Work Text:
She found out.
I don't know how .
I'd hidden it from anywhere she could see.
She was never supposed to find out.
She found out.
I don't know why.
I never left the evidence behind.
She was never supposed to find out.
She found out.
I don't know what to do now.
I deserve this and, even more so, I need it.
She was never supposed to find out.
When she did find out
I'd done it recently enough
That it didn't really matter when she demanded my blades.
I could reopen the pain
And
I figured
when I couldn’t anymore
I'd have earned them back.
It wouldn't be an issue.
She told me to
promise her.
Promise her that I wouldn't do something I'd regret.
Promise her I wouldn't put the blade back to my skin.
Promise her I wouldn't go further.
I didn't know what to do,
How to avoid it,
How to not Promise.
But still it shouldn't be an issue
I foolishly thought.
I'd be able to reopen them
And by the time I couldn't
Maybe I wouldn't need it anymore.
After all life could be better,
I could pay my penance,
And things would be different,
Right?
For a while I was right.
They reopened,
They bled,
Gushed really,
And the pain kept me stable.
And all the while I was able to respond
"I am"
When she reminded me
"Keep your promise to me."
But they started to scar.
They started to not open back up despite my pleas.
I realised I'd messed up.
How could I keep my Promise
When I'd already created my biggest regret
By giving away my blades,
My freedom,
My control.
"Keep your promise to me."
But if I'd already sucumed to what would be my biggest regret,
There was only one more part I could continue to keep.
"Don't put the blade back to your skin. Don't go farther."
And I didn't.
I was already enough of a disappointment,
I could do this one thing for her.
I could.
"Keep your promise to me."
The reminder came more frequently on the bad weeks.
And I wanted to please her
Almost as much as I wanted my blades back.
But I needed that pain,
Even if it couldn't come by my familiar metal.
"Keep your promise to me."
The solution came by accident.
I was trying to be good.
I'd put a band-aid over the biggest mark at the time
And I was trying to be the good girl.
I promise,
It wasn't intentional.
I didn't choose to be allergic to the adhesive.
I didn't mean to scratch at the irritation.
And I definitely didn't expect that scratching to break the skin.
But it was a one time thing,
Right?
The next itch was random,
But reminded me how good nails could feel.
So I did it again
Watching it slowly turn red under my administrations.
I added more pressure,
Loving the soothing sense of control.
I was back in control.
I did it again.
And again.
And again.
My fingernails moved frantically
Over the same area
Repeatedly.
It took some work,
But soon my beautiful red paint flowed again.
I'm keeping my promise to her.
I haven't put the blade to my skin.
I haven't gone further.
After all,
Fingernails aren't blades.
They're natural so how could they be bad?
And all the marks barely clear a few layers of skin,
Not farther than when I had my tool.
I'm keeping my promise.
"Keep your promise to me."
There is a way
That still leaves me in control.
As long as I make sure the places aren't obvious
I can get the relief I need
And the punishment I deserve.
And even if she does find out,
If she demands I trim my nails,
I can trim them too short.
Get the comfort directly from my destroyed nail beds.
Not to mention,
With enough pressure,
The skin still gives way.
"Keep your promise to me."
I am.
I will.
But don't think that means
I won't find my control from a less conventional way.
I can keep my promise
While still keeping my sanity.