This Is a War Of Its Own [Discontinued]

Chapter 4 - Why? [Max POV]

Those two were odd.

The one that's named "Lucy" has this weird hairstyle that covers her left eye. She is also a werewolf who probably prefers showing her ears and tail rather than hiding them.

And the other one was fucking creepy! "Elizabeth" looked like a cyclops from afar, but she has like a million eyes all around her body! She has horns and for some reason, no tail?

Anyway, Jo and I are heading home. We both live in the same apartment complex.

I've been dying to go home ever since that fiasco.

"Those two were nice," Jo says, taking me out of my thoughts.

"What do you mean nice, ass? They were weird."

"They weren't that weird."

I glare at her.

"Okay they were weird."

I remember something Jo said in the café.

"Wait. What did you mean by I owe you 60 bucks?" I ask.

"Oh yeah! How do you not remember?"

I give her a blank stare. I search in my mind for what she's talking about, but nothing's coming up.

"Seriously, dude," Jo says, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" I ask.

"Okay remember that bet we had?"

"N-"

"Yeah you wouldn't. Anyway, we had a bet where if you could go one day without calling me "ass", I owe you $60. But unfortunately, you are just too mean."

"Yeah. Guess that's the way I am, ass," I say, emphasizing the word "ass". "Oh look we're here! Bye!"

"We live in the same building," Jo says, looking at me confused.

"Yeah, but not the same apartment."

"Ugh, sometimes you really are unbearable!"

I start laughing. Then Jo joins me.

. . .

I'm in my house. It's dark out and I'm hungry, so I head to the kitchen. It's a small kitchen, not that that's surprising. I'm not rich.

I look in the cupboards for anything that could calm my hunger.

Then I see it.

A knife, sitting there, with a shiny blade. My reflection staring back at me.

"No," I say to myself, "don't do it!"

I say this despite knowing I hadn't taken my pills. How could I fucking forget that?! The one thing I needed to last me a day with out me cutting myself, I fucking forget?!

The knife is tempting me. It shining in the light. It's waiting there, for me to take it.

No! This isn't what I wanted. This isn't supposed to happen! WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T PICK UP THAT DANM KNIFE!

A moment of silence.

I pick it up. I roll up my sleeve. My arm. My danm arm, is covered in cuts and bruises. No, I don't have depression, or at least I don't think I do. I just like the pain. A little too much.

It all started when I was young, thirteen maybe. I was on my bike and a rock caused me to fall. A fucking rock.

I fell and scratched my knee. Blood everywhere. I realised that I liked it. It leads to now, when I absolutely hate myself for it.

I hold up the knife to my arm, regretting every second of it, but I don't stop. I put the knife to my arm and...

It hurts. It hurts so much! I just keep going.

Why?

Why do I do this to myself?

When I realize what I'm doing, I stop. I get out of the kitchen, leaving the knife there. I head to the bathroom and grab the med-kit off the shelf. I take out the bandages and wrap up my arm.

I breakdown and cry.

What the fuck's wrong with me? I shouldn't be doing this in the first place. Why am I crying? It's my fault.

I cry myself to sleep.