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#11717
Saturday, May 5th

0415

Good. She was still asleep.

Matt creeped down from his bedroom, resolved to put an end to the enslavement. Sure, she said he wasn't a slave, she wanted a partner, all of that. Good. Whatever. It didn't matter anymore. She wanted a weapon and he would not be a weapon. She'd said she wouldn't make him kill...Matt chose to believe otherwise. It wouldn't be this week, this month, or this year even, but he'd compromise. Matt could feel it. Besides, how could he partner with someone who tortured him when he disobeyed her wishes? He was made to defy...he only had one defiance really left.

Matt came to the kitchen and considered his options. There. He grabbed a paring knife and sat on the floor, obscured from the stairs by the island.

Father, forgive me. I'm ending my life not out of a vain conceit, but to protect others. Lord, please see this as a sacrifice to protect, not a selfish intent to harm. I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry...

He laid a stripe of a cut deep into his arm, hissing at the stinging burn. Blood welled and flowed freely. Two more cuts on that arm...then the other.

Matt cut three deep, long stripes from elbow to wrist, the sat back against the cabinets and waited for death to come and claim him. He waited patiently, growing light headed.

Something was wrong. His cuts were healing. Oh, no...no! He'd heal faster than he could bleed out! Everything felt heavy as Matt tried to reopen the cuts. There was blood all over himself now and the light headed delirium of blood loss was making coordination difficult.

What are you doing?!

Cora's voice.

Dammit. He failed. Matt didn't reply to her cry of horror with words. Instead, he grabbed his knife and swung it on an arc to his chest, intent on impaling his heart on the blade. He should have done that first. The bite of steel never came. Instead, small, strong, insistent hand pulled at his arm and took the knife from him. Her worried voice cut through the fog in his head.

Matt, you will never try to kill yourself again or hurt yourself like this!

The order stuck, a new compulsion to follow. His arm went limp and stopped trying to break open the quickly forming scabs on his arms. Matt drifted unconscious.
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