A/N: Well yeah… this is an interesting fic… I’m sorry is all I can say to everyone I know who may read this. And for those of you I don’t know, I do not encourage suicide or cutting in any way, shape, or form. So just take this as a story that should never come true.

Why am I doing this? I question as I run the metal paperclip across my wrist. With little restraint I make four lines on my skin, none of them breaking the skin however. I do this several times as I half-listen to the television playing softly in the background. It’s something about an escaped rapist from a jail.

I do this for maybe ten minutes, not varying my ministrations at all, just going over the same four lines over and over again. Eventually it begins to irritate the skin, causing it to turn red, but still no blood.

Releasing a deep sigh, I place the paper clip down and stare at it for a moment. A paperclip… God I am pathetic… Then looking to the right of where I had put the paperclip I found the blue wall tack that I had also brought with me to bed. This had potential.

Despite the protests made in my mind, I began to go over those four lines with the tack this time. The tack being much sharper, it only takes two times to break the skin. Some sick relief runs through my body as the first cut is made. The second, third, and fourth follow shortly after. Blood begins to push its way out of the cuts.

So many things pass through my mind as the blood begins to drip down my wrist. What about my friends? What about Karissa and Holly… What about Derek…

Feeling a stabbing in my chest I drop the bloody tack and it lands on my mattress. I start to come back to my senses and start to panic. My breathing speeds up and my world begins to spin. What have I done…

Quickly I rush over to my computer desk where I find a box of care bare band-aids. They had been a present from someone years ago and I’ve yet to open them. The card on them read ‘For when life sends you boo-boos, your friendly care bares will help you through.’

An even deeper sense of guilt spreads through my body as I tear the box open and remove three band-aids. Shaking, I struggle to get them opened, but somehow I managed. Wiping the blood away with a tissue I place the band-aids on my wrist, hoping that it will hide the marks from the world. Then I hide the band-aid wrappers and the bloody tissue in the trash can. I quickly dispose of the tack and paperclip as well.

Shaking terribly I climb into bed, cringing at the burning sensation in my wrist. Oh god… I think as I hide under my covers. I think I’ve just done something terrible…

A/N: Like I said, a story that should never come true... And it will never happen ever again.