*Disclaimer* i dont own anything or anyone in this story. Its purly fiction.

I'm a cutter. Plain and simple. I don't give a fuck about the stigma attached to the term ''cutter'' or the supposed shame of being one. Last night I cut myself. Well, it was more like this morning that I cut my left arm. Then I cut my right. I was very, almost too, methodical.

Why did I cut, you might ask. Because. I am addicted to "him''. The inner beast that consumes me each time an object is in my grasp. He takes ahold of my deepest thoughts, feelings, and fears and turns it against me. The only way to shut it up, Is to bleed it out. Of course the situations only temporary.

I've found myself in this cycle since I was almost 13. That was 4 years ago. It was right after my dad died. he an I weren't close. Well, how close can you get when you dad hits your mother and beats the hell out of you? I didn't give two shits about his death. It was the punishment he bestowed that I missed.

He would slap me for even the smallest infringement. He was in the military, so he expected everyone around him to be like he was. My mom and I didn't quite do that. One day when I was about 12 or 13 I found the balls to stand up to him. Big fucking mistake. All he ended up doing was beating the shit out of my mom and broke everything i held dear, including my arm in 3 places.

After his death I became like him. I wanted everyhting done right the first time and perfectly. I it wasn't, let's say it wasn't good to be near me. My mom bitched at me about everything. I still remember the day when I made my first scar.

"Michael Shinoda. I can't deal with all this stress. I have 2 jobs to keep paying for your stupid, worthless art shit. And you cant even help with anything. i have to pay for my needs too you know." She screamed at me. She was selfish. Her needs were met. Very well.

I ran up the stairs to the bathroom. The razor blade on the counter screamed my name. I picked it up and held it for a little bit. ''Down the street to get somewhere. Across the street to get attention''. A girl i knew said that. I didn't want attention. so I cut down.

I liked it. I saw the blood bead up and the pain sting in a good way. I loved the touch of the cold metal against my forearm. I felt so alive. So free.

As time went on, I became controlled. I used to cut only when I felt trapped and alone. Now I cut because I feel obligated. like the blade would get mad if I didn't give it blood. My blood. It slowly took control. I became a slave.

A/n: Okies. end of chapter. This is my first fan fic and i dont know. If its crappy let me know, just dont be a dick about it. Chester gets introducded in the next chap (which i have written) and minor slash in 3rd and the 4th is major. Theres my plan. Lets see if i stick to it. -=Late=-