Summary:

Edmund is alone, in his own world of pain and confusion. Will his siblings be able to pull him out?

I dragged the rusted razor blade slowly down the length of my forearm, gazing in a fascinated trance as the dark river of blood, my blood, slid off my sallow wrist to stain the tiled floor underneath my feet. Eventually, the blood seeped away through the cracks in the tiles, leaving an almost imperceptible trace of reddish liquid. None of the cleaning staff here at Cair Paravel would guess that that liquid was blood; they wouldn't even see it. No-body ever did.

I closed my eyes. I could still feel my blood trickling down over my hand; I enjoyed the dark tingling sensation of this self-inflicted pain. I loved it.

It was the sense of boredom, really, that drove me to it. Peace-time Narnia was almost as boring as a Latin lesson on a hot summer's afternoon. Not that I wanted a war-time Narnia, of course; I just didn't expect that ruling a kingdom would be so mundane. Well, no, the ruling itself wasn't mundane; not really. But the same routines, everyday, became so tedious that I just needed an escape. A change.

This was my escape. This was my drug; my high, my exhilaration. I loved it.

I didn't care about the effects it had on my body. Sometimes, though, I worried that Peter or Susan noticed that I was weaker than usual, or much paler. I didn't want them to find out. Lucy was too young and carefree to notice that something was wrong with her big brother, and I did not ever want her to know. The sinister actions of her traitor brother would not tarnish her innocence.

Really, it was ridiculous. I shouldn't be doing this. Just because I was bored, I had started cutting myself. For fifteen-odd minutes of short-lived relief.

As just as soon my high had come, it vanished. Now, instead of my euphoria, a cold, depressing feeling of gloom overwhelmed me. It squashed my desire to maim myself further, to add one more cut to the thin ribbons of red already embroidering my ashen wrist.

I had previously had enormous trouble concealing the evidence of my activities. On one (very awkward) occasion, my sleeve of whatever I was wearing had slipped upwards, towards my elbow. Susan, with her ludicrously sharp eyes, had seen the condemning evidence. She had inhaled brusquely and afterwards, when the business at hand had been resolved, she had confronted me in private.

I had anticipated this, and scarpered. (Or tried to, at any rate.) Susan, however, had anticipated my fleeing, and cunningly cornered me in the corridor outside. I cowered under her surprisingly gentle but reproachful gaze.

"Edmund, explain." Susan whispered in a strong, low voice. However, before I had even opened my mouth to stammer out some feeble excuse for whatever else she was about to reprimand me for, she glanced over her shoulders and escorted me away to her rooms, saying "Follow me." I obeyed this brief instruction without question. I knew that even here, the walls had ears.

Once we reached her receiving parlour, Susan offered me a seat. Seeing no way out of my situation, I reluctantly accepted.

"Now, Edmund." With her usual elegance, she seated herself, re-arranging her skirts over her lap. "Let us talk."

Susan stared at me expectantly.

"What about?" my mouth blurted before I could stop it.

"I think you well know, Edmund." She stated strictly. "I saw what is on your wrist."

"Tell me, Susan; what did you see?" I looked at her, feigning innocence.

"I saw the marks of a knife on the wrist of my younger brother. I saw a young boy tortured by his past. I did not like what I saw, Edmund." Her voice was tinged with sadness.

I could not speak. I had nothing to say.

"I am sorry, Susan." I couldn't meet her blue-eyed stare.

"Oh, Edmund!" Susan, losing her composure, threw her arms around my neck compassionately. "Why? Why, Edmund?" Then, she started crying.

When Susan had calmed down, and had become her normal serene self again, she said: "Edmund, I shan't say a word of this to Peter and Lucy. They don't need to know about this."

But when I had started to thank her for her kindness, she interrupted me.

"But, I shall do so on one condition. That you discontinue this ghastly business forever."

I stared at her in disbelief.

"But…but, what am I meant to do?" I almost wailed. I could find stimulation of this kind no-where else; if I gave up this, then it would be back to the monotonous humdrum of everyday life! And I could not allow that to happen.

"You must find something else. You must stop this!" Susan exclaimed.

With her words echoing in my head, I repulsed the memories and broken promises haunting me. I could cope with it no longer. With one strangled cry, I impulsively slashed the razor once more across my vein, causing more blood to pour down, over my hands. They looked deadly white compared to the bright crimson blood positively flooding onto the floor.

My head started to spin. I lifted my head up, strangely heavy now, and through half-closed eyes I saw the gilded door handle turn. I heard a voice call out my name.

"Edmund?" said Peter.

There! A cliff hanger!

Please, please review! If you want me to carry on with my story, tell me so... in reviews! It's my first story, too. I'm planning on doing it either Peter/Edmund, or Edmund/Lucy. What do you think? Sorry the summary's so short.

Thanks!

~PearlsOfWisdom09