This Is My Body, This Is My Blood

All Necessary Warnings:
This story contains some graphic descriptions of self mutilation. Not to mention strange voices inside one\'s head. I really would appreciate any and all reviews. Flame me, I don\'t care. My ego\'s solid. If you find any errors (spelling mistakes or the like) let me know. And oh yes, shameless plug: visit my website:

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And now for the real entertainment:

This Is My Body, This Is My Blood

She awoke with a start and sat up in the bed. The man beside her snored lightly, his breath deep and even. She thrust the covers away from her and walked with silent footstepsthe the one large window in the hotel room. The moon glistened overhead, reflecting off of the rows of automobiles in the lot. She stared past the cars to the gentle sloping hills in the distance. A few dark clouds were settled uneasily in the air over these. She inhaled and sat in the arm chair beside the great window, her face still turned toward the world.

Adam stirred, a slight gust of cool air hitting his side. He opened one eye and through his blurred vision he saw the covers had been disturbed. Slowly, the other eye opened and searched the room for the departed figure that had lain at his side. He glimpsed a dark form huddled in the armchair near the window. Clumsily, he reached for his glasses and poked himself in the eye a time or two attempting to put them on. Once his vision had been restored and the conclusion made that the form was in fact her, Adam sleepily climbed from the bed and started toward her. She did nook tok to him even when he knelt by her side and touched her arm. She continued to gaze motionless out the window, indifferent to his presence.

He opened his mouth to speak to her, but thought better of it and stopped himself. He decided to take a shower. Once more allowing his fingers to press lightly into her skin, he stood and entered the bathroom. Adam had only been away for a few minutes when he heard the shatter of glass and a faint, sickening thud. Hurriedly, ignoring his lack of clothing, Adam hurried out of the lavatory and rushed to the broken window. The still, dark form lay 5 floors below him, it's face turned up. In the moonlight he could make out the contours of the body. He pulled one of his hands up in pain, he had rested it on top of a prominent shard of glass. The blood began to run in thick streams down his hand and arm. He stared at it in horror. The body, the blood"¦

~This is my body, this is my blood"¦ ~

"No"¦" He whispered.


1 Month Earlier

Three hours had passed. Finally, he stopped the terrible rhythm between his wrist and the desk's edge. When he examined the damage he saw the new bruise already taking shape. The skin was tinted with a faint blue that Adam knew would eventually turn much darker. He tied a bandanna around his wrist to hide the spoiled skin and left his room.

He paused for a moment in the hallway to stare at his reflection in the mirror next to his doorway. There was a large webbed crack in the glass, so when he gazed upon himself, the likeness split into hundreds of tiny reflections of his features. Seeing his face ruptured and distorted dazed him. Adam pulled the mirror off of the wall and it fell loudly to the solid wood floor, completely shattering on impact. His muscles ached from the hours spent at the desk, but he ignored their burn and continued toward the main room in his tiny house.

The room was spacious and bare. Nothing hung on the walls and the room was void of furniture. Strewn about the ground were many sheets of paper, some blank, but many more covered front and back with his jagged handwriting. Adam settled himself among his papers, still not fully recovered from seeing his disfigured appearance in the mirror. The horridness of his appearance fell upon him. He hated seeing his face in any mirror. Hate"¦ hate. The word fueled his soul. His very essence could have been hate if it hadn't been weakness.

Weakness"¦ the word attached itself to his heart. He felt it sink. Weak, yes, yes that's what you are. He cringed. What made him weak? Adam possessed an inability to cope with problems that arose, he preferred to hurt himself, because he was the worst problem. He hated himself. He hated being. But he was too weak to solve the problem. All he ever did was bang his fucking wrist on the desk and hoped something fatal happened throughout the course of his day.

Adam slammed his fist on the floor, then emitted an alien scream when the new pain shot up through his aching, bruised arm. He hugged the arm to him, and rocked back and forth on the floor.

Could he ever really do it? No. There wasn't even a point in asking that. He knew he would never be strong enough to control his own life"¦ or death. But if for say, a car was speeding toward him when he was standing on the street, he probably wouldn't move out of the way. Probably"¦ Fuck. Why didn't he just do it. Once he did it would all be over"¦

"Yes. Fuck it all, I'm going to do it." His throat was sore, and his voice came out a horse whisper.

If"¦ if he missed the bus today. Yes, if he missed the bus today he'd do it. He really would.


~Religion had been instilled in his mind since birth. He disliked the thought of ethereal beings controlling him, watching him. He felt similar to an animal when he thought of it. Being watched, observed. And now I live inside him to do just that. And then going to church. Being humbled, judged. That was back when Adam was a whole person. I hadn't been eating away at his mind, his body, his whole soul"¦ he's worthless. An empty shell. Vacant, desolate, incurable. He'll die that way, because I want him to. I'm your god Adam, never forget that. So go ahead boy, hurt yourself again, but somewhere inside you know the pain I give you is better.~


He made the bus. And he was angry with himself for being on time, for being right. He sat in the last row, his head resting against the window, his eyes half closed, and his breath shallow. Make the bus crash, broken axel, engine failure"¦ anything. Fucking kill me! That was it, kill him. Kill him. Adam reached up and angrily yanked the stop chain. The bus slowed and stopped a few moments later. Adam ran off, ignoring the stares. Kill him, kill him"¦ his mind chanted. Kill him"¦

Adam ran into the small restaurant, he tore through the maze of tables and escaped into the lary. ry. Gasping, he slammed the door and locked it. He screamed.

A mirror. Cracked, webbed, the same as his own, his face broken and distorted within it.

"Damn it, damn it"¦ fuck!" He yelled, the curses just fueling his rage and fear. He tried to pull the mirror off of the wall but it wouldn't budge. Adam shrank back against the wall sobbing. His own reflection stared down at him when he looked up agait hat had to come down. He had to come down.

He stood and attacked the paper towel dispenser. Pulling it off of the wall he slammed it into the mirror. Thousands of tiny shards reflecting his anguish and his pleasure spilled to the ground. Someone knocked on the door.

"No"¦" he whispered.

Adam picked up a long shard of glass. Examining it closely, he saw his eyes reflect back at him. He hated looking at himself. Angrily he tore the bandanna off of his wrist and poised the glass shard over one of his bruises. He hesitated. He'd never tried cutting before. He didn't want the scars, they would only make him more disfigured and ugly. The scars scared him, but the pain, he could only imagine the bliss he would feel as he writhed in pain, perhaps as his soul drifted out. Perhaps? It would. He'd go this time. The knock on the door became more persistent, angry. It was time.

He drew the glass along his arm, pressing hard. A thin line of blood appeared, then began to spill over. The sight exhilarated him. More, more"¦ kill him. Adam made another cut, then another. When his t art arm was covered in his own red blood he tried to switch arms. He couldn't hold the shard with his bleeding arm and dropped it. When he bent to retrieve it, he passed out from the blood loss. When the door was finally opened a few minutes later, Adam was already half dead.


~ I know what you are doing boy. You'll never kill me. No matter how much you hurt the outside you can't kill what is within. Unless you kill you, but we all know you're too frightened and weak to do that. That's why you made all those cuts well away from the veins. You knew what you were doing all along. Now come along, wake up boy, you're not ready to die yet.~


Adam opened his eyes. The bed he was in was cold, unwelcoming. The room was white, too white. Through the doorway he could see sickly green coloured walls. Hospital walls. The space around him reeked of death and meds. Maybe he dea dead. Spending his afterlife in a hospital would be a decent punishment in hell. But there was no hell, he knew that. Earth was hell. Every fucking day was hell. He could still feel. He felt his arm ng. ng. His hair was wet, plastered to his forehead. He had been sweating. He'd probably been dreaming. He was awake"¦ Adam knew he was alive. And that truly was hell.

But he'd tried hadn't he? Adam almost smiled, but stopped. Smiling felt wrong, it showed pleasure"¦ And pleasure was only good when derived from pain. Because the pain"¦ it was good. Never. Never"¦ never what? He didn't remember. But he had tried to hurt himself. Not just hurt himself, he'd done that. But kill. Kill. Oh the word shook to his soul. He could have killed today. Or yesterday"¦ whenever, it didn't matter. The thought, the notion thrilled him. Adam forgot his ugliness, his hate and his fear and was delighted. The power surged within him. Almost, almost. Nearly, dead. Once more and he'd have it.


~Almost doesn't count. Nearly, that doesn't matter. You'll never kill me. I'll kill you first.~


The hospital was reluctant for him to leave. He had waited nearly two weeks to be released, and he was anxious. Anxious to try again. Not try, no, to do it. For sure, for sure. The bravado he'd had in high school had returned. No one could beat him, he was in control. Kill him, kill him"¦ yes, kill him.

Good, good. He had everything. He was alone, at home with a kniTherThere was no one to save him this time. He slowly drew the blade across his wrist, pressing hard, cutting skin, veins"¦ the blood pooled. It poured out of the wound and spilled onto the floor around him. Adam sighed, the end was near"¦


He awoke with a start. Not home"¦ still there, at the hospital. They thought he was crazy, they wanted him to be put away. Put away to live with himself for however long they decided. In the back of his mind a tiny voice, hoarse from rare use spoke.

"But"¦ if they save you, you could get better"¦ you wouldn't have to live with it all any"¦"

"Stop!" Adam had clasped his hands over his eyes and yelled the word. That voice, the remnants of his past self still echoed. It was the first time he had ever thought about "˜getting better'. "˜Getting better' scared him. It meant good things, and happiness and no pain. He winced even at the thought of life without pain. Pain belonged now, it was essential to his existence. Pain meant pleasure.

A nurse burst into the door, she had heard him scream.

"Are you alright?" She looked flustered.

Adam nodded. "Bad dream." She was pretty, but he had never really felt himself attracted to women.

"Shall I bring you some pills to help you sleep?" She walked over to him to gently force him back undis cis covers and tuck him in. Adam considered it.

"Sure. That'd be great." He tried to smile for her, but it seemed more like a grimace. She took it to mean he had pains.

"Do you want more pain meds? You look like you could use some. Does you arm still hurt?"

Adam shook his head. "It's fine, and I don't need the meds, just the sleeping pills."

She nodded and left the room. Adam stared away from the doorway and up to the ceiling, examining the cracks in the paneling. He thought about "˜getting better' again. Being happy, living in the suburbs with two kids a wife and a dog"¦ no, he decided. That would never be him. But "˜getting better' seemed pleasant all the same. For a moment Adam longed to be one of those people who never had to "˜get better', but had always been better. Was that so horrible? No, he decided. It wasn't, just as long as he knew it wouldn't really happen.


~What is this nonsense about "˜getting better'? You'll never be better Adam, love! You're a sick, fucking psycho that cuts up his own fucking body. Those kind don't get better. They were born worse than the rest. They know it. They work at themselves until they are dead. Is it sad? Perhaps. Is it necessary? Of course. Something is wrong with you Adam. You're worthless, you're weak, the kind that should be killed when they leave the womb. The general society would function with or without you, but more successfully without. Wastes of space. Well, you and me will have some fun Adam, but then I'll have to say goodbye to you. It's a game dear Adam, and I always win.~


When he was released, Adam did not rush to find a knife. He wandered about on the streets for a few days, walking slowly, with a steady pace. He examined all of his surroundings, savoring the world. Had he ever really appreciated it? No, no he hadn't. His self misery had been enough for him. The thought that he valued himself over nature made him sick. He ducked into a small coffeehouse to use the bathroom.

When he left the restroom Adam settled himself at a corner table and observed the other customers. In the corner opposite was a petite girl with long blonde hair in dredlocks and a ring through her nose. She was talking animatedly with another woman, who was heavier that had a Mohawk. Both wore clothing that would have looked more cotabltable around 1972.

There were a few men older than him, buying coffee before work. Adam wondered what having a job was like, working, having responsibilities. People depending on you"¦ was that valuable? He didn't know.

Adam watched the two girls for awhile, not even noticing the figure that slipped into the chair next to him. Finally, he did look over.

The creature beside him was genderless, beautiful and soft, but not predominately female. The masculine quality was too hard to ignore. Adam stared at the crea and and it returned the favor with a strong, solid gaze that made him swallow and look away. The creature embarrassed him, because he was ugly. When he looked back the creature stared at him intently, its aloof look gone, genuine concern replacing it. Adam tried to hold the gaze, but felt himself again turn away. Tears stung his eyes. So beautiful"¦ and he was"¦ well he wasn't and that was the problem wasn't it?

The creature's beautiful eyes were shocked. "Why do you cry? Please do not"¦ please"¦" The creature tried to console him, but he wouldn't allow it to touch him.

"No"¦ I'm wrong, I'm horrid"¦ please don't." He pleaded with it.

The creature drew it's lovely hands away. "Alright." It whispered. Adam had the distant impression then that the creature was female. The attraction he had initially felt melted. Women did not excite him.

The creature took Adam's hand. It tried to lead him out of the coffeehouse. He had cringed at the feeling of the hand in his own at first, but then relaxed in it's grasp and allowed it to lead him. She (since he was now completely sure it was female) gently pulled him along a few blocks before bringing him into a small, two-story house. Unlike his own home, hers was furnished, though the objects were well worn and most were impractical. There was a couch along one wall, but the rest of the living room was strewn with random chairs and tables. The chairs were mostly broken, many of them were the sort that would commonly be used as dining chairs. The tables were all rather small. Most were probably end tables or nightstands. Many of these were also broken. The rest of the house was very similar to this room. Maybe a piece or two or practical furniture and the rest dilapidated junk.

Adam slept on her couch that night. The junk around him caught the glow of the streetlight outside and the shadows yawned over the walls. He felt himself cringing away from their substantial horror, but he had nowhere to hide.


~Soon dear one"¦ soon my boy. It'll all be over. Your growing accustomed to life. You almost enjoyed it today. That will have to end. Remember, you are mine. I am your god. I watch you, I am always there. I see every deception, I listen to you curse me in your mind. You know I'm here now Adam, don't you. You sense The The one thing keeping you from wrapping your arms around this woman and showering her with gratitude. She loved you, for that moment in the coffeehouse when your eyes glazed over as you thought of responsibilities and worth, she loved you because no one else did. Loved you, Adam, loved you. Why do I tell you, you know. Well know it good. Because I'm going to let her love you. I might even let you love here, but in the end you are mine and I will take it all away. Say goodbye love"¦ say goodbye.~


Three days later Adam was still in the company of Lydia, as she was called. He liked to touch her, touch her unblemished, beautiful skin. He loved the feel of it beneath his fingers, the warmth that seeped out and embraced his hand, shooting through his arm, accepted into his body. She inspired him. He didn't want to die any longer"¦ existing was essential now. Not existing, living. They housed no sexual attraction for one another, but their mental bond surpassed any physical relationship. Adam told her then, as he touched her face, dazzled by her skin. He told her he loved her and she reciprocated.

They slept together now, in her bed, arms and bodies entwined, comfort found simply in their own existence. Their breathing would fall into a deep rhythm, each breath ensuring their safety and the presence of the other. And then, only a few nights after, Adam woke and felt it. He felt the insatiable desire within him that had screamed through his soul since he had been eighteen. Kill him, kill him"¦ yes. And Adam smiled. Kill him"¦


~Now boy, go. In her bathroom. Behold the razors. You can do it. Aim for the wrist this time. That vein, right there. Imagine it boy, anticipate the bliss, the pain"¦ rapture you'll love it. There's no feeling quite like death. Join us Adam"¦ come along love"¦ There you go, yes, bury it in deep now. Tear it all the way through"¦ Good, good"¦~


Adam stopped. He gasped. The pain in his left wrist was immense. It burned beyond feeling, he dropped to his knees and bit back his scream. The blood ran down over his arm, the deep, deep wound gushing. The pain, it was"¦ good. No"¦ it was telling him to think that. The pain"¦ make it stop. Someone. Hear me? Anyone, make it stop"¦

"Make it stop!" Adam screamed. He slumped over still clutching his wrist as Lydia ran toward the bathroom.


~You idiot! You useless, worthless sack of human flesh. You couldn't do it. You're fucking weak. I am your god Adam, you will obey me. Yes, feel my essence flowing through you"¦ Do it. ~


Adam heard the voice pounding through his head. He heard so many sounds. So many souls were around him. Quiet sobs emitted from a nearby corner. Lydia? I love you"¦ he thought. I want to stay Lydia. I want to stay. Help me. Adam remembered when Lydia had discovered his scars. She had kissed all of them, her satin lips warming his skin, healing his mental wounds. He had never realized how horrible some of the scars were. One or two of them must have hit bone, they were severe enough. There were still bruises on both arms from his days of wrist banging. He was a horrible mess. So ugly, so horrid. Lydia had held him, soothed him. He had wept, for himself who had been lost for fifteen years, and for her, for her beauty. He had whispered it to her, his voice rasping from the pain of the sore throat he'd had for nearly a month.

"You are beauty itself, Lydia love."

She had not said anything at first, she had stared into his eyes. He had looked away, ashamed. She was shocked by his remorse.

"You, Adam, you are magnificent."

Adam had shook his head, still maintaining his deep gaze with the floor. She had rested a hand on either side of his face and forced him to look to her.

"You, you're brilliancy. I love you. You're beautiful to me." She had kissed him and he had appreciated it. He loved her, and he would live only to love her. But that had been days ago"¦


~Die boy"¦ die. Feel the rage welling within you. Feel that pain. Leave her now. This will hurt, I promise. You'll never hurt like this. Come with me Adam, come with me love.~


Was he still alive? He couldn't remember.


Adam remembered the doctor they had made him talk to at the hospital the first time he had gone. His antagonizing questions"¦ no matter what the response doe doctor hated him for it. He condemned Adam with every word.

"Adam, were you aware of what you were doing?"

"Yes."

"Did you want to die Adam?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you weren't just crying out for help, making a plea for someone to reach out?"

"To who, who would I cry out for? I have no one."

"But you wanted someone."

"No."

"If you wanted to die, why didn't you use something practical like a gun? Why attack your wrists? The odds of this kind of suicide going through smoothly isn't high."

Adam had stared at the doctor in the eye for the first time. "The pain. I don't want death as much as I wanted to feel the pain. I deserve it, I need it. I thrive on it. I wanted to suffer because that's what he wants."

"Who's he Adam? Adam? Who's he?"

Adam never responded. Because that was when he knew.


The next time Adam awoke he was back with Lydia. The room was foreign to him though, he didn't recognize it from her home.

"Where are we?" He asked her breathlessly.

She told him they were in a hotel. She kissed his forehead and then his lips. Adam's brain was disorganized. Lydia never explained to him why they were in a hotel. He didn't ask again. That night when he slept his dreams terrified him.


~Foolish! You think you've won? You'll never win Adam my love. This is my body, this my blood. Do this in memory of me. Something like that right? You remember Sunday school don't you Adam my boy? Remember? You hated it. You hated all of it. But you remember that, don't you? This is my body, which will be sacrificed for you. This is my blood which will be shed for you. For you, for you"¦ You're parents liked that idea. That He died for them. Will you die for them now Adam? Last chance"¦
Fine. If you won't"¦ I'll take what will. This is her body, this is her blood. It will be shed for you. Nighty-night.~


Lydia awoke with a start and sat up in the bed. The man beside her snored lightly, his breath deep and even. She thrust the covers away from her and walked with silent footsteps to the one large window in the hotel room. The moon glistened overhead, reflecting off of the rows of automobiles in the lot. She stared past the cars to the gentle sloping hills in the distance. A few dark clouds were settled uneasily in the air over these. She inhaled and sat in the arm chair beside the great window, her face still turned toward the world.

Adam stirred, a slight gust of cool air hitting his side. He opened one eye and through his blurred vision he saw the covers had been disturbed. Slowly, the other eye opened and searched the room for the departed figure that had lain at his side. He glimpsed a dark form huddled in the armchair near the window. Clumsily, he reached for his glasses and poked himself in the eye a time or two attempting to put them on. Once his vision had been restored and the conclusion made that the form was in fact her, Adam slly cly climbed from the bed and started toward her. Lydia did not look to him even when he knelt by her side and touched her arm. She continued to gaze motionless out the window, indifferent to his presence.

He opened his mouth to speak to her, but thought better of it and stopped himself. He decided to take a shower. Once more allowing his fingers to press lightly into her skin, he stood and entered the bathroom. Adam had only been away for a few minutes when he heard the shatter of glass and a faint, sickening thud. Hurriedly, ignoring his lack of clothing, Adam hurried out of the lavatory and rushed to the broken window. The still, dark form lay 5 floors below him, it's face turned up. In the moonlight he could make out the contours of the body. He pulled one of his hands up in pain, he had rested it on top of a prominent shard of glass. The blood began to run in thick streams down his hand and arm. He stared at it in horror. The body, the blood"¦

~This is my body, this is my blood"¦~

"No"¦" He whispered.