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��������������� With a sharp hiss, I touched the flame to the underside of my right palm, watching as the calloused flesh was scorched. It hurt� but it didn�t. Kind of a weird, paradoxical thing. I slowly moved the lighter to trace a path up my arm, leaving black scorch marks whenever the object touched my skin. I could smell it. I could smell myself� burning. Daniel� stop this� good God, stop this! But I couldn�t.

��������������� I was enjoying it.

��������������� I continued attacking myself with the fire until I couldn�t stand it anymore. With an animalistic shriek, I hurled the lighter off of the balcony and into the street below, then recoiled, panting. You�re going nuts! Stop! But I was addicted. The lighter had lost its �touch�, and like any addict with any gateway drug, I was seeking more. And so I gathered myself up and headed back into Darren�s apartment, searching for my next course of action.

��������������� There was a detached rationality in the back of my mind, screaming for me to get some sense and end this pointless barrage of self-inflicted pain� but� I wasn�t thinking. I was in a trance.

��������������� Staggering through the flat in a half-inebriated state, I searched for a new way to inflict new harm upon the body, the being, that I�d grown so quickly to resent. I was making my way through the bedroom, when I heard it.

��������������� There was music playing� Darren must have had his alarm set or something, because it was the radio. Intrigued, I followed the sound until I reached his bedside alarm clock, and peered down at it, rather inquisitively.

��������������� �I lifted her head, she looked at me and said�

��������������� Hold me, darling, just a little while��

��������������� Boy, was I *not* in the mood for *that* song. With another roar, I flipped the flimsy clock-radio from the nightstand, pulled its cord from the socket, and launched it at the wall. I nearly jumped back a foot to avoid being hit with shattered pieces, which flew in all directions and littered the floor, and was heaving afterwards. Jesus!

��������������� I slumped down onto the bed and held my head in my hands, rested my elbows on my knees. Daniel, just get a hold of yourself! Calm down! But I couldn�t. My brain wasn�t in control� I was feral. After a few moments of panting, I stood and wandered (in my drunken, half-dazed state) over to the opposite end of the room, to a desk that was stashed away in one corner. Pawing through the drawers, searching for nothing in particular, my search ended upon discovery of a set of sewing needles and a pair of scissors.

��������������� Almost immediately (it could have been accidentally�), one of the needles was plunged into the back of my hand, until it shone through on the other side. I hissed sharply, and quickly pulled it out, leaving behind a tiny pinprick of red.

��������������� Over and over, I stabbed myself with the tiny sutures, wincing with each and still continuing. My mind was screaming at me to get control over my body, but I wasn�t listening. Finally, I pulled the largest needle from my upper arm and stared downwards at my �work�. My already-battered arms were now pricked into severity, and fine trickles of blood were beginning to slide down the sides. But I could still feel it. I could still feel the guilt, swimming around inside my veins and constricting my mind� I could still feel it eating away at my very existence, and swallowing me entirely.

��������������� The scissors were lifted in a pale, quivering hand, and the blades were separated. My fingers trembled, and my eyes were reflected in the cool surface of the polished steel. Here goes nothing�

��������������� With the air of a curious child about me, I lifted the edge and slowly trailed it over the burn marks on my right arm, pressing hard enough to draw blood. There was pain�. Not a lot, but there was some, and again, I felt myself becoming addicted to the situation. The entire duration, my mind was screaming� but what was the point of listening? For all I cared, my mind could go jump out a window.

��������������� I continued trailing the edge up and down, leaving tiny lacerations in the movement�s wake� it stung, and I knew that I shouldn�t be doing it, but was there any reason not to? Was there any reason to keep going, to continue and just waste away? If I couldn�t have Darren� was there really any reason I should stick around? The questions made my head hurt, and my mind continued to wander. I guess I lost my concentration, my hands were shaking, something must have happened�

��������������� I felt an intense pain tear through my upper arm, and I looked down just in time to see the bloodied scissors clatter to the floor. A flood of hot red poured from the new wound, saturating my sleeve almost instantly. I let out a sharp cry, and clasped my left hand over the gaping cut. �Jesus Christ�.� I murmured to myself, repeatedly. �Oh, God� what�ve I done?� I began to tremble violently, falling from the bed to land upon the floor, and curled into a defensive ball. Searing tears streaked from my eyes as I rocked with sobs, trying to block out all the pain� emotional and physical, it was just too much to bear.

��������������� My arm was beginning to grow numb, and I became aware after a few moments that it seemed the whole of my body was covered in blood. For a moment, I was detached. Blood? Whose blood? But it all came crashing back to memory. Still quaking, I peered down at the deep cut� I could see the pulsing of some vein or artery� it seemed way too close to the surface� Jesus, that thing must have been deep�

��������������� I had to call the doctors. The police. Ben. Anyone. I tried to stand, and fell back to the floor with another cry of shock and agony. Get control of yourself� you�re not that badly hurt� stop shaking� I spoke to myself over and over, trying to calm down. It didn�t work, and I couldn�t pull my blood- and tear- soaked body up from the floor. Was I bleeding to death? Oh, God, was I going to die? That thought forced me to move, and I tried to clear my mind. Darren always had a phone on his nightstand� right side� I wasn�t very far away! I gathered as much strength as I could, and began crawling towards the head of the bed.

It looked so far away�

��������������� My pace was slow. I wasn�t even crawling, really� just sort of pulling myself. I felt myself slipping, and grabbed upwards at the bed spread. My fingers clutched thick fabric, and I managed to keep from falling to the ground. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God� I just clung there for a few minutes, beads of sweat running down my forehead. I felt dizzy. I was getting vertigo� and I was only three feet from the ground.

��������������� But I had to keep going. I had to reach that phone. I couldn�t let my own selfishness kill me. So I continued crawling, almost blindly, my vision was blurring, until I felt my hand smash into something solid. I was numb, and never even felt the impact. With a long groan, I pulled myself into a sitting position, reaching blindly for the telephone. I couldn�t find it! Oh, God.. it wasn�t there! I must have moved it! Where was the telephone?! Finally, my fingertips brushed against the surface of the tiny desk-phone, and I frantically pawed at it until the receiver fell down off the tabletop. I gripped it so hard that I swore it�d never leave my grasp.

��������������� But who could I call? I didn�t know the hospital number� Ben�s hotel� Ben� Ben�s cell phone! I knew that number� I thought I did� didn�t I? My mind was losing it. I pulled the telephone down off of the night-stand and set it in my lap. It was smeared with blood already. My blood, again�? Trembling digits punched in each of the numbers as I cradled the receiver in one palm, against my cheek. I made too many mistakes� it wasn�t going to work� I heard ringing�.

��������������� �Hello? Who is this?� I choked at Ben�s words, struggling to find the energy to speak. I was shaking so bad� the floor was shaking� no it wasn�t� yes it was�

��������������� �Hello?�

��������������� Who was I calling again? Ben. Darren�. No, not Darren. Darren�s gone. �Ben�� I whispered. My voice was too high� it didn�t sound like me at all�

��������������� �I�m hurt,� I managed to squeak. I heard a sharp gasp on the other end of the line. I was so stupid. I should have gone back to the hotel. I should have stayed at the hospital. My head hurt. Ben was saying something, but I couldn�t hear him. My mind was gone�

��������������� �Ben, I�m sorry for yelling at you.� Why was I apologizing? He�d been just as rude. Why had I yelled at him in the first place? Who was I talking to? I groaned again, and felt myself slipping. My head hurt. Ben was screaming at the phone� I couldn�t make out the words�

��������������� I felt myself falling to the ground, the phone hanging down from its cord. My body hit the ground with a satisfying �thunk�, and I let my head rest against the wooden floor. It felt better to lay down. I could still hear something� where was I� was that Ben�s voice�.?

��������������� Ben�s voice�.

���������������

��������������� On the telephone�

��������������� So tinny and far away�