Clarity

It is that moment of clarity. Right before the act. When you’ve chosen your stance and you’re holding on tight. You know your reasons, you can survive them. She knows why she does it now, knows the deepest reasons for her faltering before. She accepts the truth behind her choice. 1

Some say she can now be free, that her restored memory allows her the only peace she ever sought out. Others, herself included, believe she is trapped under the knowledge. Unable to break free without the sweetest taste of revenge coating her lips. But she cannot seek it out, for the fates have already brought the truest justice upon the one. She no longer can seek the physical harm for his actions, so she must move on to punish herself. For in her mind, it was a coupled act.2

Aptly with her tool in her grip and her teeth gritted shut she punishes her actions in the only way she can accept. The cool steel beneath her fingers slips across her skin like a whisper, leaving only the lightest recognition of pain. Her panicking system pushes the threat to the surface, visually reminding her that she is causing only pain. 3

Her mind does not register the harm of that action, instead reaching to grip the relief that the punishment mentally brings to her. She holds the pleasurable thought and runs it across again. Deeper this time, so as to feel it over the first wound. Her body cringes as the skin puckers and leaks. She forgets for a moment why she must cause this pain, why she seeks release. Her body releases adrenaline, fraying under her attack.4

But then she takes the time. She finishes her work swiftly, no longer enjoying the mess she has once again created. Her leg pauses, stretched out before her as she dabs at the mess with a damp tissue. It stings with her touch, but she revels in it more.5

Tidy as she has become over time, she swiftly places her bandages, prepared before hand. Always prepared. She never forgets the frenzy she faced on the trial run. Testing different parts of herself for the most pain… the most response… the most secret. 6

Nobody would find this patch. She could continue this forever and a day, if she so wished. Anything to guarantee her release from herself. 7

As the wound heals over the hours, she feels her keys brush against it, her hand rub it absently as she goes about her daily tasks. Never forgetting the reason that haunts her, that lets her carry on this pain. 8

From the outside, this small blip in history should cause her no pain now. She should be free from its reign, and yet she cannot dispel her hatred for herself, for the one who did this, for everything in between. With the unforgiving thoughts she continues this masquerade of happiness, sweating within from the pressures to keep up the charade outside. 9

Nobody can know. And yet she wants people to know she is screaming silently for some relief. She is her own worst enemy. Her own worst nightmare. Her biggest let down and her greatest disappointment. She only hopes she’ll eventually make it out alive. 10