The Wolf and The Medic: An Is It Love Fan-Fiction

With Every Cut...

Lydia, we made it out together. Why did you leave me?

I am sitting on the bathroom floor in my room, sobbing softly. Lydia was badly burned, but she was supposed to live. I worked so hard for the last 6 months so I could take care of her. No matter her condition, I would do anything to nurse her back to health. Yet, after six months of fighting, Lydia died. Doctors told me she was recovering. They weren't clear about why she died.

"I should have...I should have...what else could I have done?"

Tears continue to stream down my face. I unwrapped a brown cloth to reveal a small blade. Rolling up my sleeves, I said to myself, "Just one more cut. It wouldn't make a difference. After my failures, I deserve this pain."

I slit my forearm. It was painful at first, but then I felt a soothing feeling over my wounded arm. But it wasn't enough. I needed more. I made another cut just an inch above my first wound. Blood came gushing out, forming a river that runs down my arm and painted the floor spotted red. I cut again, an inch below my first wound. With every cut, there's this soothing feeling. A feeling that comforts me. It's the only thing that can calm me down.

Several more cuts later, I switch to my other arm and repeated the same cycle. Slowly, I began to feel numb. The overwhelming feelings I had earlier no longer exist.  By the time I finished, both arms were sore, covered in blood. The floor was a mess. I open the sink and let the cold water run over my wounds. The water turned bright red. I continued to place my arms under very cold water for 15 minutes. This is the best way to ensure I could stop bleeding a river.

After I finished, I took some paper towels and wipe the floor clean. I used a little bleach to clean the floors better. This should do for now.

I look at both my arms. The feeling of shame starts to settle in me. I am hideous. My scars make me ugly. Why do I keep doing this?

There was a knock on my door. I quickly took some paper towel, wrap them around both arms, and roll both my sleeves down. I hid the knife in one of the cabinets and ran out of the bathroom to open the door.

"Hello, Layla. I was just checking on you to see if you're alright."

It was just Peter. I am touched by his intentions but now is not a good time. I may have a hard time hiding my pain, especially when I am at my most vulnerable state...

"Layla, are you--"

Peter pauses for a moment. I noticed that he suddenly started sniffing. Is he coming down with a cold? I remember his cold hand on my shoulder earlier. Maybe he's getting sick...

His actions are a little odd. He is sniffing and his face took agitated. It was as if he was trying to control himself. Is it just me, or did his eyes turned red for a second?

"Peter, is everything okay?" I asked.

"I think I'm coming down with something," he replied, "I'll go and rest for a bit."

"I think that would be best," I said.

He nods and leaves immediately. I sigh and closed the door. It would be best if I remain alone. I walked to the balcony that is apart of my room. The sun has set and the moon rules the night. There is a forest from a distance. Maybe I can go for a walk.

Grabbing my jacket, I quietly exit my room. I rush down the stairs and bump into someone by mistake. I look up and saw a handsome blonde hair, amber eye man with an arrogant smile. Drogo.

 "Bumping into me again, little thing? If I didn't know better, I say--"

Drogo suddenly paused. He starts sniffing, just as Peter did earlier. Only, he looks more agitated than Peter. I noticed Drogo clenching his teeth. Did his eyes just turn red? Drogo just ran upstairs, completely ignoring me. Weird. What is wrong with them?