A/N: I wrote this so please don’t steal it…thanks.

O.o O.o

The first thing I noticed was that it didn’t hurt. I thought about how, all these years when people told me cutting yourself, cutting anyone, would hurt, must have been lying, because there was an absence of pain. The second thing I noticed was that it did hurt. The pain came swiftly, fast. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Though there wasn’t much blood, much blood at all to tell the truth, my skin wasn’t used to having a razor blade pressed to it, marring it. I took the blade away and quickly held a tissue to the long, angular scratch, pressing down and holding firm. As I did it, I let a deep sigh escape my mouth. I felt good. I felt alive.

As soon as the bleeding stopped on that one, I did it again. And then again. And again. And again. I did it until my formerly plain, white wrist and upper arm was covered in bloody scratches. I sighed. My head was hurting a little, but I felt amazing, better and more in control than I had in weeks. I wiped the surprising tear tracks off of my face, slipped the razor blade into my underwear drawer where my mother, who rarely paid attention anyways, wouldn’t find it, and climbed into bed.

The next day, staring at the lines on my arm, I knew I had to tell somebody. Not a “professional,” but a friend. I told my friend Adam, who completely flipped out. Mind you, I hadn’t seen Adam in quite some time. He’d been a friend of mine growing up, but then he’d moved to Weston, and I had barely spoken to him since. He was almost 19, and I’d just turned 17.

“What’s up?” Adam typed. “Nothing much…my wrist hurts.” I said, thinking about how lame it all sounded, even to me. “Why?” He asked, his bright blue font and my cursor becoming one.

“I cut it.” “Doing what?”

“I did it on purpose.” There was a minute long pause here, in which I guessed that Adam was collecting his thoughts in order to spit them back out. It had been years since we’d talked last…I think it was shortly after my twelfth birthday, in which he’d said he had different friends now and didn’t want to talk much anymore.

“Elli…come on.” He said. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” The words flashed on the screen and I unconsciously wiped away a tear that had begun its way down my face.

“No.”

“Now why the hell would you do something like that? WHY?” I typed in an action at that point, a shrug, and he said, “No. No shrugging. You don’t get to tell me this then back off. Nothing is worth doing that!!” The two exclamation points showed that Adam wasn’t willing to kid about any of this. “I’m emailing your school counselor. It’ll all be fine.”

I leaned my head against the computer screen. Guess I’d made the wrong choice when it came to who to tell. “No, Adam…please, I’ve got it under control.”

Five minutes went by with nothing, until….

“I sent it.” That bright blue font told me, and I reached inside the dresser drawer behind me, pulling out the blade.

If he was going to tell, well…there better be something to talk about.