"Everybody wants to be special. Everybody wants to be loved. Except for me. I don't want to be special, I don't want people to care about me. I just want to walk through the streets without people staring at me. I want to be unnoticeable, and I am, for the most part. Very few people look at me. Very few people care. 

"Until, of course, She came along. Her name was Katherine, and I loved her.

"She was a very special person, for she was part cat. She was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. She smoked, but for the most part, that was her only flaw, and when your only flaw is something that barely even changes you, who cares? 

"I confessed to her and we started dating. She never really loved me, and she didn't care all that much, but we dated anyway, because I loved her, and isn't that enough? Well, apparently it's not, especially for someone like her. I was her placeholder. Someone who she would date until she found someone better.

"Katherine had a job. She never did tell me what it was, but she always had a very odd smell emitting off of her every time she came home. I never really cared and continued to love her. This, of course, was the wrong choice, because late one night, she tried to kill me.

"It was a normal night. I was watching T.V. She was talking about how she was going out, but I ignored her. She left the house. Hours later, at about 11 at night, she came home. Knife in hand, she chased me through the house and tried to kill me. I opened the door and raced out into the forest. I ran and ran until I thought I had lost her, but she was there. 

"I remember the way her knife glinted in the moonlight. I remember the way her eyes had the crazed look of a murderer. I remember the way she lifted the knife and stabbed me. I remember everything. Mainly because I have the stab wounds right here. Later that night, someone found me and brought me to the hospital. I don't know who they are, but I love them." I finished my story with a wave of my hand. Currently, I was in a room with 10 other people who were recovering from being hurt by people they loved. They were all here to tell their story, and personally, I think I told my story better then most of them, but I haven't listened to a single one of them tell their stories, mainly because they scare me. My own story scares me. I fear that one day, Katherine might come back. I fear that one day, she'll return to kill me. I still have nightmares. 

No one in the group knew who I was, and I didn't know who anyone in the group was. That's the way these kind of things work. I quite like it, not having anyone know my name but still being able to tell my story. The person next to me stood up and started to talk, but I tuned them out. I wasn't about to listen to some guy who got beat up by his best friend when I was almost literally killed by my own girlfriend.

I have exactly 11 scars on my stomach from where she stabbed me. Sometimes, I like looking at them and thinking I'm so cool or tough, and I guess I am.

Other times I wish it had never happened.