A/N: This story was originally my friend's idea. Each of us actually wrote our own versions of the same story just to see who could come up with the best plot. Here's mine:

A Blossom Of Pain

Chapter 1

The girl drew the knife across her wrists almost languidly. A red line appeared as blood escaped from the wound. She watched, fascinated, as a drop of blood traced a path down her wrist, to her palm and down a slim finger. It dropped.

She frowned as she realized that she could feel the dull aching pain in her chest. She must cut harder the next time, she mused as she watched another drop of blood form and slide down her hand. She gripped her knife harder and pressed. This time she could feel the pain. Sweet, sweet pain. She leaned back against the lacy pillows lining her bed and smiled, her bleeding hand extended over the side of the bed.

The moon shone through the windows in her bedroom, the curtains drawn back. She became aware of a howl coming from the bedroom adjoining hers. Soft yips and whines could be heard, and frantic scratching at the door that opened to her room.

The girl sighed and reached over with her good hand to press a button on the phone. The sound of her respectful butler answering reached her ears. “Jess, could you see that Maria takes little Cookie out of the next room? He wants something.”

“Yes, miss,” came the familiar reply.

She pushed the same button and the speaker turned off.

A short while later, the door of the adjoining room opened and small rays of light leaked through. The French accent that was so typical of Maria flooded the room as she let loose a string of expletives as she scolded the dog. She must have scooped up the small Cocker Spaniel then because the scratching stopped.

The girl on the bed turned back to cut herself again but hesitated as a knock sounded on the door. “Mizz?” came the voice of the French maid.

“Yes, Maria?” the girl calmly replied, pressing the sharp point of the knife into her flesh.

“Iz you alright in there?” her voice sounded muffled coming through the thick wooden door.

“I’m fine,” the girl replied as more blood trickled out of the numerous wounds on her wrist. “You may leave.”

There was a slight pause before her old nanny answered, “Zleep well, mizz.”

In the small space between the floor and the door, the girl on the bed could see her maid hesitate before turning around and leaving the next room. There was darkness as the maid switched the light off.

The girl yawned as a deep lassitude overwhelmed her.

It was late. She should sleep.

But maybe one more small cut so she wouldn’t dream of him.

She made a nick higher up on her arm this time. It was becoming harder to conceal her scar marks. She would have to cut down on this. It was no good for her, yet it helped dull the pain of his loss. Oh well, she would come to it when that problem arose.

She pulled open a bedside drawer and took out a bottle of antiseptic germicide together with small cuttings of gauze.

She should always wash her wounds to reduce the risk of infection.