Saviour

Saviour- Chapter 9: Dinner With a Blade

   My mouth watered as the waitress, Rosa, set down my double bacon cheeseburger with extra cheese in front of me. "Thank you!" I beamed before grabbing the steak sauce and dousing my burger and fries in it.

   "Whatever happened to good ole ketchup?" Clumsy asked from across the booth.

"My God! It speaks!" I said, my mouth full of fries. He just glared at me and went back to covering his cheeseburger in ketchup. Allow me to catch you up, after Clumsy asked me if I wanted to grab a bite we drove to a diner on the edge of town. It was your typical 50's diner with checkered floors, tin Coca-Cola signs and jukeboxes at every table, not that I'm complaining. Thing is, after we grabbed a booth in the back Clumsy stayed silent so excuse me for being surprised when the only other time he talked was when he ordered.

"I get another question." he said randomly.

I stopped placing fries on my hamburger patty and looked at him. "What do you mean?"

He took a bite and a sip of his Coke before answering. "After I answered you're question I was supposed to ask you a question but you asked me why I was so important. So you asked two questions in a row and then I asked if you wanted to get something to eat so that counts as one. I get one more."

I just stared at him. "Really?"

"Really."

"Well, ask away."

He took another bite of his burger and looked me in the eyes as he took another sip of his drink. "Why was your back bleeding when I walked you home?"

Fuck. I took a breath and counted to 3. It's no big deal, lie and shrug it off like you've done a thousand times before. "I was hanging up a picture and I slipped off of the step. My back got cut open on a piece of the ladder. Ah, the struggles of being short."

He nodded but he didn't seem to believe me. "Did you need stitches? Looked painful with the amount of blood that seeped through. Did you clean it out when you got home?"

Wait, what? When I changed I never noticed any blood on my shirt and if it bled that much that would mean that my stitches came out. But I checked them this morning and then again at work, they're fine...wait, aw shit. I gave up and leaned against the back of the red vinyl booth. "Explain."

"When you fell you gave it away.Obviously you were in a small amount of pain from the fall but for a short moment all the pain showed when your back made contact with the sidewalk. Then subconsciously you checked it, ran your hand along the back of your sweatshirt as if to check for blood soaking through. I know you didn't do it yourself because unless you're as flexible as an acrobat then you couldn't have. Someone else had to of and my the tone in your voice later that night I'm guessing you live with him." he seemed rather proud of himself that he figured it all out while I just sat there stunned in silence.

"H-how?" was all I could manage to say.

"And that is why I was important to Chuck."

* * *

It was 2 am, I couldn't breathe and I was shaking all over. I tried to sleep, I really did but then I was too hot and then I was too cold and then I couldn't breathe and so now I was on the floor with my arms wrapped around my knees. I couldn't breathe. Are the walls moving closer together? No, but it feels like it. I yanked on my hair and took in a big gulp of air. I hate this, this feeling. I'm fucking drowning and I can't breathe. Why can't I breathe? My hands reach up to my neck and I breathe in another gulp of air and feel my pulse.

I'm alive. Another tug and another gulp. Still alive. You know what you have to do, the voice in my head said.

"No." I whispered.

Oh come on, we both know it'll happen eventually. What's one little cut?, the voice urged.

I shook my head and scratched at my scarred arm. "I don't need it.."

Oh honey, look at yourself. You've already lost so many battles, why do you continue fighting?

She's right..what's one more? Another cut, another scratch. At the end of the day it won't matter, just another scar... Good girl.

I yanked on my hair again. "Shut up! Just shut up!" I crawled over to my dresser and reached my arm under it. All too quickly I found my box and dumped out my blades onto the cold hardwood floor. Hastily I grabbed an industrial one and dragged it up my arm and let out a gasp as I watched crimson filled up the carving. Good, now more.

"Shut up!" I screamed and cut again. And again. And again. And again. As I made more and more cuts in my body the voice in my head slowly quieted down until the only thing I heard was my slow and uneven breaths. I watched as the warm blood poured out of my skin and dripped onto the floor, creating a glassy red puddle that reflected my weakness. As the pool grew larger my eyelids got heavier until sleep took me away.

That morning I was woken up my a kick to the gut and then a boot pressing down on my cut up arm. "Wake up ya bitch. You better pray to whatever worthless god there is that your little fuck up doesn't stain the floor." a voice growled.

I scoffed and the comment and opened up my eyes. It took a minute for everything to come into focus and for me to take in my surroundings. My dresser, my box where I keep my blades, the puddle of blood from last night and my father's work boots were surrounding me. Oh fuck, this is going to be a lovely morning.

I felt another kick and I flinched. "Haven't you ever heard of waking someone up with 'Good morning'? I hear its rather effective." I growled back.

He pushed on my am with his boot and then took a step closer. "I see you still haven't learned to respect me. Do I need to give you a reminder?" he threatened and took out his knife.

My back flared up with pain at the thought and I shook my head no. As much as I hated obeying him I hated having my back cut open again even more. "That won't be necessary, dad." I answered through clenched teeth.

He seemed satisfied with that and put the knife away. "Good. Iwould hate to have to hurt you again."

Before I even realized what I was doing I let out a laugh and received a slap across the face. "What was that you little shit? I couldn't quite hear you."

I sent him a glare as bit the inside of my cheek. I debated on whether it was worth it to make another comment. I didn't want him to think that I was finally obeying him but I didn't know if I could handle another one of his "lessons." I still have the scar on my thigh from where he got stabbed with a piece of glass from one of my mothers broken vases. What a lovely day that was, I wasn't even the one who broke it, he came stumbling in from one of the bars across town and knocked it over, fucking dumbass. Still, better to keep him off my back, literally, for the next few days until he leaves for another "business trip." (And by business trip I mean leaving for Vegas for a week to stay drunk in casinos to escape all the stress I cause him, I usually just roll my eyes at that.) Making my decision I gave him a forced smile and answered him in a cheery voice. "Nothing dad. I'll clean up my mess."

With that he left my room, taking extra caution to steer clear of "my little fuck up". Fathers, aren't they wonderful?