Page 18 of Jackson
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Jackson
“Fuck!” I said as I entered mybedroom.
I paced and my fists balled at my sides. My body started to shake with a need I hadn’t felt for a while. My breathquickened.
Not now, not the fuck now, Ithought.
I walked to the mirror and looked at the scratch on my neck. The bitch will pay for that. She’d broken my rule; no one marks my body but me. I took several deep breaths to calm my racing heart. That was why I needed to distance myself from Summer sometimes. She had a way of getting under my armour, as she’d called it. She got to me in a way no one, other than him, had ever done. It frustrated the hell out of me and I’d taken that frustration out on Honey. I scrubbed my hands over my face. I could do it; I could quell the compulsion, I just had to breathe. I had to remember all the coping techniques Dex had taught me. I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts, his number was highlighted but I wouldn’t press the call button. I’d wait andsee.
I took the phone and lay on my bed. I closed my eyes; the only image in my mind was of Summer laying on the daybed. Her shorts were pulled down to the top of her white panties. Her skin was screaming at me to touch, to taste, and todecorate.
Maybe it was a mistake to invite her. I thought I had my impulses under control. I had an outlet. I kept telling myself, I didn’t need to cut. I needed to fuck. But who? Who needed to be myoutlet?
I heard her moving around the room, readying herself for bed I imagined. I’d give her a half hour or so then leave. Hopefully she would be asleep and not hear me. I could be out and back within anhour.
I studied the clock on my bedside table, the minutes ticked by and I could still hear her. I heard the slide of the door as she left her room and stepped out onto the balcony. I silently cursed her. The knot in my stomach tightened, my hands shook, and the white noise in my head increased. If I didn’t get my release soon—I felt I was going toexplode.
The warning signs normally started off gently, I always had plenty of time, but it was all crashing over me way too quickly. I had no choice. I slid from the bed and pulled open the dresser drawer. I took out the small cardboard box and opened it. With shaking hands, I unwrapped the blade. Sweat had beaded on my upper lip and I licked atit.
My heart pounded as I made the first cut. As the skin parted on my stomach and the blood seeped out, I felt an immediate rush of pleasure. My cock hardened. As the warm blood trickled, I undid my jeans and grabbed my cock in my hand. I watched in the mirror as my fist pumped and the fingers of my other hand smeared the blood across myskin.
It wasn’t enough though. I sliced again. The rush of adrenalin I felt had my heart racing further, but the noise in my head quietened. I needed to come; I needed release. My legs quivered slightly as my orgasm built. I wasn’t quite there so I cut again, and again. I closed my eyes and quickly drew the blade across my stomach. I was normally very measured in what I did; I cut precisely within my tattoos so they weren’t noticeable, but that night I didn’t care. I didn’t want precise; I wanted pain and pleasure. I wanted to see, to smell the metallic tang of my blood. I wanted to feel my cock pulse in one hand while my hot blood coated the fingers of myother.
As my cum spurted over my hand, peace washed over me. I fell to my knees and let my chin fall to my chest. Eventually I opened my eyes. I wished I hadn’t. I counted them; eight slash marks criss-crossed my body. I’d done worse in the past, but those cuts were deep. I dropped the blade on the floor besideme.
I rose and on shaking legs made my way to the bathroom. I stripped and turned on the shower. As I climbed under the jets of water, I watched the water turn red as it washed away my shame and guilt. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream out. I wanted to punch the fuck out of the tiled wall in front ofme.
I stepped from the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. My wounds still bled and the blood diluted with the water on my body. It looked a lot worse that it actually was. I grabbed a fistful of tissues and held them to mystomach.
I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the phone. I closed my eyes and pressed the callbutton.
“I cut,” I said as Dexteranswered.
“Okay, do you need me? Orsomeone?”
“No.”
“Are you safe,Jack?”
“Iam.”
“Can you deal withit?”
“Yes.”
“What causedit?”
“I don’t know. I was fine and then the compulsion hit me like a fucking train. I couldn’t get out. Summer was still awake, I couldn’t leave without herknowing.”
“Have you got something over yourcuts?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, son. Lie down; keep the phone to your ear. I want you here first thing in the morning,okay?”
I did as he said. He talked me down, his voice was calming and soothing. He had done this for me so many times. Either that or gave me an alternative, the alternative that I was getting addictedto.
