And She Laughed

Snap!  Snap!  Snap!

Three lines, perfectly perpendicular, quickly appeared; blood red against frightening pale skin.  The little hairs tingled and stood on end, goosebumps flying fast over the rest of the confused body.

Snap!

One more, just for good measure.

That's not healthy, you know.

"It's just a rubber band.  It doesn't hurt all that much."

Not the point.  It's still not healthy.

She sat and thought about that.  Stared at nothing, stared at the wall; there were stains there - water marks, from whose source she couldn't determine anymore.  Everything around her had slowly turned into a haze over the passage of time, and where the spots came from weren't of any importance anymore.  It didn't matter.  She made a quick, non-logical connection in her brain, and creased her brows when she spoke again.

"It doesn't matter.  Since when does my health matter?"

Not that you'd beleive me, but it always has.  It always should, even if it's only you that's caring.

"Bullshit.  Try again."

There was silence for a time, and she was satisfied that her somewhat lacking witty retort had shut it up for a while.  She smiled, and stood up from the couch, making her way into the kitchen.

Snap!

I really wish you'd stop that.

"Yeah, well... wish in one hand..."  She left the comment hanging on the air, and it was met with silence again.  If there couldn't be a reasonable explination as to why she should stop, she saw no need to.

Snap!

Six lines now, slowly creeping up the length of her arm.  They were turning into ugly looking welts, but she didn't mind, really.  She would stop and look at them sometimes, stare at the hue of the blood bubbling beneath her damaged skin, and smile.  She didn't know why that made her smile.  Maybe it was the fact that they were temporary, that they would go away eventually, leaving space for more.  

They were only temporary, unlike other things in life.  

Temporary?  What about that one, just above your hand?  That's been there for three days now.

She lifted her hand and stared.  Sure enough, the mark was still there, a result of... something.  She couldn't recall the reason she had done this one; just that she had had a need to do it.  Normally when she pulled on the rubber band that was ever present around her wrist, she would only lift it high enough to make a satisfying crack against her skin.  The red welts would fade within hours, giving her a fresh canvas.  But that first one in line... The one she had done three days ago... Something had effected her.  Upset her reality enough to the point where she had pulled the rubber so tightly she actually felt the material break a little before she released it.

She still remembered the pain it had caused.  The burning.  It had throbbed for hours, but she welcomed it at the time.  And at the moment, she welcomed the mark.

Maybe it would stay.  Maybe it was the beginning of her new masterpiece.

You're sick, you know that?  You really are sick.  You should find someone, talk to someone.  Figure out a way to make this stop.  It's not healthy, and it's scary.

"Oh, come on now.  It could be a lot worse.  I could be chopping my hair off.  Cutting myself open in places that no one will see.  People do a lot of crazy shit to deal with pain.  Mine's nothing in comparison, here.  Apples and Oranges."

Fruit, none the less.

She stopped in front of the fridge, opening the door and shivering as the cool blast of air hit her.  She stared absently inside, not really paying attention to what she was seeing.  Just like the spots on her wall, the contents became inconsequential.  Without really thinking about it, she grabbed a bottle of malt liquor, popping the top and taking a long drink.

Lemon flavored.  Interesting.

She made her way back into the living room, and tossed herself onto the couch.  And she thought... Thought about what had been said.  About the unfair comparison to her own sickness.

She wasn't nearly that bad.  What she did was harmless - it hurt, yes.  She was hurting herself to deal with something she could no longer identify.  After doing it for so long, she had lost her reasoning behind causeing herself pain.  It faded into black memories, and it, just like the spots, the food, the entire house... It no longer mattered.  She continued to do it out of habit, to hear the cracking noise echo against empty rooms.  Empty, cold rooms...

Snap!

I'm sure there's a medical classication for someone like you.  Someone who enjoys pain.

"You make me sound like some sort of pervert.  I'm not a masochist."

Maybe you are.

She snarled, slamming her beer down on the coffee table, "That's fucking nasty, you know that?  This isn't sexual.  This isn't about being strapped down and beaten so some sick fuck can get his kicks."

...You don't have to get off on it to be masochistic.  You enjoy the pain.  You're a masochist.

She snarled again, retrieving her previously abused beverage, and sank into the coushins of the couch.  She took a long, unhappy drink, releasing a soft blech and whiping her mouth with the back of her hand.  She didn't drink often; just when the random mood struck her.  Already, the minimal alcohol content was making her stomach feel warm.

Snap!

I really wish you'd stop that.

She took another sip, and scoffed, "What do you care anyway?  Why should anyone care?  It's my body, my rubber band.  Fuck off."

Therefor, you should care.

She had tipped the bottle up for another drink, but stopped with it halfway to her lips.  She should care?  Why?  No one else cared for her... why should she...?

Snap!

"Ah.. fuck!"

She leaned forward, gripping her arm where the rubber band had landed.  It burned, a stinging that reached down into her bones.  Her drink had been dropped, and the suds sizzled on the floorboards.  She stared at the white foam, her pain drowned out by a sudden feeling of horror.

The suds were turning pink.  Little pink spots here and there as her arm shook.  Slowly, she moved her hand, staring at her palm that was covered in a frightening amount of blood.

There.  Do you see that?

"I... I wasn't even paying attention.  I must have slipped... I didn't mean to hit the same place twice... I didn't mean to..."

She babbled for a few minutes, just watching the blood flow from her now broken skin.  Eventually, the drain slowed, dripping off her wrist and fingertips.  She watched it congeal.  Watched as the foam from her lemon flavored beer dried and made a white/pink film on her floor.  She felt sick.  Her stomach bubbled, and she closed her eyes.

Do you see now?  See what I've been talking about?  How this isn't healthy, how it's only going to get worse?

She felt hands on her shoulders, but she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes.  She knew the feel of those hands; she new that the voice belonged to them.  But like everything else in her life, the body had ceased to matter.  It faded into the haze of her black memories, and ceased to exist.

"Do you see?  I love you, and I don't want you to hurt yourself anymore."

She buried her face in her hands, fingers curling into her bangs, some of the blood still not dry and clinging to the strands.  They clumped together and pulled at her scalp.  It was a new kind of pain, one that she hadn't tried before.  She found she liked it less than the rubber band, but with her arm currently injured, she had the notion she wouldn't be able to release that way for a while.

Still, the hands held her shoulders, pressing gently back in an effort to get her to look up.  She refused, mentally and physically, not allowing those hands to move her.

No hands would move her again.  She had promised that... promised herself that, so long ago...

Her leg shifted, foot knocking against the empty bottle, and it rolled across the floor.  Eventually it hit the wall, making a hollowed out echoing noise; the sound traveled through the house, bouncing off the empty angles and walls.  It made her shiver, feeling even more alone than before.

Without looking up, she moved her hands forward and took hold of her rubber band.  It was sticky, covered in her own blood.

Snap!

A new welt grew, and she smiled at it, hardly noticing when the hands dropped away from her shoulders.  The body moved away, retaking it's place on the recliner next to her.  The voice sighed, and the body picked up the television remote.  The noise from the speakers weren't real.  The body wasn't there, either.  All that was real here was herself, and the pain stinging up her nerves.  It was just her, and the pain of her own making.

She laughed.  She cried, afterwords.  Then she was quiet, ignoring the television and the cold air in her invisible house, focused only on the rubber band she held between her fingertips.

Snap.