Pain and Frustration

Prologue

The blood ran from my wrist to my fingers and then to my mouth. I loved the pain, it released all my anger and frustration. If I didn't do it, my feelings start to build up and I regress into staring into space while curled up in a feeble position. The acquaintance of the razor and my wrist has been helping my mental sanity. As long as Bakura doesn't find out.

It's not like he'd do anything, he's never cared about me. He'd just dump my "problem" onto someone else, just like what he's done in the past. I don't have a problem, I have a solution to all the pain that's been building up within me for years. So what's wrong with that?

Those who label me as a masochist are so far from the truth. Masochists inflict pain on themselves. I, on the other hand, don't inflict pain for I don't feel this so-called pain when blood pours out from beneath my skin. It's sweet relief.

Bakura often stumbles home drunk off his ass and bothers me. He shoves me around and abuses me. I didn't ask for this; I don't like the feeling of the pain in the back of my head after he slammed me into the wall. This is the main cause for my frustration.

I cut along a lengthy scar across my wrist that I've had since childhood. This way, when people see the scar they don't question me, they already "know" it's an old scar. I'm afraid they will take me away again, like when they first found me with scissors dragging across my bleeding stomach. I never thought that anyone would find the marks on my stomach, nor did I think they'd find me cutting myself. The people at the hospital put me through so much hell. I never want to go back there again. Thus, my wonderfully thought out plan of cutting on old scars.

Now, even then, I knew that Bakura or someone else would be able to see the freshly made marks. So I covered the open wound and wore gold cuffs over the bandages. Of course, I was ridiculed for "copying Malik", but it was a small price to pay to hide my secret.

Also, so they wouldn't get suspicious, there'd be times where I'd take the cuffs off when the wound healed into a scar again and I'd allow the scar to be seen. But this was only when I was under a low stress level.

I wish my solution wasn't so looked down upon by society, because it is getting harder and harder to cut through the scar to bleed. I suppose I can cut near the scar and when people see the scar, they'll slowly get used to the gradual increase in size of it.

Maybe someday I won't have to live in the dark.