"Brian, let me go." He was clutching my arm, and I think my arm was starting to turn purple. I looked down to check. Not purple, but it was losing blood circulation. Yippee.
"Seriously!" I tried to pull my arm back, but he grabbed my other arm now.

"Don't talk to me like that, Chloe. All you are is a whore, and you need me. I'm the only one you have." He growled, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"I'm not a whore, and I have plenty of people other than you."

"Like who? Your mom? Oh wait-she's halfway across the world over half of the year."

It was true. My mom was always on business trips. I usually didn't mind, but sometimes it just got to me, you know?
"I have Amy and Paul, Alek and Jasmine, and even Valentina. Which is a lot more people you have in YOUR life, considering your dad's always working and your mom is DEAD." I snapped.

Then he slapped me.

Yep. Brian SLAPPED ME. I stood there with my head slightly to the side, my expression shocked, holding my red cheek. Now I know what you're thinking. Brian was just so...nice when we first met. Right? Wrong. Apparently it was all an act to get me to trust him. Now he was just another person in my life who wanted to harm me, along with the Order. I almost went Mai on him, but I stopped myself just in time.

Instead, I glared at him. Yep. Nice fighting back, huh? It's just that every time I looked at Brian's face, I'm reminded of the fun times we had back then when he was the sweet, caring Brian. Now we were in an abusive relationship, which wasn't even a relationship, really, because I'm not aloud to kiss him.

"Don't hit me." I growled. He smacked me again. I should've seen that coming...
"I can do whatever the hell I want with you!" I pulled out of his grasp and ran home. Home to an empty house, no father, no mother, no friends.

Don't get me wrong. I love Amy and Paul, but sometimes they were just too wrapped up in themselves and their relationship that I feel like a third wheel around them. I ran to my room and cried, tears stinging my eyes and wetting my cheeks. I fell against a wall and slid down, sobbing uncontrollably. I reached in my bag and pulled out my knife. I pulled up my sleeve and made a deep, long cut across my wrist.


But I can't help it. I need the physical pain to be stronger than the pain I feel inside, the loneliness I feel in my heart, or I just can't make it.

It would drive me crazy.
I, Chloe King, am a cutter.