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Description
    Pain. Sweet, satisfying pain. It was wonderful and horrible, satisfying and yet so hungry for more. The blade rested softly on my arm, my pale skin already scarred with other wounds, all of them healed, yet some obviously pinker than others.
    Twenty. This would be twenty scars now.
    My long, skinny legs were crossed under me, my trench coat lying on the floor of my room along with other scattered objects. Cameras, pendrives, clothes, a few computer games. The usual looking layout for a teenage boys room.
    Well, other than the small piles of UFO magazines, piles of theory papers and blueprints for machines of all kinds of natures.
    Of course right now that was all secondary. My mind wasn't on the alien I was chasing, or the theories I could be reading, it was on the small razor blade held against my arm. It was on the upper half of my forearm, that was where I cut the most. Why? So if I ever had to do something like wash dishes I could roll my sleeves up just a little and no one would be the wiser of my dirty, bloody little secret.
    My hand pressed against my skin further, my mind pushing me more and more. Cut. Bleed. Wince at the pain and feel that sweet wonderful release rush though you. Let that sick feeling you have every day in the bottom of your stomach, that horrible headache of a life that pounds at you from the moment you open your eyes in the morning, let it all just flow away at the tip of a blade.
    I hissed as I felt my skin tear at the cold metal of the blade, my fingers pressing down on the top of it, feeling that immediate bite of pain. I dragged the blade across my arm quickly, but it was only the first slice and there was never enough with just one slice, at least, not any more.
    Another followed, determination now in my eyes. I wasn't bleeding enough. I needed more pain. I deserved more pain. The next slice cut across the open wound, skin and raw flesh being parted beneath the uncaring razor, blood was welling up in the small but deep wound.
    Again. That feeling of sickness, of a corpse heart beating in my chest, it was going now, being replaced by some kind of sick satisfaction that he could feel just something other than disgust at the world around me.
    There, it was gone, the feeling. In it's place he could feel pain throbbing from my arm, adrenaline rushing through me. I focused on it, blotting out the world and letting a sigh escape from my lips. It felt so good, just for this moment. I could feel blood welling in my cut, running slowly down my arm, but it was okay, it was good.
    The blade dropped onto his bed as I held my arm across my lap, my eyes closing as I breathed, just letting the feeling of sharp, biting pain wash across my mind.
    For this moment I could forget it all. I could ignore the jeers in class, the ignorance that was spewed at me every day, the fact my sister and father barely acknowledged my existence, I could ignore it all.
    And it felt so good. So satisfying, my body felt so relaxed, like I could breathe again.
    Slowly I came back to the living, a small drop of blood had escaped from my wound and onto the sheets of my bed. In my focusing, I had let my arm turn slowly, allowing the blood to flow faster down across my skin. I blinked at this before turning my arm back up and reaching over my bed for something to wipe the blood away. There was always a box of tissues handy in my drawer.
    I sighed again, the pain still washing over me, but now controlled, the adrenaline calming my system and making my heart beat all at the same time. I felt... good now, though I knew this fix was temporary.
    I knew that what I was doing was bad, but I didn't care, it was my arm and I could do what I wanted with it. I was also smart enough to know not to go leaving evidence around. I wiped the blood from the small razor blade and placed it under a lamp, my secret kept safe for now, before looking back to my new cut.
    It was bigger than the last but the last was also bigger than the one before that. Not the best of signs, but I had it under control. It was along the same lines as the others, each one crossing over the just faint veins in my arm like some kind of perverse stitching.
    I continued dabbing at his arm, pressing onto the wound and wincing each time, but a tiny smile appearing on my face after. When did I become such a masochist? Maybe around the time I'd realised that I was utterly alone in the world.
    Gaz lived for her games and Zim... Zim wasn't even trying. Each world domination attempt was becoming weaker than the last and my attempts to stop him the same. My spirit had always been kept up by the belief that stopping Zim was my purpose, my mission... now it seemed not even Zim cared for it any more.
    I kept my sleeve rolled up, I wanted to see myself bleed, not just to keep the blood flow controlled but to make sure I didn't drip onto anything. I wasn't some idiot who wore bright clothes or let his scars show to the world. Dark colours, dark clothes, I looked like any goth-nerd in school other than my pointing sythe-like cowlick. The difference was my only friend was a psychotic, short green alien and my uncaring sister.
    Great friends, huh.
    I curled up onto my side, looking over at the lamp, under it was my one escape, the one thing that stopped me from throwing up every morning from simply waking up. Knowing I had that blade, that release for when I felt like tearing at my insides with claws, it... made it all bearable.
    Still, how could I be like this? I shared an IQ with Johannes Kepler, I should be on the honour roll and yet I kept my grades at a B+ average because I just didn't see the point. My dad was one of the richest men on the planet, so it wasn't like I'd ever be out on the street and it wasn't like I had anything to prove to anyone.
    A long time ago I'd tried to prove that Zim was an alien, but after countless failed attempts, I'd finally realised that even if people knew, they just wouldn't care. No one cared.
    My arm still hurt, that dull pain lessening now, an a whisper of the old sick feeling returning. I needed to sleep, to just... shut down for a while.
    My arm had stopped bleeding as much now, the blood must be clotting. Soon I'd have a brand new healing scab and eventually a sleek scar filed nicely next to all the others. I felt pathetic already, but at least I felt satisfied with myself. I had felt pain and seen myself bleed, I deserved it too.
    I didn't want to do anything else now, I just wanted to lie in this bed, in my little tomb, and wish that maybe tomorrow would be different. Maybe tomorrow I would wake up in a world filled with people I could talk to, people who wouldn't care if I harmed myself.
    Sometimes I think that if maybe I waited just a second more before opening my eyes in the morning, just one second more, I could find that world.
    But I never do, I always wake up just a second too early. I hate this life.

                                            *******************

    "Dib-stink?" I didn't look up, I just kept my eyes on the book I was reading. I had already finished half the damn thing and nothing was happening, stupid Crusoe, stupid reading assignment.
    "Dib-stink! Answer your future slave master when he addresses you!" I felt a sharp poke in my side.
    "Dude, can't you see I'm reading something?" I snapped back, turning and glaring at my frienemy, "Goddamnit, man."
    "Irken," Zim corrected in a low voice, still after all those years not wanting anyone to know, hell, his disguise was still working wasn't it? Over one summer he had mysteriously shot up to a neat five foot six, still tiny compared to me and my impressive five ten but at least he was just slightly under Gaz's height, "And I am trying to ask you a question."
    "I'm reading, that means that all this space," I moved my hand in a circle around my head, "Is an interruption free zone."
    "Bah, your zones do not bother Zim!" He grinned, pointing a claw into the air before putting his hands back onto the table, "I need to know why you didn't show up to stop me from destroying the world last night."
    Oh shit, was it Wednesday already? I frowned to myself, no wonder I felt oddly refreshed this morning. Last night I was supposed to stop whatever dooming attempt Zim had thought up for the world... but the fact everything was still here meant that obviously he hadn't bothered either.
    "Because I was doing homework." Why was it I had gotten so good at lying after spending years telling the truth? "Besides, obviously you didn't blow up the world so I guess I win again."
    Zim huffed, crossing his arms, "Whatever, I didn't blow up the earth because it wouldn't be fun unless you're there in a front row seat."
    Fuck I wish he had blown up the earth, at least than I'd have a goddamnn reason to feel so worthless. "Whatever Zim."
    I didn't want to get into this argument, or any argument. My limbs ached, but not from tiredness, from... I don't know what. They just ached. My eyes burned every time I closed them and I felt empty inside. My heart wasn't beating fast enough, it seemed slow, sluggish even. My cut suddenly itched and I had an overwhelming urge to scratch and re-open the cut.
    But I knew better.
    I'm not some fifteen year old emo poser who 'accidentally' tells people about their scars all the time like they're some kind of fucking fashion accessory. I know my problem is mine alone, not to be shared with others and I also know how best to keep it my problem.
    For one, wearing dark long sleeves, not only does it keep my arms covered but keeps any possible blood stains to a minimum. Two, cut where people can't see it immediately. Three, cut in a place where you know you're safe.
    I've heard stories of people bringing knives into skool to harm themselves. What stupidity, I want to punch those people for doing so. Cut where you know you won't be caught, where it won't be hard to disguise the blood running down your arm. I don't even bring my blade to skool, even though there were plenty of times I wish I did.
    But it was all about control. Keep your self-directed bloodlust under control and you'll never be found out, not that anyone could ever care if they knew what I was doing anyway.
    "Something is bothering you, human." Zim commented suddenly, catching me off guard and making me look up in surprise. "It's obvious."
    "Just because I didn't kick your green ass at some stupid pointless plan of yours?" I covered quickly with a smirk, "Yeah. Clearly I am a raging torrent of emotions because I couldn't be bothered going to your house and unplugging your crappy death machine."
    "That's not what I meant," Zim commented again, and again, he caught me off guard. His eyes seemed to be boring into me, searching my face. My mind went to my arm and again I felt that strong urge to itch that healing cut. "You're up to something."
    "Yes, reading my book," I turned my eyes from him, that sick feeling rising up inside me. The idea of anyone finding out was somehow worse than the crime itself. I could only imagine the comments from Zim, my father and Gaz.
    Freak, idiot, crazy, disappointment, failure.
    I'd already failed enough in trying to prove the obvious to the world, my father would only hate me more if he knew I was hacking at my arm every week. Again that sick feeling rose up inside me, that itch got worse. I had to distract myself, get my mind off razor blades. I noticed I was rubbing my thumb and fingers together on my right hand, already my mind wanted the comforting feel of a neat, clean blade in my hand.
    No, I was in control of this, not the other way around. "Get lost Zim, all I'm thinking about is getting this damn assignment done."
    Why couldn't people just leave me alone? Especially assholes like Zim. God, how could he still keep going on with himself when everything he did was a giant lie? It'd been five years, FIVE, the empire just wasn't coming and if he hadn't destroyed anything more than his own house a couple of times by now he should have just given up.
    I want to lie down for a while. Like, maybe a billion years.
    Luckily for me, the next class was GYM. Over the years I had slowly learned that there was no point in ever bothering to take anything to get changed into. The teacher barely noticed me and the class didn't want to pick me for any teams. It was a nice time to sit on the bleachers and catch up on anything I might have missed. At one time I used to to examine plans to break into Zim's home, now I just sat and wondered what the hell I was doing with my life.
    Zim ran past, followed closely by a bunch of other jocks. If there was one thing Zim was surprisingly good at, it was GYM class. I knew he was technically cheating, his PAK boosted his natural speed and strength to that of a well trained soldier, but even so he outran, outplayed and outsmarted most people in school. I lay down on the bleacher, growling and squinting at the sun hiding behind some grey clouds. Why did idiots have it so good? Ignorance is bliss I guess. God sometimes I wished I wasn't a goddamn genius. Maybe if I smash my stupid big head into a fridge door a few times I'll be dumb enough to be happy for once.
    Maybe I should just try to smile, I heard that helps. Smile. Smile. Go on. Smile. Slowly a tiny grin etched onto my face as I forced myself into happiness.
    It lasted all of about three seconds before collapsing back into my now trademark stoic look. Fuck, I can't even smile any more.
    I wish I had a knife. I could stab these assholes as they ran past me. Fuck them for being so goddamn content.
    I rolled over on the bench, looking away from the clouds, away from the bastards having a nice time on the track. I felt like a complete failure as a human, I just hated on everything and did nothing about it. Hell if those guys could be happy than why should I have to hate them for it? It's my fault for being so fucking depressed about everything, for being a complete waste of time.
    My hand moved to my healing arm, scratching slowly. I hissed as I felt my wound telling me to stop, but it only made me want to do it more.
    "Dib?" I blinked, my mind rushing back into the real world as I sat up and I looked to the location of the low, yet feminine voice.
    "Gretchen?"

Description
    Pain. Sweet, satisfying pain. It was wonderful and horrible, satisfying and yet so hungry for more. The blade rested softly on my arm, my pale skin already scarred with other wounds, all of them healed, yet some obviously pinker than others.
    Twenty. This would be twenty scars now.
    My long, skinny legs were crossed under me, my trench coat lying on the floor of my room along with other scattered objects. Cameras, pendrives, clothes, a few computer games. The usual looking layout for a teenage boys room.
    Well, other than the small piles of UFO magazines, piles of theory papers and blueprints for machines of all kinds of natures.
    Of course right now that was all secondary. My mind wasn't on the alien I was chasing, or the theories I could be reading, it was on the small razor blade held against my arm. It was on the upper half of my forearm, that was where I cut the most. Why? So if I ever had to do something like wash dishes I could roll my sleeves up just a little and no one would be the wiser of my dirty, bloody little secret.
    My hand pressed against my skin further, my mind pushing me more and more. Cut. Bleed. Wince at the pain and feel that sweet wonderful release rush though you. Let that sick feeling you have every day in the bottom of your stomach, that horrible headache of a life that pounds at you from the moment you open your eyes in the morning, let it all just flow away at the tip of a blade.
    I hissed as I felt my skin tear at the cold metal of the blade, my fingers pressing down on the top of it, feeling that immediate bite of pain. I dragged the blade across my arm quickly, but it was only the first slice and there was never enough with just one slice, at least, not any more.
    Another followed, determination now in my eyes. I wasn't bleeding enough. I needed more pain. I deserved more pain. The next slice cut across the open wound, skin and raw flesh being parted beneath the uncaring razor, blood was welling up in the small but deep wound.
    Again. That feeling of sickness, of a corpse heart beating in my chest, it was going now, being replaced by some kind of sick satisfaction that he could feel just something other than disgust at the world around me.
    There, it was gone, the feeling. In it's place he could feel pain throbbing from my arm, adrenaline rushing through me. I focused on it, blotting out the world and letting a sigh escape from my lips. It felt so good, just for this moment. I could feel blood welling in my cut, running slowly down my arm, but it was okay, it was good.
    The blade dropped onto his bed as I held my arm across my lap, my eyes closing as I breathed, just letting the feeling of sharp, biting pain wash across my mind.
    For this moment I could forget it all. I could ignore the jeers in class, the ignorance that was spewed at me every day, the fact my sister and father barely acknowledged my existence, I could ignore it all.
    And it felt so good. So satisfying, my body felt so relaxed, like I could breathe again.
    Slowly I came back to the living, a small drop of blood had escaped from my wound and onto the sheets of my bed. In my focusing, I had let my arm turn slowly, allowing the blood to flow faster down across my skin. I blinked at this before turning my arm back up and reaching over my bed for something to wipe the blood away. There was always a box of tissues handy in my drawer.
    I sighed again, the pain still washing over me, but now controlled, the adrenaline calming my system and making my heart beat all at the same time. I felt... good now, though I knew this fix was temporary.
    I knew that what I was doing was bad, but I didn't care, it was my arm and I could do what I wanted with it. I was also smart enough to know not to go leaving evidence around. I wiped the blood from the small razor blade and placed it under a lamp, my secret kept safe for now, before looking back to my new cut.
    It was bigger than the last but the last was also bigger than the one before that. Not the best of signs, but I had it under control. It was along the same lines as the others, each one crossing over the just faint veins in my arm like some kind of perverse stitching.
    I continued dabbing at his arm, pressing onto the wound and wincing each time, but a tiny smile appearing on my face after. When did I become such a masochist? Maybe around the time I'd realised that I was utterly alone in the world.
    Gaz lived for her games and Zim... Zim wasn't even trying. Each world domination attempt was becoming weaker than the last and my attempts to stop him the same. My spirit had always been kept up by the belief that stopping Zim was my purpose, my mission... now it seemed not even Zim cared for it any more.
    I kept my sleeve rolled up, I wanted to see myself bleed, not just to keep the blood flow controlled but to make sure I didn't drip onto anything. I wasn't some idiot who wore bright clothes or let his scars show to the world. Dark colours, dark clothes, I looked like any goth-nerd in school other than my pointing sythe-like cowlick. The difference was my only friend was a psychotic, short green alien and my uncaring sister.
    Great friends, huh.
    I curled up onto my side, looking over at the lamp, under it was my one escape, the one thing that stopped me from throwing up every morning from simply waking up. Knowing I had that blade, that release for when I felt like tearing at my insides with claws, it... made it all bearable.
    Still, how could I be like this? I shared an IQ with Johannes Kepler, I should be on the honour roll and yet I kept my grades at a B+ average because I just didn't see the point. My dad was one of the richest men on the planet, so it wasn't like I'd ever be out on the street and it wasn't like I had anything to prove to anyone.
    A long time ago I'd tried to prove that Zim was an alien, but after countless failed attempts, I'd finally realised that even if people knew, they just wouldn't care. No one cared.
    My arm still hurt, that dull pain lessening now, an a whisper of the old sick feeling returning. I needed to sleep, to just... shut down for a while.
    My arm had stopped bleeding as much now, the blood must be clotting. Soon I'd have a brand new healing scab and eventually a sleek scar filed nicely next to all the others. I felt pathetic already, but at least I felt satisfied with myself. I had felt pain and seen myself bleed, I deserved it too.
    I didn't want to do anything else now, I just wanted to lie in this bed, in my little tomb, and wish that maybe tomorrow would be different. Maybe tomorrow I would wake up in a world filled with people I could talk to, people who wouldn't care if I harmed myself.
    Sometimes I think that if maybe I waited just a second more before opening my eyes in the morning, just one second more, I could find that world.
    But I never do, I always wake up just a second too early. I hate this life.

                                            *******************

    "Dib-stink?" I didn't look up, I just kept my eyes on the book I was reading. I had already finished half the damn thing and nothing was happening, stupid Crusoe, stupid reading assignment.
    "Dib-stink! Answer your future slave master when he addresses you!" I felt a sharp poke in my side.
    "Dude, can't you see I'm reading something?" I snapped back, turning and glaring at my frienemy, "Goddamnit, man."
    "Irken," Zim corrected in a low voice, still after all those years not wanting anyone to know, hell, his disguise was still working wasn't it? Over one summer he had mysteriously shot up to a neat five foot six, still tiny compared to me and my impressive five ten but at least he was just slightly under Gaz's height, "And I am trying to ask you a question."
    "I'm reading, that means that all this space," I moved my hand in a circle around my head, "Is an interruption free zone."
    "Bah, your zones do not bother Zim!" He grinned, pointing a claw into the air before putting his hands back onto the table, "I need to know why you didn't show up to stop me from destroying the world last night."
    Oh shit, was it Wednesday already? I frowned to myself, no wonder I felt oddly refreshed this morning. Last night I was supposed to stop whatever dooming attempt Zim had thought up for the world... but the fact everything was still here meant that obviously he hadn't bothered either.
    "Because I was doing homework." Why was it I had gotten so good at lying after spending years telling the truth? "Besides, obviously you didn't blow up the world so I guess I win again."
    Zim huffed, crossing his arms, "Whatever, I didn't blow up the earth because it wouldn't be fun unless you're there in a front row seat."
    Fuck I wish he had blown up the earth, at least than I'd have a goddamnn reason to feel so worthless. "Whatever Zim."
    I didn't want to get into this argument, or any argument. My limbs ached, but not from tiredness, from... I don't know what. They just ached. My eyes burned every time I closed them and I felt empty inside. My heart wasn't beating fast enough, it seemed slow, sluggish even. My cut suddenly itched and I had an overwhelming urge to scratch and re-open the cut.
    But I knew better.
    I'm not some fifteen year old emo poser who 'accidentally' tells people about their scars all the time like they're some kind of fucking fashion accessory. I know my problem is mine alone, not to be shared with others and I also know how best to keep it my problem.
    For one, wearing dark long sleeves, not only does it keep my arms covered but keeps any possible blood stains to a minimum. Two, cut where people can't see it immediately. Three, cut in a place where you know you're safe.
    I've heard stories of people bringing knives into skool to harm themselves. What stupidity, I want to punch those people for doing so. Cut where you know you won't be caught, where it won't be hard to disguise the blood running down your arm. I don't even bring my blade to skool, even though there were plenty of times I wish I did.
    But it was all about control. Keep your self-directed bloodlust under control and you'll never be found out, not that anyone could ever care if they knew what I was doing anyway.
    "Something is bothering you, human." Zim commented suddenly, catching me off guard and making me look up in surprise. "It's obvious."
    "Just because I didn't kick your green ass at some stupid pointless plan of yours?" I covered quickly with a smirk, "Yeah. Clearly I am a raging torrent of emotions because I couldn't be bothered going to your house and unplugging your crappy death machine."
    "That's not what I meant," Zim commented again, and again, he caught me off guard. His eyes seemed to be boring into me, searching my face. My mind went to my arm and again I felt that strong urge to itch that healing cut. "You're up to something."
    "Yes, reading my book," I turned my eyes from him, that sick feeling rising up inside me. The idea of anyone finding out was somehow worse than the crime itself. I could only imagine the comments from Zim, my father and Gaz.
    Freak, idiot, crazy, disappointment, failure.
    I'd already failed enough in trying to prove the obvious to the world, my father would only hate me more if he knew I was hacking at my arm every week. Again that sick feeling rose up inside me, that itch got worse. I had to distract myself, get my mind off razor blades. I noticed I was rubbing my thumb and fingers together on my right hand, already my mind wanted the comforting feel of a neat, clean blade in my hand.
    No, I was in control of this, not the other way around. "Get lost Zim, all I'm thinking about is getting this damn assignment done."
    Why couldn't people just leave me alone? Especially assholes like Zim. God, how could he still keep going on with himself when everything he did was a giant lie? It'd been five years, FIVE, the empire just wasn't coming and if he hadn't destroyed anything more than his own house a couple of times by now he should have just given up.
    I want to lie down for a while. Like, maybe a billion years.
    Luckily for me, the next class was GYM. Over the years I had slowly learned that there was no point in ever bothering to take anything to get changed into. The teacher barely noticed me and the class didn't want to pick me for any teams. It was a nice time to sit on the bleachers and catch up on anything I might have missed. At one time I used to to examine plans to break into Zim's home, now I just sat and wondered what the hell I was doing with my life.
    Zim ran past, followed closely by a bunch of other jocks. If there was one thing Zim was surprisingly good at, it was GYM class. I knew he was technically cheating, his PAK boosted his natural speed and strength to that of a well trained soldier, but even so he outran, outplayed and outsmarted most people in school. I lay down on the bleacher, growling and squinting at the sun hiding behind some grey clouds. Why did idiots have it so good? Ignorance is bliss I guess. God sometimes I wished I wasn't a goddamn genius. Maybe if I smash my stupid big head into a fridge door a few times I'll be dumb enough to be happy for once.
    Maybe I should just try to smile, I heard that helps. Smile. Smile. Go on. Smile. Slowly a tiny grin etched onto my face as I forced myself into happiness.
    It lasted all of about three seconds before collapsing back into my now trademark stoic look. Fuck, I can't even smile any more.
    I wish I had a knife. I could stab these assholes as they ran past me. Fuck them for being so goddamn content.
    I rolled over on the bench, looking away from the clouds, away from the bastards having a nice time on the track. I felt like a complete failure as a human, I just hated on everything and did nothing about it. Hell if those guys could be happy than why should I have to hate them for it? It's my fault for being so fucking depressed about everything, for being a complete waste of time.
    My hand moved to my healing arm, scratching slowly. I hissed as I felt my wound telling me to stop, but it only made me want to do it more.
    "Dib?" I blinked, my mind rushing back into the real world as I sat up and I looked to the location of the low, yet feminine voice.
    "Gretchen?"