TRIGGER WARNING: Scenes of self-harm
Derrick
I go straight to my bedroom and the footlocker I keep hidden in the back of my closet. As I always do, I take my whip out and go to the bathroom. It’s easier to clean up the blood.
I stand in front of the mirror, the cut o’ nine tails in my hand, the silver hooks glinting in the overhead lights.
Silver doesn’t scar me. I wish it did. I deserve to carry my shame on the outside for all to see. I undress and stand naked in front of the mirror, and position the whip, feeling the weight of it in my hand, before I take it up and swing it over my shoulder. The silver hooks bite into my back, and tear away chunks of flesh.
The pain sears through me, reminding me of the suffering I had caused. I see their faces. The virgins my brother put on the alt
