been through a lot of shit in my life. No one knew except my parents and they were now dead. My parents were much older when they had me, so I was an only child. My mother ended up dying of breast cancer and my father from despair, if that's possible. I was sure that it was since he stopped living, eating, sleeping, speaking or joining in life at all. That made me angry. I still needed my father, but he chose a slow suicide instead.
Cutting my thigh again I felt the pain being released again, but I didn't get nearly the same high as I did from the first cut. Putting the blades away I picked myself up off the floor and went back to my bedroom. I wasn't going to sleep now. One of the boys I'd been dreaming about was me.