Dustinâ€™s mind was a swirling cloud full of confusion. Pain. Hurt. Confusion. Turmoil. Stress. Anxiety. The need to cut. The fact his method of calming himself had brought him more pain at anotherâ€™s hands. Of making sense of the stress, the emotional turmoil, the pain and hurt. Then he was thrown into all that confusion. The man stabbed him for his method of bringing it into sense. Of making sense of everything by a pain and emotion he understood. He stumbled and crashed into things. His mind was all over the place. He wasnâ€™t thinking sanely. Nothing made sense. He needed to cut to make it make sense. Right now it was just a cloud. Everything startling him and making him yelp.<br/><br/>He barely realized Antony had found him until the smack. He screamed and his weak form flew backwards. â€œI donâ€™t know. I donâ€™t know.â€ He cried out. Screaming as he was carried over the mans shoulder. Struggling. â€œNo! No! No! You are making me go insane. You are making me go insane. You took my method of calming and making sense from me! You made how I make sense of pain and turned into into pain at anotherâ€™s hand! I wasnâ€™t trying to kill myself! I wasnâ€™t! Doesnâ€™t fucking work! That stupid angel never lets me die! I just needed to make sense of it.â€ He said.<br/><br/>Crying hard as he struggled. â€œPlease...I need to cut. I need to. I need to make sense of it. Please...please...please...so confused. So much. All of it. I am going to go insane. I need to cut without you stabbing me. It is how I calm. It is how everything makes sense. Everything I donâ€™t understand...the pain, the stress, the confusion, the emotional turmoil...it makes sense when I feel true pain. Pain I gave myself. Then I can understand the other pain. Then it all calms down.â€ He said in a pleading and sobbing voice. He screamed as he felt his form thud onto the bed a bit. â€œPlease...I need to cut...I need to cut...I need to cut...please....please...please...â€ He begged. To him cutting was like a drug. It was like Antonyâ€™s bloodlust. To Dustin...cutting made it all better. Cutting was his bloodlust...getting satisfied.<br/><br/>â€œPlease...please...please...I need to cut. I need to cut. I need to cut without getting stabbed. Being stabbed defeats the purpose. Cutting makes it all make sense. Cutting brings back the calm. Please...please...please let me cut without hurting me. Its...I need it. I need it to stay sane. You need blood for the bloodlust to stay sane. Well I need to feel true pain...by cutting...to stay sane. Or I snap. Then I try to kill myself. Pointless ventures because the fucking angel just wonâ€™t let me die. Please...please...need to cut....need to cut...please...please...â€ He begged over and over again. He curled up and his wrists moved together. â€œneed it...need it...please...please...â€ He begged as he shook hard.<br/><br/>He was having a mental breakdown. His method of calming and making sense of pain and everything else by giving â€œtrue painâ€ or pain he knew where it was from and why it was there...had been used against him. He sobbed. â€œThen just tell me what you want. You say fight back then get mad I do. Then say bitch you need to obey then get mad cuz I donâ€™t fight back. I donâ€™t know what the fucking hell you want from me!â€ Cried out the obviously kid Dustin. â€œCut....cut....cut....cut...please please please...need to cut...need to cut...â€ He said. Rocking back and forth a bit. â€œPlease...please...â€ He begged. Crying hard. He moved his arm to his mouth and began biting and knawing on his arm. Trying to rip open the skin. â€œNeed to feel true pain....pain where I know where it is from and why it is there.â€ He went back to biting and ripping at his skin with his teeth. Desperation in his every action. Red scratches forming where he bit. Still he kept trying to bite open his flesh with his teeth.