The Game

•Twenty-three•

I don't normally do warnings as I did put up a note at the beginning of the story. But what we are about to read isn't included in that note so I'm quickly going to put this up and I'll also mention this could arise again in the book but I won't be warning you so from now on please be warn the book will contain self harm.

My eyes are swollen and red, I've been watching the clock in Harry's room tick by every second for the last six hours. I've been listening to his peaceful sleepy breathing and for most people it would be the most comforting sound in the world. But for me every breath he makes is a reminder that he's alive and is able to carry on hurting me. Every twitch is a sudden dread of, is he waking up for round three or four?

How have I allowed him to rape me more than once? First time was a shock but now it just feels normal and that's not OK. It shouldn't be normal.

I still as I feel him turn over and groan, moving his hand and resting it on my stomach which stops me from breathing. I don't know how long I've held my breath until he speaks "Are you dead?" he moans.

I let out a long gasp "What?"

"For some reason your breathing stopped when I touched you"

"Did it? I wasn't aware" I coolly reply.

"Some might take that as you don't like being touched. But for someone who said they love me last night surely that's not the reason" he sits up and moves the hair out of my face.

"obviously not, I love you" I smile trying to hold back the tears from the words I've allowed to come out of my mouth.

"hmm. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes" I turn over and sit up at the edge of the bed.

"Strange" he mutters as I feel the bed move as he gets out.

"what's strange?"

"That you slept well, because you look like utter shit. Get dressed it's breakfast time" I listen to his footsteps as they leave the room. As soon as I hear the door close I rest my dirty, disgusting head in my hands and cry.

After ten minutes I realise Harry isn't coming back and is most likely sorting breakfast out. I'm shaking with emotion and start opening draws to his bedside table to find something, anything to distract my thoughts when something shiny catches my eye.

I hold some nail scissors in my hand and open them up, slowly moving my finger over the tip and feel the cool sharpness of the metal against my hot clammy skin.

The thoughts of what I could do with this sharp object to Harry makes me smile, so I'm surprised when I lower the scissors to the top of my thigh. I press against my skin and I can feel the pressure build and build before the end has no choice but to open my skin. I don't stop I like the pain it's a refreshing new pain to concentrate on. The blood slowly weeps from the wound along with the slow droplets of tears landing on my leg.

Why does this feel so good? Is it because I'm controlling the pain. I have the control over my body right now. I could stop but I don't want to, I drag the point to the other side of my thigh and allow the scissors to drop to the floor. I watch as the blood gathers up and starts rolling down my thigh.

I smile at the wound I caused, yes me. I caused myself this pain and I liked it. I liked the feeling of it being me doing something to myself. Has it really got to this?

I hold my head again in my hands and deeply think to myself what a fucked up life I'm leading right now. This wasn't the plan, obviously its no ones plan but I was destined for something more than a sex slave.