I was wrong...

Anne breathed in slowly, letting the cool, pine-scented breeze brush past her skin. Normally, this kind of thing would have brought comfort to her, but now... It was hard to tell what could get her to calm down. Salty tears streaked down the pale skin of her face, the warm water cooling and dripping down to wet the rest of her. She had been out here for a while now, sitting at the base of a tree in the secluded area of her back yard.

"If only..." Breakfast had gone well; she had eaten three slices of bacon and two of the pancakes, all the while managing to keep up a consistent and non-worrying chatter with her mother. After that, she had walked Kaden around the block a couple of times, then returned to do her school work. By then, her mother had gone off to work, and she was left alone with her thoughts. That was when things had started to take a bad turn.

Slowly, her mood had shifted from care-free and thoughtful to a darker, more suffocating kind of feeling. She knew what this meant; she knew this feeling, but there wasn't much she could do to combat it. The strange thing was, this cloak of sadness had come on without any triggers. Usually, this type of thing didn't happen unless someone brought up Ross, the death of her cat, or...her parent's divorce, among other things.

She let out a sigh. After returning home with Kaden, she had been unable to focus on her school work, so she had taken a "temporary" break to rest outside. The teacher of her online class had excused it after she asked, but... that didn't seem to make anything better. The break primarily meant that she was going to cry her eyes out until she felt a little better, or until the crisp fall air became too much for her without a jacket and she would be forced to retreat back into the central heating of her home.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" Anne cried out, running her fingers through the bright blue strands of her hair. Her breathing became labored, coming out in short and uneven pants as she felt the pain in her chest magnified tenfold. She needed release; needed relief from the pain hammering away from inside of her. But what, what could give her such help?

Deep down inside, she knew. Her mother wouldn't be pleased, not at all. She might even have her hospitalized again, and Anne didn't want that. Though, she understood the reasoning. What parent wouldn't have their child sent somewhere to keep them safe, if they were a danger to themselves and those around them?

Another tear streaked down her face, and she looked down to her arms. She pulled up the green sleeve of her shirt to inspect the skin. It was covered in marks, most of them horizontal or vertical, as if she had been cross-hatching herself with a knife. Which was, technically, what she had done. Most of the marks were fairly old; the newest one being from about a week ago. Anne sighed. She had abstained from cutting her skin for a week, something she wanted to be proud of. But now...now... she was about to make new marks.

She looked down to the notebook in her lap, and scribbled down a few lines.

New marks I am about to make, decorative flashes on my skin.

My flesh is but a canvas, for the morbid art within.

After finishing, Anne's eyes narrowed, just slightly. Was she really going to risk getting sent back to the hospital? After everything she had done in an effort not to ever go back there again?

She knew the answer before she guided the blade over her delicate skin, just once, watching the blood begin to seep out of the shallow wound.


Then she did it again. And again. And again.

I'm addicted to the pain...