|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 14, 2009 13:57:32 GMT
I’ve tried to make it clear, ever since my latest batch of idiocy, that if I wanted to be with Riley I would be. I’ve certainly had enough chances.
And I’m relatively certain Logan knows it, or at least he hasn’t said otherwise. Which is good, because I’m certainly doing my damnedest to convince him.
The problem is convincing myself.
And the solution – or at least the best one I can think of at the moment, probably not saying much for my reasoning capabilities – is to be standing here beside the kitchen sink with an assortment of knives to choose from and bandages ready.
Back when I worked at the library, I remember being told that a small rubber band placed around the wrist was a good way to get rid of an irritating habit or persistent thought. You simply snap yourself on the wrist when a thought occurs, and it shocks you into stopping. When I actually tried this, however, to stop myself fidgeting, I discovered that the people recommending it must have a low tolerance for pain. Because personally, I barely felt it no matter how hard I tried to snap myself. Not enough to take notice anyway. But it’s still a sound idea, and combined with another idea I had more recently, took root and turned into this.
This second idea came at the moment when I finally made the decision to stick around with Logan even though I didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t a thought I paid much attention to at the time – just made the decision and then pushed it to the back of my mind – but it was there. I decided I would punish myself somehow, maybe turn back to my old habit of scratching up my arms with sharp objects. Scratching fades, I reasoned, so Logan wouldn’t notice; but it still hurts enough to serve as punishment.
I never did start that, however, and didn’t really think of it again until the thoughts came back. Or, more accurately, until Riley showed up and brought the thoughts with him. But it’s never been this bad before. In the past, I only thought of kissing him when he was right there, or when I was planning to leave Logan. Not semi-constantly, on a completely random basis triggered by nothing. It hasn’t been like that since I was convinced I was in love with him, back before I had this stupid triangle to deal with. I’ve never thought of kissing him when I’m perfectly happy with Logan. It’s time for the rubber band trick again.
But I already know it doesn’t work, and scratching fades too quickly to be a reminder. So at first I thought of cutting – real, hardcore cutting, juvenile and noticeable as it is – but I don’t want to go down that road. Especially not when it’s supposed to be so addictive, with the rush of endorphins and all. That’s not the point here, to get any sort of relief. The point is to remind myself that I don’t want to think what I’m thinking. That I don’t want to be Riley.
The thing is – and I have to applaud myself for this little insight – it’s not really “cutting,” not the adolescent and addictive kind, if you “accidentally” cut/harm/injure yourself. And it’ll be lasting, like a good reminder should be. It’s hard to ignore a damaged finger, for example. You use them too often. And it’s easy enough to write off as accidental, unlike slashes across the wrists. So overall, it’s perfect, meeting every requirement for what I need to do. And so that’s why I am where I am, doing what I’m doing, feeling a bit shaky and incredibly nauseous.
This is really sick, my head says disbelievingly, while I pick up a knife to test it in my hand, then change my mind and go for the heavy scissors instead, swallowing hard and willing myself not to throw up. You’re completely fucking mental, did you know that? You need help. Only someone crazy would slice open her own finger.
Well, apparently I am, because the next thing I know I’ve let out a hiss of pain, then a series of shaky, half-whimpering laughs while I clutch my pinkie finger in a clean, dampened rag, accidentally knocking the flap of skin askew and just trying to stop the bleeding and the burning before I bandage it, unable to utter much more than stifled curses.
Why in the fuck did I do that?
((Whenever I write one of these, I tend to feel like I'm giving people ideas, so here's a disclaimer: For the love of all that's holy, do not ever try this. I don't care who you are, whether I know you or not. Just don't. Please.))
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 17, 2009 20:11:44 GMT
There's something to be said for trying to kick a habit, something to be said for withdrawal. I sort of decided it wouldn't be a problem, that I have no trouble with ignoring most of the things people fall prey to being addicted to so I wouldn't really have to ever bother with this sort of thing.
Clearly, I was wrong.
There are some days where it's not a problem and I don't really give a shit about the abundance of people and I can even test my limits a little by remembering to bring my wand with me. There are other days, like today for instance, where it's a challenge to keep my head down and just make it to a secluded place and be away from the temptation. It's one of those days where I feel like an recovering addict in a room full of heroin, an ex-alcoholic in a bar.
It's been so long since I killed that woman, so long since I've been involved in that sort of scene.
Or not, actually, and maybe that's the problem. Maybe that's why the itch is back and why it's so hard to walk past people and just leave them be. I don't know. I guess it's been worse since my encounter with Ruby-Shelby-whoever. And although I was on the opposite side of the situation to where I usually am...fuck, at least I know what it takes to get a rush.
I knew anyway, I guess. Knew I had a preoccupation with sadism obviously, just wasn't aware that masochism was a shortcut to get a similar thrill, albeit a slightly half-hearted one. Nothing beats the God-like feeling, but being tortured certainly gets the adrenalin going.
It brought back the exhilaration, bought back the half-faded memory of how good it feels and how much I genuinely miss that sort of thing.
So that's why I'm on my way back, because I'm having trouble with the craving today so I'm cutting short the wandering before I do something stupid. My mood, as well as generally irritable because of these cravings, is also fairly low...aggravated by boredom and directionless discontent and prompting a mostly indifferent reaction when I let myself in to the house and head through to the kitchen.
Or indifferent to start with, maybe vaguely exasperated because at first it looks like I've just walked in on her being clumsy or something...but then I clock the small array of knives and scissors and the bandages laid out by the sink and I'm not quite sure what to think so I pause in the doorway to ask rather eloquently, "What did you do?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 17, 2009 20:25:39 GMT
Oh, fuck.
I think I can literally feel my heart jumping into my throat when I hear him behind me, and the rush of adrenaline combined with the blood loss and anxiety is certainly not helping to calm me down. I don't bother turning around in order to reply, too busy concentrating on my extremely shaky hands, trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to put any sort of bandage on this thing without getting blood all over the place.
"Nothing. Cut my finger." Deliberately. Because I'm a nutcase. But you don't need to know that.
Then again, he might catch on anyway. I scan the array of knives I was considering; first aid supplies already laid out. Oh, fuck. How will that look?
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 17, 2009 20:34:49 GMT
I pause, although it's not as if I was really expecting a different answer to that. From the look of the plethora of knives and first aid, it looks more like she was considering surgery on herself rather than accidentally cutting her finger.
And I don't know if it's because I've been idly thinking about masochism during my walk or if this really does look incredibly suspicious, but I think I'll question her about it shortly rather than just now.
Instead I cross the room to stand next to her, "Want some help with that or would you rather bleed all over the place?"
It doesn't escape my notice that she's shaking so badly either, which is slightly unnerving and just sort of incriminates her further.
Lovely.
|
|
|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 17, 2009 20:43:48 GMT
"If you'd open up one of those bandage packets since it's kind of hard to do with one hand, that would be appreciated," I say in a sort of thin voice that doesn't quite sound like my own, nodding to the box of muggle bandaids and trying not to really meet his eyes without actually looking like I'm avoiding it.
Of course, I could manage to do it on my own. But as long as he's offering I may as well take it. This hurts a lot more than I thought it would, actually, but as long as I swear under my breath every couple of seconds I think I can keep from crying.
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 17, 2009 20:57:39 GMT
Ah, so I'm really not being unnecessarily paranoid. Physical evidence and shaking hands aside, she doesn't sound like herself either and I'm not sure if she's deliberately avoiding eye contact or not but it seems that way.
"So how'd you manage to slice your finger open?" I ask, taking the opportunity of opening up a band-aid from the packet to look at that rather than her. The question sounds sort of dull and flat because I hate attempting to sound casual and therefore don't even try.
It's a pretty obsolete question anyway with a fairly obvious answer, but I don't want to be the first one to comment about how suspicious this looks.
|
|
|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 17, 2009 21:03:00 GMT
... That's a very good question, actually. One that shouldn't make my throat close up because I ought to know the answer. But I don't. Not the proper answer anyway, the right one - the one where it's an accident. And do I honestly believe that he'll believe that anyway?
I swallow hard, sneaking a peak at my finger and then wishing that I hadn't because it's really kind of sickening, though at least the tip isn't completely gone and it's not sliced to the bone like it feels like. That's something.
"... Just... stupid accident," I mutter, mostly just to see what he'll say and whether he'll call me on it. He wasn't supposed to know. I was supposed to have all the evidence cleared away before he got home.
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 17, 2009 22:53:56 GMT
"Well, playing with knives isn't the most intelligent of ideas." I respond, mostly under my breath.
The blood is making me feel faintly sick, reminding me of all sorts of things. It's not helping, especially considering the sort of mood I'm in today.
I'm no good at this either, healing or helping or things like that, so maybe that should be the new rule. She can cry now, but she's not allowed to bleed.
I hand her the bandage after a moment, saying because I don't want to just ignore it. "So...stupid accident as in genuine stupid accident or...as in stupid masochistic idea made to look like an accident?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 17, 2009 23:40:27 GMT
I grimace/wince slightly as I take the bandaid from him and quickly wrap it around my finger before the blood can well up again. I knew I couldn't keep this up forever, but still... I'd rather not get caught.
"It was a scissors, actually. And I'm not masochistic."
I do, I think, enjoy pain on a very tiny level... but not pain as bad as this. And besides, I had a good reason for it.
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 17, 2009 23:53:51 GMT
"Oh...well scissors make all the difference. It's okay as long as you use fucking scissors instead of a fucking knife."
I don't know where that came from because I don't remember even considering saying that. It just decided to be said, without my approval. I don't think I would have said it otherwise, if it had gone through the screening process, because it's sort of snappish and I don't mean to be.
"So, if not masochism then what?" I ask instead, because that first part doesn't require an answer.
I can't see any sane reasoning behind lining up a load of sharp objects and doing that to yourself.
|
|
|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 18, 2009 0:02:36 GMT
Punishment. But I can't tell you that either.
I ignored the snappy comeback in favor of putting a second bandage over the first to make sure the whole finger's covered. He has a decent point, anyway, so it's not like I can argue. But I can't ignore the question, and I'm not sure I have a very good answer.
"It - I... needed to, that's all." I shrug slightly, holding the injured hand to my chest while I rinse out the rag with the other, double-checking for any spots of blood elsewhere in the kitchen.
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 18, 2009 0:06:19 GMT
"You...needed to?"
I've never really understood that sort of compulsion, so the concept is sort of alien. She's going to have to answer better than that.
"Why would you need to do that?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 18, 2009 0:10:15 GMT
Because... it worked. I'm no longer thinking about kissing Riley. See? Problem solved.
"Dammit, you weren't supposed to know," I say instead of answering... seeing as I can't. "I'd have it all fixed up by the time you got home, and you'd never need to know it was anything but an accident."
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 18, 2009 0:14:32 GMT
"Well that's all very well and good but it didn't answer the question."
It's not all very well and good because I would have believed her, without even giving it a second thought...if I even noticed at all.
But whether she was planning on hiding it from me or not is irrelevant.
|
|
|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 18, 2009 0:19:04 GMT
"Well, maybe I don't want to answer the damn question," I mutter, perhaps more irritably than I have a right to be, especially considering the throbbing and burning and stinging that's so distracting me is all my fault.
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 18, 2009 0:27:33 GMT
I ignore her and ask again, "Why would you 'need' to do that?"
It doesn't matter whether she wants to answer it or not. It's a question deserving of an answer.
|
|
|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 18, 2009 0:31:15 GMT
Dammit. I open my mouth to answer again but don't have one, so instead just shake my head, looking away for a moment until I can make myself speak. "... B-because... I deserved it, all right? I needed to."
And I think that's the best he's going to get, so I hope he's bloody satisfied.
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 18, 2009 0:35:36 GMT
"Deserved it?" I repeat, with a hint of cynicism.
I don't think she knows anything about being someone who deserves a shitload of pain. I don't think she's possibly done anything wrong to merit anything more than slight discomfort. But then again, what the fuck do I know about moral justice and who deserves what?
"And what did you do to deserve it?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 18, 2009 0:40:15 GMT
I give him an I-think-you-know sort of look, not wanting to say outright that it has anything to do with the whole... situation with him and Riley; then shake my head.
"No; I'm not saying any more than that. You don't answer my questions unless it bloody suits you, so there you go. That's all I'm saying and it's... it's fine, it's over. It'll heal." But not for a while. And it's none of your business.
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 18, 2009 0:48:36 GMT
I don't know if I'm being particularly slow or what, but I'm still fairly clueless.
I can't think of anything she could have possibly done that would warrant-...oh. Unless she's being a fickle whore again. But I thought that was over and out of the way. I, for some reason, assumed that situation was done. So I'm not going to assume...don't want to assume that it's anything to do with fickle whoring.
And I could argue with that, could say I do bloody well answer her questions most of the time and I don't deliberately dodge things that might be potentially important...I don't think, but I don't want to argue about that right now.
"It's...not fine."
So tell me, talk to me, for the love of God. Otherwise what else am I supposed to do? I'm fucking trying.
|
|
|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 18, 2009 0:58:02 GMT
"Sure it is. No big deal," I mutter, shrugging. I think I'm going to sit down now... but, on the other hand, I haven't put away all the knives yet. Or cleaned off the scissors. I hesitate briefly with indecision, then shrug. Fuck it. I can clean up later, when I don't feel quite so lightheaded. I'm sure I didn't lose that much blood, but maybe I'm just a wuss, or it's shock or some such thing. Either way I think it's best to sit down at the table, folding my left arm over my right to keep the injured finger from touching anything.
"I'm sorry, this isn't... your fault, or anything," I say after a moment, looking up. "It's just me, just something I needed to do."
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 18, 2009 1:03:32 GMT
I shrug, leaning against the counter because I don't want to sit down.
I hadn't considered whether it was my fault or not, didn't say it, didn't think it...so maybe because she's denying it...it's a backwards way of saying that it is my fault. That I've done something. Wouldn't be the first time, I suppose.
"You keep saying that and it's still not really any clearer," I say after a pause.
She does keep saying that, that she needed to do it, and then not explaining.
"An explanation would be nice."
|
|
|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 18, 2009 1:06:53 GMT
"I don't know if I've got one," I lie, shrugging. "Not one that you would understand anyway," I add hastily because it's not like I didn't have any reason at all. But still... 'I did it so I would stop thinking about kissing Riley' ... eh, no. I can't tell him that.
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 18, 2009 1:12:39 GMT
"Speak slow and I'll try to keep up." I mutter.
I don't particularly like the 'not one that you would understand' part of that, although I'm fairly sure it's not meant in that context. But how complicated or foreign a concept can it be? And I want a bloody answer and I'm getting sick of asking the same questions.
|
|
|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 18, 2009 1:17:31 GMT
"I don't mean you're stupid, just that I can't explain it," I mutter impatiently, looking up again. I'd really like to exit this conversation now, before I weaken as usual and just tell him anyway.
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 18, 2009 1:22:55 GMT
"How about you try?"
It can't be hard to try and explain it either, although I do wish that remark had come out sounding less like a challenge. But the longer this goes on the more uneasy I'm getting and I just want to know before I imagine something worse in place of the truth.
|
|
|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 18, 2009 1:28:43 GMT
How about you lay the fuck off and go away?
I bite my lip, hard enough to very temporarily distract from the throbbing in my hand, and shrug in defeat. I can at least tell half the truth, right? Since I've already told a fourth?
"It's because I deserved it," I say again, patiently, looking steadily at the table. "Because of what I did to you and Riley."
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 18, 2009 1:36:23 GMT
I force back the temptation to roll my eyes at that, because it really is just a stupid reason...and also probably not a sane one.
Now was that so fucking hard?
I can't understand why it was quite so hard to say that. And she used past tense, right? What she did, not what she's doing...so it's nothing I don't already know, nothing to be concerned about.
Nothing to be concerned about apart from the fact she's deciding to start hacking at herself with scissors over it.
Hm.
"Right...well, that's perfectly rational and-..." I stop and shake my head slightly. "You're not going to do anything this stupid again, are you?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Arden Patricks on Apr 18, 2009 4:32:34 GMT
"That depends," I shrug, despite my surprise that it isn't as bad as I thought, to admit that. It never is; but then again maybe my stalling somehow softens whatever news I'm trying not to divulge. But never mind. "On how you define 'this stupid' and whether you mean ever or just soon."
Granted, I know that he's right and that it's stupid and irrational of me to cut myself as punishment... but that doesn't mean I can't be stubborn about it.
|
|
|
|
Post by Logan Andrews on Apr 18, 2009 7:18:05 GMT
"'Ever' would be nice, but I'll settle for 'soon'." I shrug slightly.
I'm not going to bother trying to define 'this stupid'. General hacking at oneself with sharp implements will do, I suppose, but I can't be bothered to argue so I won't say it.
|
|
