Private plot 5

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Under the window she sat and tried to keep herself sane but all she could think was locations. Knife on her shelf, sewing scissors in the closet (those are sharper than normal), box cutter in her parents, safety razors in the bathroom, razors in the garage, and countless screw drivers and pencil sharpeners. It was really a wonder she kept herself clean for this long and just maybe if she could survive one more day without bleeding the next would be easier, then the one after that more so. So many options so close around her and if she looked she probably could find more. Kitchen knives, sewing pins, glass cutter, they were all clear signs her parents did not care. She had kept herself clean and the scars were actually fading but the whole time she was surrounded by countless options. There had been times where she would have even gone so far as to break a glass cup and hide a shard as she cleaned up. There was so many tricks and the more creative you were the easier it was to do it.

She held her thumb so she could look at the small place where the skin had been separated, thin as a paper cut but much shallower. She always had so many options but before things had never been this bad. The first summer she sat at the window and the pain came from an empty stomach, then a bit after school started the pain came from her body being re-introduced to food. Weeks after that she rawness of her fingers as she taught herself the basics of guitar, then building sets left bruises and ray hands, occasionally a hammer smashed finger. Then nothing. Halfway though junior year she was no longer feeling external pain. Her body learned how to eat, skin stopped rubbing raw from work, and here she was testing the blade that was last sharpened two years ago and never used since.

Her eyes flickered around the room pausing at each place something sharp was hidden, she could not help it there was a need for some sort of high. Even sewing pins, that is what she had started out with. Scratch at the skin with the tiny needle and leave blocks where skin had been sliced so small so many times it formed one big scab. That was long enough ago only she could see the scars and that was just because she still saw the ghost of old actions. Eyes flickering from where the knife lay hidden to where the pins sat out to where her sewing bag lay in her closet, in the direction of the bathroom, in the direction of her dads room. Lists of options and locations scattered throughout the mess of files that is her mind but not a muscle moved. She simply pressed her bask to the wall and indulged in 'wishful thinking.' Her skin was light as paper and the black and blue ink that ran over it so many years ago had faded out but the author was back to write another story across her body with the came black and blue ink, faded pink braille on her stomach so even the blind would know she was used.

Debating and trying to make decisions, deciding if she needed any high or just the one the choice was made for her when a window opened. She curled back into the wall hoping he would not just jump over like she had before, not knowing if he was just letting air into the room. Hid voice pushed through the deafening silence loud and clear and for now she did not need a blade because just the sound of him, the idea he was talking to her sent her heart off and her mind tumbling right down the road to addiction. Her eyes searched in vain through the silence looking for a jacket, for a long sleeved shirt but there was none in sight. Watching and waiting while she searched for something to hide the shame. She needed to look through to the storm raging in his eyes and see the look on his face but she would never be able to handle the shame of him seeing the destructive art that had just been started on her arm. Nothing to cover shame and pain with but he broke through the frantic searching by finishing the thought, by saying he did not know how to finish the thought.

A small chuckle left her lips and she spoke out but for the first few words her voice was weak, it was the summary on the back sleeve. "I'd expect, you don't ever seem to think something all the way through, besides life is not a romantic comedy anyways." She needed to gain control. Control your voice so you are not given away, control your heart so he won't find out, control your words so you do not tell the secret forced upon you. She needed to sound like everything was okay so he would look at the cover and skim right on by. She needed to see him and his face and his eyes though. Brown eyes are generic, most people who have them don't want them but his had a spell over her for no reason she could think of. "How about you say it's a bluff and you won't fight anyone." she added after a decent pause her voice not as strong. Almost meeker.

That is what she always needed, what she wanted from him. She wanted him to say he cared and say he would not stab the blonde. She needed to know before he decided to bridge the gap. If he ever did. Because her hand wrapped around as much of her arm as it could but it was neither wide enough or big enough, her finger tips could not meet on the other side. No jackets were in sight. Sure she could crawl to the closet and have low chances of being seen but he was actually talking to her and she could not risk cutting it short, she needed it to go on as long as possible. She needed to stop thinking of locations, and solutions, and blood, and he was the fix she needed. "I don't want to kill you" she said with her voice the same lower volume as before but these words did not carry the apologetic undertone that shaped the way the other sounded. Because the other sounded weak and she could not afford weak. She did not want shame.

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[fancypost bgcolor=white; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=; width: 300px; height: 190px; opacity: 0.80; margin-bottom: 3px; overflow: auto;][justify][size=9pt] Her eyes darted around the room still trying to make decisions while her mind concentrated on what he was saying. It was not a bluff, of course it wasn't. But he did say he would fight if one got started and it had not been started with Zach it had been started with her and while she could not fight back she did not want him to make stupid decisions because of her. She was not worth the trouble no matter who it was on either side of the fight, even if it was because of this torture she was not worth the trouble of Zach trying to do anything. "I didn't think it was a bluff, know that, I'm just not worth the trouble of whatever consequences will follow whatever you do. I know I can't fight but I don't want you to get in trouble because I pulled you into my f*cked up life" her lips pressed together in a line in the pause before he spoke again. It was still so easy, reach over and grab the knife he would never see her unless he climbed over.

Still with everything being said the conversation was not hostile, at least not as much as most of their previous ones. With how he was talking about her probably wanting to hurt him still her heart was racing because he had opened the window and he had decided to speak to her. "I'm never going to say you can't fight back, there's some things you can never expect people not to do and it's not like I want you to stop. You have this ability to stand up for yourself I don't, besides I have been saying since we met it was not my goal to fix or change you." she ended just before he spoke again and her eyes darted up to the poster covered ceiling.

She had made sure to be careful so her voice never came off as hostile and her tone never slipped to say something was wrong. It as actions or sight that would give her away, normally the roles were reversed with her standing in the window and him hidden away somewhere. At his words involuntarily her bottom lip pressed out slightly and brow furrowed. "I don't want to kill you, maybe before when we first met but not now" her eyes falling on her arm, kinda covered with her hand a mix of light blue and slightly faded red. "I never wanted to kill you I only ever wanted to put back the same amount of fight you did so hold yourself back because I am not worth the trouble it may cause." It was at that last 'i am not' until the end of the sentence the voice.

Shamed, frightened, broken. They bled into her voice and she hoped it was enough that he would not care but shame was dominating followed close behind by fear but they did not control her voice only seeped through. Nothing with sleeves in sight she simply continued to cover as much as she could and pushed herself up so she could look at him. His cheeks held a little bit of color, probably because he never takes off that damn jacket. Her eyes swept over his face bottom lip still pressed out slightly though she could not control that. Her gaze met his long enough to take in the stormy eyes before they fell away, they fell away before he could pick up something in her own. Though there was still something different in the way she was holding herself, she had gotten more sleep than she had in a long time and it had been simply darkness no nightmares but she only looked tired. She had been cornered trapped and marked and she was sure there would be more but Zach never needed to know that.

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[fancypost bgcolor=white; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=; width: 300px; height: 190px; opacity: 0.80; margin-bottom: 3px; overflow: auto;][justify][size=9pt] Her brow furrowed as she looked down to the edge of his window instead of at him. Trying desperately to think of something to say that would not drive him away from the window she had seen that had been about to leave when she stood up. "I'm not worth the trouble a fight would get you in be it a simple scolding, getting kicked from school, or whatever else could happen. Building yourself around what has happened, is happening, is better than what I did. She paused for a bit her eyes moving up to scan over him, she knew well enough that is where she wanted to be, with him, in his arms but instead she stood here trying to keep the shame from seeping into her voice. Trying to hold her hand over as much of the mark as possible. "I realize if you want to fight someone, anyone, I'm not going to be able to stop you if I even try but wishful thinking has me here hoping you won't destroy Tyler."

It was sickening to defend the male, to work to keep him from harm but she wanted to protect Zach knowing full well he would hate her if he found that out. She knew if she 'tattled' and he just confronted the blonde and told him to stop chances are it would get worse the next time. It was in the blondes best interest for her to be silent so if she called out he would have to send a stronger message to her. Her eyes swept over his face biting down on her lip and chewing in thought. Was it a bad idea to stand? "I know where I want to be right now, and I know most of the things keeping from that. And you will get angry for me saying this because it sounds like I am telling what you should or would do. I'm sure you would figure out I'm 'used goods' and the shame from that is unbearable" Her eyes scanning him and for a moment in the thought of it her hand tightened sending a sharp jolt through already pained nerves.

For a split second her eyes widened loosening the grip immediately but she kept from moving, kept from flinching. It is true she knew where she wanted to be, she wanted to be wrapped up in him just like she had been not long before. A lot changed in the couple hours since she left his house. Was it her fault? Had she gone and done something wrong that made her deserve this? Why did she feel shame, it was not like she should. But still that feeling was dragging her down and seeping into her thoughts and words. She felt shame because she let it happen. It did not matter the fact he was bigger and stronger or that she had no way to fight him, she did not fight back and that is why she was ashamed. Because not fighting back was basically just letting him do whatever he wanted. Her eyes flickered around for a moment before properly landing on his own. Her eyes told all but maybe he was far enough away not to read it.

A deep breath to try and keep herself from breaking, either going over to him or breaking down there was no way to tell. "I know I say the wrong things, I know I have tried to start fights but this is not that. Right now I don't know if I could fight anyone." The last sentence was quiet a small frown touched her lips and still her heart was pounding against her ribs as if it was trying to fight its way to the person who held it in his hands. She held eye contact for a bit longer before letting it drop so she was looking at his chest instead. Not including when they were fighting that might have been the longest she ever held eye contact with him.

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[fancypost bgcolor=white; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=; width: 300px; height: 190px; opacity: 0.80; margin-bottom: 3px; overflow: auto;][justify][size=9pt] Everyone wipes the floor with themselves eventually. That's the problem, she was not doing it to herself Tyler was doing it to him. She did not want to keep defending him and Zach was right to question why, maybe that questioning would make her stop. Never would she actually ask Zach to fight anyone, that is the exact opposite of what she was doing now and if she looks at how that is working out for her he would not like being told to fight much. But there was one thing that made her stiffen. Tense visibly her eyes snapping to her hand curled gently around her upper arm, halfway between shoulder and elbow. Go back to her ex, that had been about Riley who had screwed her over for the last time when he was last there.

Her eyes pressed shut for a moment. "We made an agreement" she echoed before dragging tired eyes back to his chest, she could not look him in the eye again. "It does not even have to start for it to not end well." She said her nose wrinkling for a moment. "I don't even have to run back to get hurt and there is a path I want to use to run away but it is lined with barbed wire because anything I try and do could only make it worse." She went off on a little tangent that he probably would not understand fully seeing as it seemed he had not taken the time to look at her closely, not that she provided the time. She was throwing distractions in the form of trying to keep things from blowing up while making them worse. Her jaw working as the tried to think of something to say to him.

Still all she could think was locations. But a file from some dusty drawer in her head showed up. There was an assignment she had to do for a creative writing class the year before where they had to describe a person or character. She had written it off as a character to the worried glances but it had been a person. 'Stormy eyes, paper skin' she had labeled it. She had worked on it so many times and performed it so many times that it had still been filed away. Her brows knitted together as she thought eyes trained on his chest where those leather bound arms had crossed. There is an odd feeling to waking up with a zipper against your arm and leather under you but she wanted to put her head on his chest like before and feel the leather against her when the arms wrapped around her.

After a few moments of thought her eyes moved up, not holding eye contact just scanning for facial expression as she spoke. "There was a thing I wrote for a class last year, describe a person or character. I said it was a character even though it was a person. I had to write it and perform it so many times I remember it even now. There was one base theme through it and it was introduced three sentences in." a moments pause as she recalled the exact phrasing "With skin as light as paper and just as easy to mark black and blue ink was written across her stomach spelling out a story no one would ever read." That was starting just a bit into the sentence but it was a long sentence and she did not need to say the whole thing. "Then later I wrote something like 'Her cheeks hold no color and neither do her lips they are the empty pages waiting to be marked and a writer lives in the house she must go to'" A shaking breath her eyes flickered over his face looking for a reaction.

She was searching for something. She had written about a girl with night hair and paper skin with storms in her eyes. She had written about leaving before anyone was awake under the dark grey sky in the void between night and day and coming back under the black sky hoping everyone was asleep. Her grip loosened even more but did not fall. She was breaking, she was wondering if she should wait to see if he ever notices the red and blue that ran slightly above her fingers and the same colors that seeped through the cracks in them. She wanted to know if she should wait and wonder if he would in this hellish mix of wanting him to and not wanting to, or give up. She almost never let a mask or cover drop but she was tired. It would be so easy to just drop her hand and feel shame. What was worse shame or all the energy used to hide.

"Colors fade but new ink can always be drawn over old and each time it tells a different story." she muttered as her head still ran through the story on repeat. It had only been one page, three paragraphs, so it did not take that much time to cycle through it. And she was not even exactly playing the words just holding the image in her mind and zoning in on each detail in the order she had described them in. "I don't even have to run back to get hurt" she repeated her mind turning in on itself. But a bitter chuckle left her lips when she spoke again. "Besides if I run the story will just end up longer." Her thumb tapping lightly against her skin. It sent small shocks through her nerves but not enough to cause any reaction. Should she keep hiding. The question had stopped being cut skin or cut another line and now it was show or hide. The first had been answered for her, racing heart and swirling mind showed that. Show or hide was always a question, how much of her past, how much of her real self, how much voice, how much skin, but the question had never been as important as this one seemed.

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[fancypost bgcolor=white; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=; width: 300px; height: 190px; opacity: 0.80; margin-bottom: 3px; overflow: auto;][justify][size=9pt] It was nice he did not interrupt her as she rambled on hinting at things he would not get. What same next was not quite as nice, not by his own fault. He had no way of knowing the things racing through her mind at the time but her right hand snapped off her arm to help catch the object thrown over followed by a small hiss because of the sudden sharp movement in the muscles on her left arm, the exact ones she had been avoiding using. Well there was another decision he had made for her, hide or feel shame and he had made the decision, now came the waiting game. She actually did flinch as he spoke the words 'cut your way out' giving her yet another sharp object to tempt and haunt. She had enough of those already.

She examined the object in her hand, there was no doubting it was sharp it was a wire cutter after all. What good was it if it was not sharp. Not well shaped for any of the thoughts going through her mind but she was creative. Not that she would ever use something that was not her own and she still was not actually planning on anything. Her hand did not return to its place on her arm, that decision had been made so not she just looked at the tool he had thrown over and wondering ho he could make the worst decisions without ever knowing. She let him speak eyes trained on her hands ears filtering everything but his voice out. It was almost calming, except for the fact the calm lowness of his voice kept her heart racing. She could feel the constant pounding against her ribs and the shallow breathing that never supplied enough air to the rushing blood.

She chose to ignore his more morbid suggestions but followed up by holding the wire cutters up her eyes moving to look at his face. "Look, I'm not going to throw them back because if you don't move out of the way I'll probably hurt you. That aside I don't exactly need these for cutting anyone" her eyes scanning his face. This time her decision was to not give anything away but leave the barest of glimpses into what she was thinking. Give her own morbid suggestions, "Switchblade on my shelf, pins on another shelf, sewing scissors in the closet, box cutter in dads room, safety razor in the bathroom, actual razors in the garage, pencil sharpeners and screw drivers scattered around, kitchen knives, and I could always just break a glass. I don't exactly need another sharp edge on this side of the gap." It was almost scary the way she could list everything off without having to pause for thought. Scary or worrisome, it depends on what you think her intentions are.

Her eyes turned back down to her hands. Wait for him to blow up on her, wait for him to blow up on Tyler, wait and find out he really did not care. There was three clear paths this could go on with a few overgrown foot trails on the side. The tiniest sliver of a chance he would just wrap his arms around her. She had no expectations of that ever happening but she wanted it. Showing him this was not showing him her past. The story had flipped details. She got her bruises at school and hid away at home before, a letter penned by more than one author each adding in a word or two to create a story. Now it was the way of the story, but still not quite. A red and light blue band, vaguely shaped like a hand, around her arm and none on her stomach, yet. Pale skin is easy to mark, if he had pressed his fingers just a bit harder harder into her hip or pinched her stomach hard enough there would be some easy to hide. Ones that took no effort to hide. "She is made of flesh and blood tied together with a bow of pain." that was one line used at the very beginning and then at the end. She did not exactly say it to him rather spoke softly towards her hands.

Her eyes darted up to him, there was so many things she could say, she could turn those morbid suggestions right around on him and turn them into her own offers to wrap herself up in his arms again. Sure there is a rush mixed with a good feeling that comes from gashes and blood but it was nothing compared to the pounding heart and intense high she got from being so close to him. Science had proven he was literally his cocaine. "Did you know a mix of high levels of dopamine and noradrenaline causes a high nearly identical to that of cocaine, then low serotonin lets you get addicted in exactly the same way. I literally could call you my drug if I chose." she still spoke to her hands but it was directed at him. Ah yes, her fall back. Just move onto the topic of chemicals she was still sure he knew nothing about. It was almost impossible to overdose when the rush was produced naturally, almost, but it was entirely possible, rare but possible, to die or get horribly sick from 'withdrawal'. You see there are these tendons in the heart, heart strings, that can break after emotional trauma. If they do the heart looses shape and cannot effectively pump blood. It is called broken heart syndrome. She knew that well but what was the point of making him stay for fear of indirectly causing her death, besides he had already shown he did not care if he did.

She was left to wait for a reaction whatever it may be. Left to stand in her room and stare at the sharp edge. Everything had left her mind except shame, a feeling of exposure, and the rush of him.

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[fancypost bgcolor=white; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=; width: 300px; height: 190px; opacity: 0.80; margin-bottom: 3px; overflow: auto;][justify][size=9pt] She listened to him speak, no interruptions just as he had before. She wanted to get mad, wanted to let something affect her but it was not working. She wanted to show herself she could fight someone but she couldn't fight anyone, not even him. He doesn't notice he won't notice he is trying to avoid her and she knows it. Dark eyes looked up to him, nothing behind them just eerily still oceans, the way they get right before something bad happens. "Are you saying I'm not creative? How many people would think to disassemble a pencil sharpener or save a shard of broken glass. If they stop letting you have blades you take apart a safety razor, get rid of that, break a cup, take away cups go to a restaurant, they keep you away from anything breakable well you just have to get more creative. Did you know the edge of a compass, for math, that goes on paper can be sharp? Thin dull edges hurt more than those that are sharp, and it takes a while of scratching to do anything. Trust me, I'm creative."

That was her own little explosion, not aggressive just a quick procession of dark thoughts. She tossed the cutters back over to him with a frown. Her eyes darting around over him scanning body language, looking for any sign of a reaction from him. Chest moving with shallow rapid breaths as she figured out what to say next. Physics. When she falls to neurology he falls to physics, and that is where he has her. She knows basically nothing about the subject so it is a great way to trip her up. It was just a jumble of words bumping around making no sense and she hated it. she wanted to be the one who made people feel that way not the other way around.

"You've said you've done drugs, not sure about the dealer, another item to add to your resume. Done, sold, and been drugs- triple threat. You refuse to look and I can see it. I am hiding past, trust me however much you think you know you really know nothing, but I am not hiding present. Afraid you will see too much don't worry, you won't see anything but what I can't keep the asshole from telling you. And I know what he is going to say next." A small breath puffed past her lips a frown pulling them down, and now she was wondering if she should go back to hiding. Hand snaking back up to its place almost hiding her arm. A sigh of insecurity, the arm crossing your body. Insecurity and hiding what she did not want seen. He needed to choose. Care or not care because she wanted to be in his arms and he seemed to not be able to decide. It was his turn to make the decisions not hers and she needs to know what it is.

Rowan is not going to set a deadline, that would mean eventually walking away and she was not planning to do that. "Almost never does the brain produce enough of the drug to overdose but come down too hard too quick you can die. The high is not killer, it is the withdrawal." Her eyes were down again. A different drug for a different person, great the concept fit better than it ever should have. Her lips pressed together, she knew she was ruining things speaking without thinking and all that. "I know everything I am saying is the wrong thing to say and it always seems to be that way but for some reason I actually do properly like you. You know or else I would not be here, we know I don't have the most patience." Another decision to replace the one she had taken back f*ck it up with a confession or make it awkward with a third bonus choice labeled 'do not elaborate.'

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[fancypost bgcolor=white; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=; width: 300px; height: 190px; opacity: 0.80; margin-bottom: 3px; overflow: auto;][justify][size=9pt] [Thanks for the warning babe. It was no problem, it also helps me a bit because I have been kinda wondering how far I could press into subjects so there is more of an idea now.]

She listened to his dark words, the morbid rant without reaction just waiting for him to finish so she could spout out her own response. His words adding a building pressure on her mind, on what she was considering on what had been done to her. "First of all get it out of your f*cking mind I ever thought it was 'cool' it is the reason I am ashamed in myself and the reason I almost never leave the house during the summer. And if you'd remember I did not use a blade, I used a belt. But there was a blade involved. I set it up so if I pulled on a bit of thin rope the leather would have been cut enough to rip under my weight. We both know that is not how I ended up in the hospital. I know exactly where I don't need to worry about depth and what is safe enough, wrists are too easy to mess up and upper thigh does not hurt. The space between thigh and hip on the front is shallow cuts and there was always a delay between the cut and when the blood started flowing. I might know where all the options are but as of yet nothing is worth two years." rapid breathing and darting eyes she was actually fighting back. Fighting back and wanting to run to his arms just like always.

That is what she needed. That ability to be wrapped in his arms but no matter how small the battle fighting him. Fighting for a reaction, fighting for control, or just fighting she needed something to prove to herself she was still able. "I don't need to take one thing apart then fix two I take one thing apart and leave behind two broken pieces but pain and abuse is still not worth two years." she no longer cared how blunt her references to Tyler became Zach had just said if he did not want to see he would not see so her hand fell back down wrapping around her wrist in a tight hold as he continued speaking. Always they have to talk, that is when things go wrong. For once she wanted to take a step in the right direction and stay there instead of the usual one step forward two backward routine they were in. She could always just go to Alex but it would not be the same. She would not be able to hurt herself but it would not ease the pounding head that came from not getting what she needed. Now it was both, he was there but they were flinging blades at each other and hoping they made the killing shot.

Always she said the wrong things and yes, half the time she knew they were wrong but she said them anyways.Where would she be if she had not stormed out, if she had been slow enough he could have caught her jacket. The never ending loop of wanting to go back and do something over again. Her hand reached around for the familiar cold metal. He had his pick she had the hem of her shirt and a knife. The hem of the shirt was not cutting it. In her hands it was obvious the way she held it she was not intending anything with the blade just go through the repetitive movement while trying to calm the racing head. Her mind was working too fast to even keep up with itself and she was losing control of herself. With no idea of what decision or impulse she was losing control of and that was the scary part. Loss of impulse control was not a good think but when you are dealing with impulses as radical as her own it was dangerous more so when you don't know exactly which impulse will fly out of the net.

He started talking and the movement did not stop, index, thumb, thumb, restart. It was the one slow controlled thing about her right now. The motion that had been trained to use smooth calm muscles to avoid getting hurt when not wanted. He was using the same metaphors she had been using so it was no thought for her to grasp what he was saying, or what she half believed he was saying. The motion stopped and she looked with those brown eyes holding too much turmoil to ever tell which emotions were held in them. "If the supply is cut you sit in agony and hope you don't die, that is how it goes no matter if you are talking people or drugs." there was a couple moments pause her eyes grazing over his face. "Besides to even go for a high one time there is a susceptibility to addiction, the fact you need the outside stimulus to make you feel something is why you can get addicted without ever realizing. Get the high once and you get a taste of what your body cannot produce itself, and even though it my not be a burning need to take it again and again after the first time there is that tiny nag in the back of your head, almost to small to notice, telling you to go back. Find the rush your body can't make on its own." She stopped brows furrowing and looking she closed the blade she had left open wrapping her hand around it now it was closed.

She scanned him again before speaking connecting back to ground she wanted to be on. "Your high is different because I can be wrapped up in you and still there is some sort of battle. There is the idea at least I can fight something. I can be wrapped up in your arms and still be fighting for a reaction or fighting for control but when I don't need comfort I can just fight. It is not one or the other it is usually fight followed by fight and comfort with two instances of comfort mixed in seemingly as if they were thrown in to throw off trends. We can fight and I can fight but it was never abuse. Mental abuse is hard to prove and physical abuse is easy, I have say on one and proof on another but not from you" Quick breathing and darting eyes moved around but because she was delving into the idea of him knowing and not doing anything.

"He is stupid, if you leave evidence make it easy to hide." Her mind was moving a mile a minute and she turned long enough to place the knife back out of sight. "We both know addiction is setting in if it has not already but moving to the classic 'I'm not an addict,' 'I'm not an alcoholic' argument." her eyes scanned over him again. She had not filtered herself, not stopped what she was saying just spoke how she wanted and now she was wondering if she would be the one to push too far this time.

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[fancypost bgcolor=white; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=; width: 300px; height: 190px; opacity: 0.80; margin-bottom: 3px; overflow: auto;][justify][size=9pt] [Don't worry about watering it down or going out of your way or anything, I'm not easily triggered. You ever wanna talk I'm always here.]

Her eyes were on her hands then up to him. He was not a slipped drug, she had been aware from the first moments but ignored it. She could pinpoint where arguing stopped being fighting and became a drug, and it was where they did not just argue. It was the moment conversation mixed into them but he was saying a lot of things and saying them fast. But after the detail on suffocating there was pausing. There was a void that was so crushing she could not even try to fill it. She did not want this, she did not want any of this and her mind was working so hard to think of ways to fix it but there was no way to fix anything. "You were not a slipped drug I was warned, I was told. I know exactly where it changed and I know exactly where and what decision could have prevented anything and everything. When fighting was no longer intended to kill and just cut was the first sign. The first noticeable sign was when it was not just fighting, when we actually spoke to each other. The first high was the bonfire. The decision was to play along with your plan and that was the first high and somewhere in my head I knew it." her eyes were scanning over his face.

Then she spoke again in a hard clear voice. "Knife or drug? I choose drug" she did not want any of this to be happening but she was not going to walk away from the window until she was standing there alone. What she did not want was the fighting. The detail about pain and about death she just wanted him. "I choose arms around me and the heart beating against my ear, burning skin that is so much warmer than my own and the hand tangled into my hair. You gave me a choice and I choose the vibrations of a voice against my ear and the tight hold." She was done dancing around ideas and what she wanted. She was done hiding and worrying, he would not know about her past. She had not accepted love, she would not accept that she loved him but she would accept that she needed the leather bound arms and the ink stained skin. Quick breathing and mind racing around faster than she could ever handle she wanted to scream until there was no way she could scream anymore. She wanted to curl in a corner with her hands in her hair and actually have this panic attack instead of the intense build up leading nowhere.

Blind boy, blind boy, he only ever sees what he wants to see. He had never mentioned never seen the swollen red and blue hand that wrapped around her arm. The pain was still pulsing through her nerves and she could not ignore it no matter how hard she tried. How she wished she could be him. Her voice was not harsh, it was not hostile, it was barely even sounding like it was making a statement, just soft words lacing through the air, "You are blind. You don't see what you don't want to, I didn't have to hide abuse because you never saw it. I was worried about you blowing up but that just happened so the counter has to reset." At the end of the thought she gestured to her arm.

She needed him to see it, so much fear for him seeing it but she needed to get rid of the not knowing what will happen. If he was going to blow up, let him. If he was going to comfort, let him. If he was going to walk away, let him. The eye of the storm, calm waters sitting behind her eyes leaving you to wonder if it is over or if the storm is only taking a break. Her mind was racing and she stopped trying to keep up with it though her breathing was still quick. "You made the mistake of giving me a choice and I chose drug. Now tell me, was that hypothetical? Better yet show me." A challenge. But not to fight. She was not throwing out another hook to get a punch, she was not going for screaming. She was throwing out a challenge. She was calling his bluff. His mistake was offering a choice thinking she would not take it but she did. It was already too late and she could easily just turn and suffer through withdrawal but that was not what she wanted. She wanted arms, and heart, and voice. It was a drug and she needed it more than anything. She had given no way to ignore the mark and she had called his bluff. His choice was which one to act on if not both.

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[Damn babe I'm so sorry. Us smart people got to stick together and try and drown out all the idiots of the world. Like my brother would constantly say 'I'm smarter than you because I have better grades,' now I am a year ahead and if I say anything I am screamed at for being disrespectful, everything I do gets me screamed at and everything he does is perfect.]
She was right, it had been a bluff. He said it was a bluff. Once again he was going to deny everything she wanted and needed leaving her to hope at some point he would turn around and give her something. There was no change in demeanor no change in the was she stood and looked at him. No relied or disappointment, guilt, anger, sadness, she was void of everything. She was shutting down emotions just as she had taught herself to so many years ago. She knew hos, she somehow was able to simply turn off emotions It did not hurt, he did not hurt but there was still withdrawal. Pounding head and dominating thoughts, the need to go back for more. There was no way to turn that off but it had finally gotten bad enough to where she was able to shut off the pain. Any emotion he had given her was simply closed off leaving nothing behind her eyes.

She wanted another response, needed him to say something, anything. She just needed to hear his voice. Know what was going on but he was looking with dark eyes void of everything. He did not know where he went wrong, did not know where he made the mistake. That is what he told her. And he was right, she was a mistake. She is a messed up bundle of worthless disappointment. Just like with his confession of love he was simply saying he didn't know. He didn't know what the feelings are or what they mean, he did not know how to deal with them or accept them same as her. All she knew is no matter what she needed the high. She needed something, one more shot, one more hit, she just needed anything she could get. All she knew for sure is she was too far gone to try and let go. He would have to be the one to run because she was done with that. She was don with running away from the slightest good thing because she didn't know how to be happy. She is not able to be happy.

Then his next sentence. "No it's not healthy. But it is not the relationship it is us. We are not healthy. The moment something good happens out first instinct is to destroy it because we are so scared of getting hurt we only ever hurt ourselves." she left it at that. Left him to know how she saw what happened between them, what their eternal fault is. He was giving nothing, showing nothing. He was blocked off same as here with one difference. He had not shut off emotions. He was still feeling and she was not. There was no proper emotion, only her need to have something from her She had turned off everything except what she could not reach. The want to scream, the need for a high.

He moved on. He moved onto threats of pain a sense that he was still not above abuse. Talking about on of the days in the very beginning where he told her not to try him. When he threatened to cut her break lines. The times when he would follow her out just so he could grab her arm and pull her back for another jab. Uneven breathing. Abuse from Tyler, abuse at her old school and back to threatened abuse from him. He would not, she convinced herself of that but still she wanted to scream. Instead she was silent. She simply looked at him with that even stare, those empty eyes. Her hands gripped the windowsill tight enough her knuckle turned white, her eyes darted over his face with uneven breathing. "I get abuse from Tyler, I get abuse from parents. I don't need abuse from you , all I need, all I want is a high." then he was gone. He had grabbed his guitar and simply left and she wished she could do the same Instead she slid down to sitting under the window just as she had been before he came and started talking.

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[fancypost bgcolor=white; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=; width: 300px; height: 190px; opacity: 0.80; margin-bottom: 3px; overflow: auto;][justify][size=9pt] Rowan needed something, anything. She was curled against the wall hands in her hair face in her knees. These were the clothes she had worn through the night. These were the clothes that sat against him and in his bed for so long, and now they were covered in his smell. That itself was torture without his words echoing through her head. The mix of he wants her but he doesn't want her. He does not want her hurt but he is threatening to go back to the person who wanted to hurt her. He was saying everything at once and she felt like she was about to explode. She knew scientifically the only other way to get that high was cocaine and that was not something she was in a hurry to try. She did not stand she simply crawled her way over to the closet and changed into running shorts and a different tank. The clothes she had taken off were thrown on top of the clothes from the night before last, great she was building up a pile, leave it long enough her whole closet will smell like him, and the traces left in her bed as well.

Rowan needed some form of release, some way to take her mind off of him. Eyes darting around in sudden almost frantic movements she dragged the bottom dresser drawer open digging through the deep drawer filled with miscellaneous objects. Searching desperately for something until her eyes landed on a glimpse of black material almost resembling leather. She dug it out shoving the drawer closed. That left an object she had been so frantic to get in her lap. Boxing gloves. She had not touched them in nearly a year but now she picked them up in one hand and made her way down stairs. Sure Tyler had taken matters into his own hands but he knew better to pick on her when she was holding those. He knew there was a reason she had the gloves with her, and he would know she planned to use them and the target could easily be turned to him.

Now she was not good at boxing, she had been taught it somewhat with a self defense trainer but less how to box and more how to throw a punch. She did not even have to worry about Tyler because this time he did not venture into the house. Into the garage she went locking doors, the one into the house and the one into the backyard. She pulled on the left clove first strapping it easily, the right glove was not so easy for obvious reasons. She held it between her knees and used her teeth to strap the velcro closed around her wrist. Her arms hung at her sides as she walked to the blue bag but as soon as she arrived at it her right leg slid back and her hands set a couple inches away from her mouth. Eyes scanned the bag before she threw a punch. Right jab, the fist that goes first is the same one as the front leg. Yes she set to the left despite being right handed. Fencing had put that position in her mind and it had simply become habit.

Zach may have become a verbal punching bag but nothing is better than throwing your hardest punch at a bag and met with that high level of resistance. Right, left, right hook low, right hook high, left hook low left hook high. Set, back foot slides forward as you lift the front leg and pivot to kick at the side. She was remembering patterns and sets she was given, slowly becoming more and more able to slide into the mindless instinct to reset her hands in guard after each punch, one after the other quick as she can. A puff of air at each hit that made an audible noise. Knees bent bouncing slightly she was able to let her mind slip away slipping into that formed instinct she had been taught. Two jabs, four hooks, two kicks, set. It was not properly set to practice an uppercut so she did not bother with that. She had dug out the gloves knowing this time, without them she would split her knuckles. Each beat was enough to send the bag swinging, and it was a heavy bag.

She had already turned off emotions, this helped her block out that need by slipping into mindless pattern and instinct. It was this or break down and end up getting hurt through a panic attack. She was lucky this time it had been avoidable. She refused to cry, screaming would draw attention, so she stood in the garage filling the silence with the loud sound of glove hitting bag then the almost slap of her leg swinging around in a sort of roundhouse. She did not have technique anywhere near perfect but the untrained eye she looked good enough. It was easy the moment you are shown how. A game made to remember each pattern she had been given. She switched to a kick sliding to the side, to avoid a grab if there actually was a person, followed by two jabs and a knee. It was the knee that hurt most. She may look good and set nicely practicing here but she was small and in the case of Tyler she was too small and too frightened to properly fight back.

[I am way above him and everyone knows it but he is athletic, he is popular, he has no problems. I am on like three different medications because I stopped for a bit and now they are slowly adding them back up. I am lucky this year thou, I am in independent study so I take finals when I finish the class. But I'm going to continue through summer school and take college courses for language credits then during the school year I need a f*ck ton of AP classes because I want to go to pre-med and I hate everything. I am so sorry you have gotten sick babe, I hope you get better asap. The posts aren't short, like if you look at the beginning with our one paragraph, all of mine make me cringe when I look at them.]

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