Painted BladesMature

Welcome to my mind. He and she are both, really, me. Maybe some of 'his' thoughts will be thrown in here - the ones I know anyway - but most will be just mine.
Because I know my mind much better than I know anyone else's; much better than I know any character's.

She slid the blade through her fingers and sighed. Is this what it had come to? The 'paint' she found along its edges just "for my artwork"; "nothing to worry about" he said.

Is this how close they were now? Were they not even close enough to follow the agreement they had about secrets and lies? But then, that was just it, she thought. They were not that close anymore.
And still, she was here in his house.

She looked over to see him sleeping peacefully, free of nightmares, fear, anger, emotion overall seemed lost of his face. A simple serenity that sleeping seemed to have become for him: she envied that.

Glancing back at the craft knife and the box beneathe it in their whole now, she noticed the stains within the tiny, transparent box and shook her head. Once upon a time they had been so close yet, she realised, when they were close this had never been a problem. The temptations of blades and the beauty of blood had never caused him any pleasure, but rather disgust; distaste... disdain even.

She remembered, so long ago, showing her scars to him and seeing the emotions flash across his face: anger, pain, hate, guilt and so many others. He had been so hurt that she would resort to something so violent; so damaging.
But their honesty had kept them close no matter how he had felt about the way she had been treating herself at that time in her life - even though it hurt him almost as much as she hurt herself.
Yet now he's over the disgust and what, now it's okay?

She was getting angry.
She needed to calm down for fear of waking him somehow but the anger just kept rising until she couldn't keep it in her anymore.

Before she realised what she was doing, she was over him.
The anger was rising like bile in her throat as she held the craft knife in her trembling right hand and she did not know how to keep it in. Only one thing could take away her pain now.
Her grip tightened on her weapon as she glared down at the sleep-filled dreamer beneathe her.
So perfect. How dare he be so perfect.
The blade was coming down and it would kill him. The blood, the glorious blood would poor out and she would be free.

Then the scream caught her attention and the knife tumbled from her hand as she covered her ears in confusion.

It was then, as the noise slowly died out that she realised the noise had been produced by her own throat and not by another's.

The End

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