flesh mix up (Esmee)

Sorry it took so long. Hope it is OK. more soon

Flesh mix up

“It’s not the face, but the expressions on it. It’s not the voice, but what you say. It’s not how you look in that body but the things you do with it. You are beautiful."

Stephenie Meyer

The host

 

 

We reached a stale-mate. Emmet had tried to get some understanding from me. Some minor compassion and I had used the words that would hurt the most to destroy him, and I had. Emmet could not form speech to argue with me, he couldn’t even muster up any anger to shot down my ridiculous proposition. Whatever it was inside of me that had decided that my physical being had anything weight behind how much Emmet loved me was not located somewhere in the sane part of my brain. It had never been an issue and the real part of me, the part that wasn’t being ravished by old demons knew that it never would be. I would always be good enough for him weather I stood in the sun or the rain, weather I was fat or thin, short tall or anything in between. I never understood how or why he came to this conclusion but he had and I was done fighting it because every time I did we both nearly ending up underground however I did have to be the best person I could be for him and to use the thing that intertwined us so deeply in hurt against him was one of the worse things that I could do.

There were no options left. Everything about the day had broken me in some way and though I did not deserve compassion or understanding for my current pain, I hurt more then was manageable. As humans we always had to have options of making the pain go away, even if the method was unconventional, or even painful.

I turned away from Emmet and left the room, my reluctant feet dragging me towards the kitchen. I knew what I had to do now as inevitability. When I was a teenager or even just a bit younger it would have never have worked like this There was nothing calm about razors on skin and blood on bandages it was chocking but now it wasn’t like that. There wasn’t really anything to fight. It had gone past any fight and there was no one to stop me. Not to mention I was just too exhausted to care.

I reached the cupboard on the right above the sink and opened the door going up on tip toes and clenching my stiff fingers around the same metal box that was always there. It was so pretty yet hidden from view from the rest of the world because its tools that lurked inside were ugly. They were only there for me of course. Most families didn’t need a box for such usage but it had been here since we moved next to a bright yellow sharps box and first aid kit.

Very gently I rested the box on the counter and lifted out what I was after, unwrapping it so the soft brushed seal could glint up at me from the sharp end and without meaning to – even though the reaction repulsed me I smiled. I didn’t know what it was inside of me that made me feel like I needed the blood so much but my physical being new that it would make me feel better before the pain came again and it was happy about it.

I chose my arm as the spot to use; the fleshy underside of my wrist the destination for the new collection to the scars that already marked the skin in fury and held the edge at the skin teasing it.  I wasn’t sure why I chose there. I normally went for the legs as they were easy to hide and that was now important but they almost felt too far away. It would take too long to pull my jeans off and it was my wrists that pulsed with blood.

As I was about to press down Emmet came behind me his arms wrapped around on the outside of mine grabbing at my wrist and hands  trying to take the object that threatened my skin out of my hands and I pulled away from him unable to listen to his pleas or efforts to stop me.

The blade caught on skin as I jerked my arm back to shake off Emmet. The familiar tightness that I wanted to feel that was blade going through flesh pleasuring my fingers and there was the blood too. The warm stickiness washing over my hands and dripping to the floor giving me a slight thrill however the feeling still wasn’t right. There was no pain or no release from my body only more horror as Emmet dropped my arms with a shriek and grabbed hold of the bleeding gash that sped about six inches down his underarm from wrist to elbow. I had cut the wrong wrist.