I bite my lower lip and close my eyes, losing myself in the feeling. If he hadn't taught me to be quiet, I'd probably moan in pleasure right now… And I'd probably cry loudly afterward, knowing I'm nothing but a monster.

My head lolls back as my back arches. This feels so right… ah! … This feels so right… In half-an-hour, though, I'll come back to my senses and say it isn't…

But for now — ah! — for now, that's not important. For now, this is all that matters. For now, I'll forget I started picking my scabs when I was 9. For now, I won't remember how I started overdosing on everything when I was 11. For now, I'll ignore I said at school I'd commit suicide when I was 13.

Ah!

For now, while this razor cuts me, opening slits through which I can breathe; for now, as each new slice pours red liquid freely, making me feel free; ah! — for now... For now…

I'm breathing heavily, as the sensations ebb away, as my heartbeats slow down and become even paced, as the lines which before were cold now tingle…

And I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to see what I've done to me, not wanting to see my blood, not wanting to feel regret and self-hatred and disgust… Not wanting to acknowledge that I was wrong when I thought I was over this… Not wanting to stand up and wash the wounds and hide them… Not wanting, just like I didn't then… Not wanting…

But I can't keep my eyes closed forever.

And so, opening my eyes, I can see myself in the mirror. My face is soon tear-stained, but I don't sob: he taught me to be quiet… He taught me to be his… He taught me…

I am his monster.