Cupid's Trick

I took the bus home from work last week.  The rain had already sucked all of the autumn out of the leaves and the unseasonable warmth made me think of rot.  As we crossed the river I glanced out of the window and watched the runoff pour in from concrete drains.  I huddled into my jacket; it was damp and uncomfortable, but the AC was blasting cold air at me, and my leggings were soaked with rain and puddle-water.  The bus took a right at the end of the bridge and made a stop.  An old man had rung for it, and as he stepped out into the foggy drizzle, he slipped and fell on the curb.  The driver put the bus into park and got out.  With his help, the old man got up slowly as the other commuters idly gazed out at them or did their best to ignore them or ignored them without trying.  I was sitting on the opposite side of the bus, next to last row, so I didn't get a great view.  

I came home to an empty, dark house, just as I had hoped.  Something about the light in a dark house on an ugly day...I like it.  So I stripped off my jacket, kicked off my shoes, and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on.  My first instinct was to turn on the TV, but I couldn't bring myself to break the stillness.  This kind of solace was something to savor.  So instead, I walked up the stairs toward the bathroom and wriggled out of my sopping leggings.  Without turning any lights on, I sat down on the toilet and studied my legs.  My feet were dirty in spots, and my toes had turned to prunes.  I lifted my left foot in the air, leaned it against the sink, turned it so that I could see the crook of my knee in the soft blue light.  Then I started cutting.

I'm an expert at this.  I don't do anything too deep or visible, and I never cut in the same place twice.  Even the closest inspection of my legs doesn't reveal any scars.  I just popped a blade out of a fresh razor and began making the slightest vertical incisions on the inside of my left thigh.  Parallel lines, three, four, five.  You don't need to cut deep to get a lot of sensation.  The blood looked bright black in the dark as it rolled down and dripped onto my panties.  When I was done I stripped the rest of my clothes off and stepped into the shower.  I let the blood trickle onto the floor for a moment before I turned the water on.  The cold shocked my skin at first, then it warmed slowly.  I washed myself, paying particular attention to my dirty feet, then stepped out, dried off, and put a bandage over my thigh.  I walked downstairs in my towel and found my kettle cold.  I had forgotten to turn on the burner.  I switched it on and waited for my tea.