Post by Rapunzel and Hiccup Haddock on Oct 10, 2013 20:50:37 GMT
Contains sexual references and self harm. From Rapunzel's POV.
Everyone deserves to be happy.
Right?
The mirrors broken and I don’t remember how. All I know is that my throat hurts and my fist is bleeding. My face is wet and my clothes are on the floor. The running water for the bathtub hums in the distance, like an invitation. ‘Come join me’ it says. ‘Just soak a while and relax. Take a nap, drink some wine and blow bubbles.’
When I was young, before my mother loved the bottle more than me, she would notice my days. My days where nothing was right and hell plagued the streets. Those days, she’d alert me that there was a warm bath waiting for me; bubbles, songs from artists who are probably dead or retired now, and a book. One that she picked from my room to read to me while I lied in the water.
What that book was called I forgot.
Stepping inside the water was much too hot, my flesh burnt. Steam fogged the mirrors. I didn’t want to see my face anyways. Besides I think I broke it.
If my hand was still bleeding I couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter; I was going to leave it. One morning Hiccup will walk into my room and see I’ve died from blood loss; because I was too gone to put on a band aid.
I couldn’t wait that long. I needed it now. I need to feel the blood leaving me as I sink my head into the boiling water. Every inch of my skin begged to spit like chopped wood.
I want to feel something.
Anything.
The shining metal glinted from the sink counter, Hiccup’s razor that he left after trying to shave. I laughed and pointed as he nicked himself. Now I was envious.
The blade shined in my hand. Long and sharp like a weapon from Sweeney Todd.
It was beautiful.
My hand was not bleeding alone anymore.
The blood from the slit wounds along my wrist splat onto the water, sizzling with a hiss. The flesh of the wounds bubbled and bled. Something I’d only seen in horror films where the victim is severed limb from limb.
One cut.
Holli was so nice. She was friendly. She was beautiful. She would be marry Jackson.
Two cuts.
Jackson.
Three cuts.
Jackson’s hands on my body.
Four cuts.
Jacksons breath against my neck.
Five cuts.
My clothes ripped from me like a disposable rag doll.
Six cuts.
The pain. The excruciating pain as he stole from me.
Seven….
Eight…..
I lost track…
Everyone deserves to be happy.
Right?
The mirrors broken and I don’t remember how. All I know is that my throat hurts and my fist is bleeding. My face is wet and my clothes are on the floor. The running water for the bathtub hums in the distance, like an invitation. ‘Come join me’ it says. ‘Just soak a while and relax. Take a nap, drink some wine and blow bubbles.’
When I was young, before my mother loved the bottle more than me, she would notice my days. My days where nothing was right and hell plagued the streets. Those days, she’d alert me that there was a warm bath waiting for me; bubbles, songs from artists who are probably dead or retired now, and a book. One that she picked from my room to read to me while I lied in the water.
What that book was called I forgot.
Stepping inside the water was much too hot, my flesh burnt. Steam fogged the mirrors. I didn’t want to see my face anyways. Besides I think I broke it.
If my hand was still bleeding I couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter; I was going to leave it. One morning Hiccup will walk into my room and see I’ve died from blood loss; because I was too gone to put on a band aid.
I couldn’t wait that long. I needed it now. I need to feel the blood leaving me as I sink my head into the boiling water. Every inch of my skin begged to spit like chopped wood.
I want to feel something.
Anything.
The shining metal glinted from the sink counter, Hiccup’s razor that he left after trying to shave. I laughed and pointed as he nicked himself. Now I was envious.
The blade shined in my hand. Long and sharp like a weapon from Sweeney Todd.
It was beautiful.
My hand was not bleeding alone anymore.
The blood from the slit wounds along my wrist splat onto the water, sizzling with a hiss. The flesh of the wounds bubbled and bled. Something I’d only seen in horror films where the victim is severed limb from limb.
One cut.
Holli was so nice. She was friendly. She was beautiful. She would be marry Jackson.
Two cuts.
Jackson.
Three cuts.
Jackson’s hands on my body.
Four cuts.
Jacksons breath against my neck.
Five cuts.
My clothes ripped from me like a disposable rag doll.
Six cuts.
The pain. The excruciating pain as he stole from me.
Seven….
Eight…..
I lost track…
How do you like being elevated off the ground, Pitch? *Pouts*
What kind of surgery was it?
Good lord! 
