Chapter 202 : The body he loved

I knew the first thing that I needed was someone to do battle with me, an ally. Someone who would take up arms and battle to the end and he lied up stares under cotton covers, lost somewhere to the beauty of his dreams. I needed him but I did not want to wake him. Too many times he had seen me bleed and every time I had seen his torture etched onto his face. He watched self-harmers on the unit he stitched wounds and said the right things and he didn’t blink but the trouble was he loved me. I had no idea why, why out so many millions he would get entwined with mine but it had. When I cut my self he felt the blade across his skin too. He would stand up and fight but in battle people were wounded

 It was cut fifteen that left me with no choice but to call upon him, it was deeper then fourteen and I bled more heavily, by sixteen we entered the black world of internal stitched and possible surgery and that was somewhere I could not go, but alone I had no choice.

 I ran from the kitchen fast feeling the blood from my thighs dribble down my legs in streams while I kept my blade pressed between my thumb and finger. If I was quick I had a chance of getting to the bedroom and raising the alarm before the monster moved the blade into my skin again but there would be no time for a gentle awakening. No time to run my fingers through his hair, I would have to be blunt and to the point if I had half a chance.

 He slept soundly under the pile of covers one leg out the side and one arm stretched out as if trying to touch me. His mouth was slightly slack and his eyelids flickered softly as his deep breathing filled the room. Even in sleep he was in my mind a state of perfection. To wake him was selfish, a violation almost but I needed to.

 I tried to speak his name softly but couldn’t manage it instead it came out as a half sob, half scream. A yelp and with it his groggy eyes opened his arms and legs recoiling then stretching out, his hands looking for my body that should have been next to his before he gave up and turned on his bedside light setting the room aglow with yellow light as his eyes fell upon me.

 “Help me,” I half begged, “I can’t stop, I just can’t stop,” I groaned as I posed the blade in my hand again over another uncut spot on my leg, “Stop me.” I pleaded.

 He was out of bed instantly the sleep banished from his eyes as he regarded my body. It was the body that he said he loved, the body that had been close to his. My skin had been pressed to his millions of times before. Our body’s had intertwined in passion and in grief. He had kissed every square inch of surface area. He had told me it was beautiful. Now it wept red tears for the injured soul it contained. Cracked and broken

 “Ok Esmee. Give me the blade.” Emmet said gently yet firmly holding out his hand palm out so I could give it to him. I would have gladly handed it over, but I couldn’t, my skin cried for me to carry on. The blade begged to be pushed against the skin. I pushed down hard with a shaking had. The skin split. The blood poured. Emmet yelped. I had felt nothing but he had, almost as much as if I had taken the blade to his skin. It was a shame that the numbness that went with cutting didn’t extend far enough to reach your loved ones.

 Emmet had been calm and in control but now he was human again, and in seconds he was on me, his hands locked around my hand with the blade in it prizing my fingers off of the metal until I released it to him and he launched it overarm across the other side of the room before bundling me into him without speaking a word.