SUMMARY: It's nothing, it doesn't matter. But it did. When a person decides to stop asking for help, and does the only thing they know to get free of the pain. Partly autobiography.

Listening while writing: What A Shame - Shinedown


"Life is only a long and bitter suicide, and faith alone can transform this suicide into a sacrifice."

- Franz Lisz

Eyes closed, breathing calmed down.

It's nothing, she told herself. It doesn't matter.

But it was something, it did matter, and it was crushing her heart … or what was left of it.

But for a second she felt better, so she dared to open her eyes – better that way, so she wouldn't arouse any suspicions. The first thing she saw was them in a lip-lock.

They were in love, she knew that, and she loved both of them enough to not hate them for it. One was her saviour, her dream, her ex, and her problem – as much as she tried to understand it, life just couldn't give her an answer. How can a person love another with such intense that doesn't go away over time, how can she get along with him so fine, how can she see him as perfection in this world, and yet none of her feelings, none of her affections were returned, not ever, not one bit. It gave her nightmares of her best friend leaving because she snapped under pressure of loving him; it gave her fear of doing something wrong, it made her tired of trying to live, to move on.

The other person was the centre of his happiness. She was beautiful, and nice, and perfect, and she loved him.

They were made for each other.

So why did it hurt so much?

They stopped and she lifted her head, waiting to be noticed. They knew exactly where she was, she hasn't moved for that exact reason. She hoped he would turn around and she could shake her head. She knew he would understand what she meant, he did promise her he would keep it private in front of her.

He didn't look at her, they both turned back towards the play.

She hoped that was it, that they wouldn't do it again, and when the first act was over she went to them and tried to make a conversation, but they were both busy with their colleagues. She understood. She waited for her turn.

When others went away, she opened her mouth to ask something, anything to get their attention, but they were looking at each other with such love, she decided to move away, trying to make herself invisible.

He never looked at her in such a way, and she knew why. Their relationship was a pact, pact of helping her with removing the physical boundary of being untouched, pact without emotions involved. Only after that pact was over, and he was being called her best friend, did the emotions strike.

She felt worthless all her life, and now she felt selfish and disgusting for wishing she would be this girl, for wishing to throw away everything she was, her world, just for one look like that from him. Just for one kiss. Just for one word of fascination and adoration.

She wished she wouldn't have come. She was okay with everything if she didn't need to see it.

They kissed again and she ran.

Bathroom excuse always worked. She let her tears fall; she scratched her skin to get herself under control, knowing she was going to have another ugly scar that looked like a spot on her hands. She tried to breathe, but instead she was choking on air.

For a year, she tried everything, self-loathing, loathing, understanding, wishing, trying, asking, living. All it did to her was making her suffer longer.

She would do anything, anything to see him happy, and she knew that was exactly the wrong thing she was doing, but she couldn't help it. She wished he would understand, she wished that one day he would tell her what exactly she was to him. A burden? An object? A friend? She wished she knew why he still suffered her, when she was so selfish, so broken, so annoying.

She knew she needed to get back in control and out, before they'd start searching for her. She tried to calm her breathing, to dray away the tears, to concentrate on the pain of scratching, but it wasn't enough. Knowing what she'll have to face again out there made her want to stop breathing.

She wished she had something sharp, cutting always helped for a few hours.

She remembered she still had razors she once bought just for the sake of owning them.

For once, luck is on my side.

She reached into a secret pocket of the backpack, and dragged them out. Looking at the razor, she imagined him being mad as a bull, as he always was when she cut. One thing he felt responsible for, seeing as he explained the process to her: 'Make sure it's clean, sterilized if possible. Do it on the hip, where no one sees bare skin. Don't ever cut too deep.' She annoyed him for days to get directions out of him. That was sometime before anti-depressants, when she did anything to get control, cutting was the least dangerous of them all.

She looked at the razor and thought about her life.

It was always like this. She always fell for someone out of her reach. She didn't understand how he could even touch her, as disgusting as she felt. She must find happiness in being alone, if only there wouldn't be that damn voice in her head, laughing amusingly every time she wished for something she knew she couldn't get. Why would anybody so amazing love her? She one no one, she was less than that. She didn't want to be stuck with someone she didn't feel anything for in the end – just another phase of trying to be happy.

For a moment, she looked at the razor and her wrists.

No, hips! the voice said.

She knew it wasn't him saying it, he was busy with his girlfriend outside. This wasn't a movie, where the hero jumps in and prevents her from doing it. There was no hero, for she was not worth saving.

She missed home so much. Home she dreamed of, beyond this world, where she would be somebody and where she would have friends and where she would be the one not caring and living. But so many times has she heard that she shouldn't do it. He said that as a writer, she should put that world on the paper. Don't do it, there's a world in your head. And others that actually went past the line where all they say it's absurd thought. They said to not do it for the sake of your friends. But all she felt she was doing to them was being an annoyance. Don't put them through this. But she couldn't find a reason not to, they would get over it, and she would stop hurting. She always stopped for the sake of somebody else. Sacrificed herself again, so they wouldn't be bothered and effected by her actions.

Shouldn't she for once in her life do something for herself, nobody else seemed to try for it.

She cut just for the hell of it, and again. All worse and best things happened to her when she did it for the hell of it. This one was the best one of them all. Pain receded as she became sleepy, and warm liquid dropped into the toilet and tainted the floor at the same time. Control came back and voice went quiet. Best of all, she wouldn't be a bother anymore. Nobody needed her, nobody would miss her.

No one came, and after a slow half an hour, she felt herself free of pain, going home.

"There's a hard life for every silver spoon,
There's a touch of grey for every shade of blue.
That's the way that I see life,
If there was nothing wrong, then there'd be nothing right."

- Shinedown (What A Shame)

A/N: Please, review!