Bleeding Out, It's Kinda Funny

Thorn wanted him dead. Thorn wanted him bleeding. Thorn wanted him to struggle, just as she did.

Thorn's anger was growing with each thought that matched each quickening heartbeat, a feeling that rumbled in her chest. She flexed her paws that were folded on the desk, claws stretched out and eager to sink them in the warm flesh sat beside her. Her tail lashed furiously, and if she couldn't fidget like she was doing she would be expelled in a heartbeat. The teacher rambled on with her lesson, ignorant as usual or just ignoring the normal petulance Jack brought on to her in this last class of the day.

"Do it, do it, do it," he chanted in her ear in a soft, sharp whisper. She keeps her eyes lowered, not daring to sneak a glance of his grin. That grin, his apathetic, selfish, provoking grin.

Her petulance pulsed in her skin, thick and hot. She tried to give a realistic view on the situation: Violence doesn't solve anything- what good would come of it, anyway?

He'd be dead, and as much as she wanted to see him so right now, he would be gone and he would annoy her no longer. And that puts her into a brief disappointment, because she liked the anger he gave her. She liked it so *damn* much. Maybe even more than he made her in the previous state of affairs they'd been in; he made her happy with compliments and affectionate attention. Rather than now, making her crazy with insults and showing no signs of that previous attitude, caring too much about her and loving her to death, but now he was apathetic and unforgiving. The change was her own fault, and hers alone.

"Kill me, then. Do it, do it, do it, do it. Do it."

The feeling was almost deafening to her, making her ears ring and her heartbeat thunder on even more. It is hot, it is thick, and it is sickeningly encouraging. She takes in a sharp breath, vision blurring. She moved her arms down to her legs, her panting increasing as she finally drew her claws into her thigh, the pain numbing and the feeling of wet blood on her paw calming.

She'd done it, alright. She'd done something, after all those months of him taunting her-

*Thorn exhaled, ears pinning. "I swear I will kill you, Towers."*

*He giggled mischievously beside her. "Do it, then. Do it. Do it. Do it."*

And damn did she screw it up royally.

The knife fell from the ginger's grasp with a metal clang on the smooth, hardwood gym floor. He didn't notice the blood dripping from the blade in the low light beside the bleachers. He stared at Thorn, who'd collapsed with a grunt, paw covering her chest.

Had he winded her? He needed to run- once she gained her breath, she'd come after him with no hesitation. One small cut to the forehead wouldn't suffice. He tensed even more once her gaze trailed up to meet his, his breath heavy in his throat. He felt a bit winded himself; she had leaped on top of him, after all.

"You got some fight in you, Towers." That year old nickname still irritated him, but the way she said it now- breathlessly, with a weak smile, the bloodlust faltering in her eyes. Irritation was drowned by fear, by *shock,* that was a better description, a feeling that took over all his senses when she removed the paw from her chest.

A long, thick, smooth wound stood out amongst the white fur, seeping with dark blood that was cascading thickly from it. She chuckled again, weakly, and Jack couldn't bring himself to speak. She put the paw back to her wound, wincing and ears going down, to stop the bleeding a bit. Or, more realistically, *cease* the bleeding.

"This is the craziest thing," she continued after a moment, tears sparkling in her gaze. She sat up on one front leg, the rest laying behind her. She had never felt like pain like this, and she was glad this would be the first and final time.

Jack still remained in a silence, brought by shock and slight pain. The shock had gotten to his head, too, unable to express anything but. No guilt, no anger, nothing. The feeling would waver soon, but not now.

Not yet.

She'd been his first love. She'd saved him from his bully, a former friend he clinged on to, and she'd befriended him in a time when emotions were confusing and he missed his mom the most. She had been so sweet, so *damn* sweet, so perfect and so good to him. She never called him weak for being sensitive, she'd helped him get over that.

Not in the way he'd expected to, though. But you can toughen up a person with possessive abuse, so she had gotten the job done, nonetheless.

She loved too much, and that was her crime. She'd loved two times before, and she didn't want to lose another person. In the end, she did, and she never got over it.

"I don't even know what I was doing," her words brought him back to reality, his gaze refocusing on her. Through the remaining numbing haze of shock, he felt angry. Spiteful. Even if he defended himself somehow, even if this could have been him, he still felt so angry.

"Why hurt someone so *beautiful?*" The words choked out were sickeningly spiteful, just as sickening as the smell of the blood, dripping from her paw and onto the floor. The blood loss was getting to her, she'd pass out soon. Pass out and *die* soon, and she was willing to accept that somehow. Accept it like she was satisfied, satisfied that she failed.