That night I went home and pulled out the combat knife. I pressed it against my right arm, just above where the last cut was made and drew the knife a...ross the skin. Blood welled up immediately and the pain was fleeting, but the physical pain chased away the emotional pain, at least for a while it did. Those were the first times I cut myself, on accident, and then on purpose. I continued to do it up ’til now. I still do it, but I’ve gotten better at controlling my emotions. I would cut myself. Nothing changed as I stood there with my coat covering me. The cars didn’t slow down and I started to relax. Then I lowered the coat from my shoulders so that the material was held in the crook of my elbows. Still my breasts were covered and still the cars rushed past, the drivers seemingly oblivious in their metal cocoons. Then, taking a deep breath I dropped the coat to my waist and held it there with my hands on my hips. My breasts were bared to the road and the night world and the light. More

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