Why Do You Love Me?

And I am not as pretty as those girls in magazines
I am rotten to my core if they're to be believed
So what if I'm no baby bird hanging upon your every word?
Nothing ever smells of roses that rises out of mud.

~ Extract from 'Why Do You Love Me?' Lyrics By Garbage

There's a limit to strength. There's a limit to power. There's a limit to endurance.

There's no limit to pain.

The razor blade is sharp. The way it cuts through my skin feels so damn good. The pain makes me feel clean, it purifies me, it let's me live again...It shows I'm in control. Of something.

Even if that's not my life.

My eyes are so blue. They're so full of corruption, of pain, of lies...like my soul.

I'm sick of being strong. I'm sick of being tough. I'm sick of taking of taking all this bull.

Sometimes, a person has to express themselves.

Let me rewind. Let me tell you a story. My story.

I was a lonely, screwed-up kid. I had no friends. I had no parents. I had a trio of good-for-nothing sisters. Life was a hellhole.

One day, I ran away from it all. I was a coward. I was heading for a breakdown. I needed to get away from...everything.

I found a pretty creek. I was fishing. Then I pulled out this scrawny scrap of a kid, hanging onto a Pikachu for all it was worth.

That was the day my life changed.

His name was Ash and he became my friend, my best friend. He showed me a different side of life. He gave me a name, a reputation, he gave me a place in his heart.

For once, I fell down and didn't have to get up myself. Warm arms encircled me and pulled to my feet. And not just Ash's. He introduced me to others – in a sense. My almost big brother, Brock. Tracey. Gary. Mrs. Ketchum. Melody. So many people, so much...love?

Now six years on, and I'm practically eighteen. A grown up. Ha, don't make me laugh.

Ash is sixteen. I don't see him that much. We stopped travelling together when I was thirteen. He went on a few journeys with Brock and a pair of kids called May and Max for a while. Then he went solo. Just him and Pikachu. Just like it was at the start. Or so he says.

He came back three weeks ago. We hadn't met up in ages. He looked real good. He said I did too. I don't believe him.

Things happened so fast. One minute I was watching him approach, marveling at how much he'd changed and the next minute he was telling me he...loved me.

Love? What does he know of love?

Who am I kidding? Ash knows about love. I don't know about love. I did once. I did love him. But he hurt me, he went off with 'May'. I hate being hurt. It makes me feel weak. Feel fragile. Feel alone. I didn't want to ever be alone again.

So I resolved not too love. Love = hurt. Too my messed-up mind it sounded right. Forget love, forget hurt. So I did, but I only managed to former.

Damn.

Now, what?

He loves me. I used to love him. He loves me. He loves me. And I think he means it.

Double damn.

Do I still love him? No, I've forgotten what love is. How to love. Who's gonna teach me? I wonder if there's a Dummy's Guide To Being In Love...

So here I am, doing what I've been doing since he left. Injuring myself.

The blade touches my skin. The cold seeps through me and I suppress a shiver. I push, forcing the blade into my arm and bite my lip so hard it bleeds. As the hole opens up, I pull the blade through my form and then draw it out. The cut is big, but not deep. The blood pools and spills out. Onto the floor?

Huh, do I look stupid? There's a towel there. One of my old towels. It's already caked with dried blood and now, new scarlet plops down creating red puddles that makes my vision roar.

The blade is clean. I've washed it. It won't get infected. I look at the twin scar that's running down my other arm. This one is a purple stripe because it has healed. But I won't let it heal. As soon as the new skin appears, I will tear through it. The final act of destruction. Just like my broken spirit.

My hands are covered in tiny cuts. Fire-red, brown and crimson all smirk up at me. Abruptly, I'm wrapped up in another vise of pain. Not physical but emotional.

The kind I can't stand.

It's the ultimate sin but I can't stop myself. I need to show myself that whatever the world does to me, I can do it to myself an infinite times worse. Out of my back pocket, I pull out a jar. It's full of salt. I open the lid, take a pinch and sprinkle it over my wound.

Oh. My. God.

It hurts. Like the fires of Inferno.

I laugh bitterly. Yes, tell the world to try and beat that. No one's as powerful as me. I can take the pain. I can handle the heat. I don't see anyone else who can.

There's a limit to strength. There's a limit to power. There's a limit to endurance.

There's no limit to pain.

Or stupidity.

The End