Emma's POV

As soon as Gerard shut the door, I ran to his room where he held me in his arms all night. This was the first time I'd been properly alone in his home. I slammed the door shut, and sank down to the floor behind it. No, no, no I thought. How could I do this? He was so kind when I played that song, so fucking lovely, like he actually cared! Of course he doesn't care. Why would anyone care about you? Especially since the ones who are supposed to love you for ever thought you were a piece of shit. The little voice in my head was cruel, but it was right. So damn right. I knew if I left now, he'd come looking. And unlike my shit parents, he'd find me. He'd find me, then scream at me. Then he'd look disappointed. Cos in truth, although my lips would say otherwise, I'd want to go back with him. I'd be too proud to admit that, and he'd leave. I sobbed into my knees. It would be best for him if such a shit person wasn't in his life. He was so attractive, too. That made it worse.
He doesn't need you, you pathetic piece of shit the voice snarled.
I scrambled to my feet, and picked up my jeans. I pulled out my treasure from the pocket, and slid up my left sleeve. A criss-cross of red scars lined the inside of my pale forearm, mostly horizontal, except the three long lines slit from the crook of my elbow to my wrist that earned me two weeks in hospital, a blood transfusion, and a shitty therapist.
The silver smile of the blade was soon rewarded with beads of blood, and suddenly I couldn't stop, making streams into rivers dripping down my arm and into my shirt underneath. I cut the width of my arm, over and over, to shut up the voice, to stop everything, to find that moment of peace. The tears had stopped. I stopped. I watched how the cold blade had made warm rubies run down my arms and drip off the tips of my fingers.
Time was motionless.
Everything I hated, the storm raging inside of me, dripped out of me. I closed my eyes. It didn't even hurt anymore.

My right arm was far from untouched, too; scars marked a map of my pain, of every time I felt worthless. The scars told my story, a journal of everything that just hurt in such a way that the voice in my head says just do it, you'll feel better. I pulled up my sleeve on my other arm, and made just two more deep cuts. I watched my heart pump my blood out, along with every other demon that writhed inside me. I loved the way it gathered on the blade; an unfathomably bright shade.
'Em! I'm back! I bought you some clothes, and Frank will be home later. Where are you?'
Shit shit shit.
There was no where to run, no where to hide. If I pulled down my sleeves, it would soak into the hoodie, and he'd notice for sure. He burst through the door before I could think of a master plan to save my sorry skin this time.

'Emma?' His voice was quiet. 'What have you done?'

Notes

cliffhanger -dun dun dun!
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Em xo