Broken Bunch

A/N: Title credits to the friend that abhors all social networking sites and very recently has given up on instant messaging services as well. His phrase, not mine.

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Scratching at skin that's a little sore already. The only thing I hear is the sound of the water that keeps flowing, I turn it off. It doesn't care much. I keep on scratching and the skin breaks. There it is, the first tiny blemish, it's just a single spot of red. Don't stop, it's not done yet. Keep going. It spreads to a line, a thin line. But it's still there, even if just barely. I can't stop yet, I press it against my skin harder. The sharp end against my sore skin. It's a few lines now. I take a deep breath. It feels good. So good. I'm done. I step into the shower and the water washes over me. It stings when droplets strike against the cut up skin. But I stay there, trying to suppress the feeling that was threatening to take over me. I wanted to feel it again, that blinding, dizzying moment when it felt so good. When I closed my eyes and leaned back into the cold, hard wall and let the pain just wash over my mind. And so I do. I pick it up again, the object that brings me salvation. My hand slips a little this time, it's harder to get it right now that my skin is damp. But I keep trying because it feels good. Stop. Now. Right now. Just stop. So I do. I wash up, dress and then go back to where I was, surrounded by all those people. No one knows anything but that I had a shower. It's alright. I know better.

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