"I hate myself." for un_love_you
The wooden pole was wrapped three feet deep with fabric, layer after layer. Mab’s scratching post, as they were now calling it. When the energy that bubbled up too hard or fast in her, she’d come to face it with her knives and rage. Over and over again she’d throw herself at that pole, slashing fabric, stripping it down layers at a time. On bad days, her knives would bite into the wood underneath before she’d let herself collapse in exhaustion, panting and almost crying.
She hated it. Hated that she needed to destroy something to make it through her days. That talking to Bobby wasn’t enough. But the energy, the violence built up in her until she couldn’t stand it. So, the damned scratching post. Dozens of dulled silver knives shed on the ground as soon as they stopped working. Fabric shreds settled onto the ground like falling leaves. And another scar was added to the wooden pole. She was able to let the violence go, to be calm, less foolish. The roles and decisions that were necessary would be played out well. But all it left her feeling was empty.
She hated it. Hated that she needed to destroy something to make it through her days. That talking to Bobby wasn’t enough. But the energy, the violence built up in her until she couldn’t stand it. So, the damned scratching post. Dozens of dulled silver knives shed on the ground as soon as they stopped working. Fabric shreds settled onto the ground like falling leaves. And another scar was added to the wooden pole. She was able to let the violence go, to be calm, less foolish. The roles and decisions that were necessary would be played out well. But all it left her feeling was empty.