Important A/N:

This story deals with depression and self-harm and other mature subjects. There will be sexual content and course language. Please don't read if any of this makes you uncomfortable.

The blade gleamed in the light of the sun, its shining silver surface reflecting back bone-white clouds. Wind whistled in his ear and pushed his copper hair over his brow, obscuring it from view. It was only for a moment, a breath, really, but his chest tightened. Feeling sick, he pushed his hair aside and breathed a sigh of relief when he could see the sharp edge and curling handle, looking exactly as he left it.

Loke swallowed the lump in his throat and rubbed his thumb over the wooden end, feeling the grooves roughened by his fingers and the water he'd used to clean it. He was supposed to oil it after it got wet but he never did. Its state of disrepair reflected his own and that suited him nicely.

He moved his thumb north to where the blade narrowed. It bit into his skin effortlessly. The blood was slow to come, but once it did, it bloomed on his skin like a rarely seen flower.

It wasn't enough; it never was.

Loke popped his thumb into his mouth and sucked away the blood; it tasted metallic and just a little sweet. As soon as it stopped pooling on his tongue, he went for his sleeve and rolled it up a few inches.

Yesterday's scar was still a thin line. Things stopped healing quite so fast now that his time was running out. That was just how Loke liked it. Whenever he was feeling particularly desperate but unable to sneak away from those that would ask questions, he'd inch his sleeve up and look at the pale marks. It helped curb the urge.

Finding a new spot, he dug the tip of the knife into his skin and pressed down until the pain made him clench his teeth, until blood blossomed, until the other pain felt just a little… less. Then he dragged it down almost to his elbow because today, he needed to suffer a little bit more for the selfish way he wanted to bask in her magic. It just rolled effortlessly off her skin, permeated the air, and fed his greedy heart. So long he'd been without it, he was making up any excuse he could to stand by her side.

It took some time to remember himself but once he realized his mistake, he found his way to this private knoll, chanting again and again, 'It's not for you. It's not for you.'

Not anymore.

He dug the blade in more. This relief… it was tepid at best.

Loke took the blade out of his arm and went for his leg next. That was his backup plan. The skin there was more sensitive, less use to being torn open. Finding a place just above his boots, he carved Karen's name as a reminder of what he did. As if he could forget.

He sat back and watched the blood run, wishing that he didn't have to wait for the world to eat him away. If he could, he'd join her now. That way, he wouldn't have to think of her. He wouldn't have to dream of her. He wouldn't have to go on, knowing she was watching and waiting for the moment to come.