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of nothingness, and I fucking hated it. I needed to feel . I needed to release it. It was poking at my skin from the inside and there was only one way to get it out.
    I groaned.
    I needed the ache, the burn to course through my bones. I was never one for instant gratification. And even though deep down I was begging for it, I wouldn’t give in to it. Not yet.
    Climbing out of bed, I walked to my dresser and pulled out a pair of sweat pants. I needed to run the feeling out.
    I walked down the hall to the second door on the right and entered my workout room. It housed everything I could possibly need, but the treadmill was the one thing I was focused on.
    Classical music blared through the surround-sound speakers as I turned the stereo on. I couldn’t listen to music with words. They had too much meaning. I needed to be soothed and caressed, to blank out my mind.
    I stepped on the treadmill and set the speed. I’d run for as long as it took and with the way I felt, it was going to be a while.
    I ran and stared at the wall. I could feel my muscles warm up and start to burn from not stretching first, and it felt good. Not as good as it felt to punch my bag, but that dream was different. Same dream, different part. It was rare that I slept long enough to dream the whole thing, but when I did…the darkness was all-powering and there was nothing I could do to stop the pain.
    I wiped at the sweat rolling down my face as my muscles ached and my legs started to feel numb. I looked at the clock to see it was already past five. An hour is good enough. I slowed down to a walk and got off the treadmill, making my way to the small fridge against the far wall by the weight bench. I grabbed a Gatorade and chugged half the bottle.
    I wanted the run to help. I needed it to take the urge away, but I knew deep down there was no getting rid of it. I always prolonged the inevitable. Everything that dream made me feel was still there. It brought up to the surface all I’d buried: guilt, pain, loneliness, resentment, fear… emptiness. It was a weight on my chest, and I was suffocating.
    I left the workout room, making my way back into my room and straight to the bathroom, stripping my clothes as I went. A sense of relief was already washing through me, calming me in a way I never fully understood. The only thing that made sense to me was the release. It was my addiction, my high.
    Opening the side drawer at the sink, I pulled out my razor. I should get a new one . That one was starting to dull, but I wouldn’t. I liked the pain that came with it too much.
    I looked down at my hip, so many scars. I hated and loved them just the same. They represented who I was and everything I hated. Bringing the razor down, I pushed it into my skin. The pain shot through me instantly and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. I pulled the blade along and let it all pour out of me, all my emotions flowing down my leg. I looked down and watched the impurity run out, the itch on the inside no longer taking over my senses, the weight on my chest no longer suffocating.
    Relief washed over me, and the gratification was overwhelming. The adrenaline that coursed through my veins always made my dick hard, but I wouldn’t give in to it. I wanted to feel that underlying ache.
    Setting the razor down, I made my way to the shower. I turned it on and stepped in, gasping as the cold hit my skin and I watched as my blood mixed with the water at my feet. Thoughts of the dream tried to creep their way back in, but I blocked them out. Leaning forward, I rested my head on the shower wall and closed my eyes as the water started to heat. My first class started at eight, and I needed to focus on that. I knew once I finally left the house I’d be fine. An idle mind was dangerous.
    After showering, I bandaged my hip then walked to the closet and picked out a charcoal gray suit. I always dressed professionally. I dressed to show control and power, and in return I got respect and