Chenford Story

1

Lucy's POV

Jackson had died one year ago this exact day. It was awful. Every day since I his death I had watched that replay, hoping that something would be different. It was stupid, I had watched his body be lowered into the ground, saw the bullet wounds. And yet every fibre of my being couldn't accept that he was gone.

I grabbed the blade again, rolling up my top to reveal a horror gallery of scars and oozing wounds covering my midsection.
I watched the video again. This time grazing the blade over my raw skin, a thin line of blood dots appearing. Snap out of it Lucy. I kept repeating it to myself and yet I couldn't bear to put the blade down, to stop myself.

Emmet walked in just then, scoffing as he saw the blade pressed against my bare skin. "Wow Lucy, to weak to even stop yourself"

He walked over to me, a firm hand making contact with my face, making it sting. "Cut deeper babe, before I slap you harder"
I did as he said, each swipe becoming less planned, more wild and aggressive. A steady stream of blood was running down my leg, I felt Emmets tongue licking it up from my bare skin.

I knew he was my boyfriend, we had been dating for 4 months. And yet everything, every second with him felt so wrong.

I felt the familiar jingle of handcuffs in Emmets hands, the water glass and pills placed in front of me. "Better drink up baby"

I did as he said, everything becoming slightly blurrier the longer time went on, before it went black. This happened often, I would be drugged, handcuffed to the bed, and left to be used however Emmet wanted for the day.

I woke up probably four hours later, naked and still handcuffed to the bed, more bruising had appeared on my legs, handprints and nail marks especially. I knew what was happening, I knew he was most likely out drinking. Again. And yet I stayed, 'emmet is the only one who cares about you' 'no one else cares about you', the familiar voices rang out in my ears. I reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a spare handcuff key I kept hidden.

With difficultly, I unlocked myself, stepping in front of the full length mirror to examine my injuries. A broken finger, busted lip, bruising and bleeding, sore leg. All to be expected. Walking into the bathroom, I ran a bath for myself, allowing the water to was off the blood and memories of the day, what few I had left.

I saw the blade again, thrown underneath the sink. I reached out and grabbed it, making a line of cuts into my arm, like each cut was an individual blade of grass and my arm was the field. It stung. I knew it did. And yet somehow it made all the pain of Emmet, of Jackson..... just disappear.

I knew doing it was wrong, yet the physical pain made it numb. It made the memories of everything a little less painful.