Hell, here's the story: Once upon a time, there was me. I worked at Kinko's. Earning $9/hour. Where a year ago I was making about $64K/year. Long (or not so) story that I'm tired of telling. Any ways, I was depressed beyond belief. No money, I owed money to my bank for my; car loan, I couldn't see my daughter all that much, and my EX was being, well, an EX. Oh yah, and I lived up in Santa Ynez with my parents.

So, I ran into Airalin again, and started hanging out with her. We went to Catalina together (no sex - we had had sex before the trip, and I had freaked out a bit about that - my feelings were still all screwed up about my failed marriage), had a good time swimming, Jet skiing, walking around, getting boozed, dancing, singing Pink Floyd and all that you would want to do in Catalina in 3 days. Oh yah, and also took pictures of her doing her Lara Croft thing. She also had me interested in her little "you can be creative" website, > hell, I've already forgotten about the focus of that site. It was a neat concept, but flawed. Although, it was a nice light for me being quite depressed about my life and all that.

Cutting to the chase (cutting, hehe), one night after work, I asked if I could spend the night there on the cot in the back room of her parents. She said yes. I went over, we proceded to watch Anime, and I didn't feel much like going to sleep. In fact, I just really wanted some conversation and company. A day at Kinko's can make anyone NEED and CRAVE some slightly intelligent conversation. However, she's acting weird about stuff (after having taken a large ammount of her "meds"), and asks if she can cut me.

Hmmm. That's where I should have turned and ran. But I didn't. Silly me. Not giving a shit, I say sure. However, I told her that she shouldn't leave cuts that will scar, or cut into my tattoos. Well, she listened to one of those at least. She pulled a razor out of a Lady Schick - and damn those things are sharp - and put her arm around my neck, and with her right arm started to cut into me.

Now the first cut actually felt great - endorphins and all that - but something started to not feel right as she went in for the next cut. And the next. And the next. At that point I said "Owww! Stop!" and pulled away.

However, with my back facing her, and her left arm around my neck, it took me a bit to pull completely out of razor length - she sliced twice more at my bicep - really fucking deep. She was howling, laughing, at this point. A kind of maniacal laughter mixed with drunkeness. She said "You can't handle it, I'll never cut you again!!!", and other stuff that I have quite forgotten in the haze that is pain and realizing that you are bleeding like a stuck...well, person. I ran, er, probably hobbled, into the bathroom, grabed a towel, and started to pad down the wounds that were bleeding profusely. I was quite in shock.

Since I'm kinda hazy on what happened after that, I'll just sum it up. She said " you shouldn't have > stopped the blood flow, now they won't heal right", and proceded to cut her arm and bleed onto my back. I was laying down on her bed, in lala land, not knowing what the fuck just happened. Trying to figure out what to do. She finally moved me into the bathroom, and I tried to ask her why she cut me so deep, and she kept telling me to shut up, that I shouldn't have soaked up the blood, as she bandadged me. After she told me to shut up several more times, she finished up, went to her bed, laid down and said she was tired - and fell asleep.

I just stared at her for 5 minutes or so, and decided that it was probably a bad idea to sleep in the cot, and left to my friends house to sleep for 3 hours, then to get up, go to work for 10 hours in a complete delirum, while my cuts bled into the bandage, and then finally decided that it would be a good time to seek help. My Ex finally convinced me to > go to the ER, after refusing to help me bandage my wounds up again (I sure > as fuck don't blame her). They admitted me with much ado - the receptionist/nurse actually went pale when I took my shirt and bandages off.

In the end, I got 35 staples (not 32, I just counted them), the equivalent of 100 stitches, a visit from the friendly neighborhood peace officer, and drove home after 5 hours in the ER. I didn't press charges, but the report went on file any ways, and the DA (or whoever reviews cases like this) had the chance to press charges as well. Although I'm sure that didn't happen, or I would have heard about it.

So, after all this, I still haven't talked to her. Not one lick. Yes, I agreed to her cutting me, but not mutilation. If any of you get a chnce to see what she did to me, you might just agree that she has finally fried her brain. I wish I had realized that before trusing her with a blade.

However, I did talk to her dad for about 30 minutes, and told him about the situation. He just asked if I had pressed charges, then made excuses for her when I told him I had not. I told him that he should take her to see another doctor, and cut back on her meds, and he said, get this, she know's what is best for her. Uh-huh. Sure, so that's why she jumped (not fell) out of her window in Portland. Airalin is the perfect picture of moderation.