You can learn to love• Kyman love story•(completed)

Aversion therapy

(TW: contains implications of self harm!)

I shook my head in disbelief. I'm not believing a word that leaves this assholes mouth. 

"No, you're a fucking liar!" I yelled. I can't think of a reason as to why Kenny would lie, but there has to be one. He's probably just trying to freak me out.

"What? Why is that so bad?"

"Because! I already have enough shit going on, I don't want to have a possible relationship on the side!" That's partly a lie, but he seems to buy it. Well, for the most part. 

"It's not as bad as you think."

I scoff and turn to walk back home. I'm not taking this assholes advice. He eats pop tarts for dinner, for Christ's sake. I don't know why I even called him down here. Weidly, he doesn't follow me. It's for the best he didn't though, cause I probably wouldn't beaten him up if he did. I feel so angry, and I'm not sure why. I mean, I got my answer, why am I being so goddamn stubborn. Who cares if I have a crush on Kyle. Oh god, I have a crush on Kyle. Kyle broflovski, my crush. I like Kyle. Like-like Kyle. Jesus Christ, I think I'm gonna be sick. When I get back home, I'm not tired anymore. In fact, I'm wide awake. So much for sleeping for two days. My stomach dropped,and I rushed into the bathroom, looking into the mirror. I was sweaty from running and my cheeks were bright red. I look like Rudolph's retarded cousin. I washed my face under the sink and tried to regain my composure. Hopefully, I can push this aside for a few hours and get some sleep.   That didn't work. I lied in that damn bed for hours, my head swirling with overwhelming thoughts. All of them, having to do with Kyle in one way or another. I need to fix this. I need to change my feelings somehow. I pull my phone out, and google several things that could help me get over my Kyle addiction. That's what I'm calling it now, cause then it sounds like a problem. It is a problem. A big problem. I stumble across something called "Aversion therapy". Basically, you cause discomfort to yourself while looking at a picture of the thing that you're trying to stop doing. Like a cigarette, or a bottle of alcohol. I guess that might work, but I don't have any buzzers or anything, so I come up with a different way. I have a pocket knife in my dresser that I figure might work. There's also a picture I have of Kyle somewhere in my closet.

When I get my materials, I head into my bathroom and lock the door. I'm pretty sure there's bandages in the medicine cabinet that I can use if it gets out of hand. Okay, I think I'm ready. I roll up my left sleeve and examine my wrist. It's pretty smooth and clear. Not for long though. I pressed the bottom of the blade on my wrist, and I move the picture of Kyle so it's in my field of vision. While staring at it, I quickly slash the blade on my arm. It stings badly. I forgot that I was supposed to be looking at Kyle, and I grip my arm. After the stinging subsides, there's a painful throb that hurts a lot. I almost sob at it. After I adjust to the pain, I realize I have to do it again because I did it wrong. I groan, and repeat my process, this time looking at the picture intensely. It seems to work a little, and I don't feel all fluttery when I see his face in the photo, all I feel is the pain. It's almost relieving. After a few minutes though, the lovey dovey feelings come back like a ton of bricks, and I almost break down on my bathroom floor like a teenage girl after a breakup. After a few more marks, I come to the conclusion that, the more the damage, the longer the pain stays. Meaning, the relief stays too.

When I was finished, my arm looked like a ninja cat was playing 'Candy crush' on it. My lines weren't necessarily like the ones they portray in media. They always make it small little pussy cuts on the upper wrist, but mine were a dark red, they were long and not all of them were horizontal. I did vertical cuts too, I'm not sure why. It just felt right in the moment. I decided to wrap my arm in Ace bandages and hopefully, nobody notices tomorrow. As I lied in bed, I still didn't regret my decision. Sure, my arm fucking hurt like hell, but my mind was clear. I was finally able to sleep that night. It was great.