Title: Erasers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cutting
Pairing: Beck/Jade
Summary: She doesn't know why he does it, but he can lie in bed for hours and trace over every scar she'd ever put on her body.

Notes: Oh god, there are so many Cutter!Jade and/or Cutter!Beck fics. Ah well, might as well throw my hat in, too.
Update: Fixed a few tense issues (which always crop up when I try writing in present tense) and a couple typos/misused words. Please point out any mistakes you see - this is already saved on FF.N for the next 2 months, so right now I wouldn't even need to export it to fix mistakes.

Disclaimer: I do not own Victorious.

It's half past two on a Friday, and she finds herself in a familiar situation. Inside the RV, it's dark and silent, aside from the odd creak of the old springs in the mattress when she or Beck even thinks about moving. And there's the feeling of a single fingertip lightly tracing over her arms, thighs, or torso.

He's tracing the scars she's put on her body with switchblades, razors, kitchen knives, or – her trademark favorite – scissors, finding them with the help of the moonlight through the window. Some are nearly half a decade old, while others are as fresh as yesterday.

She can almost feel how each one stabs straight into his heart. He's almost finished her left forearm when she pulls it away.

"Why?" She finally asks. She's pretty sure he thought she was asleep, but he doesn't show any surprise at her voice, so she can't be sure.

"Why what?"

"You hate them." She murmurs, sliding her arm under a pillow when he tries to pull it back to him. "So, why are you always touching them?"

Instead of answering, he rolls on top of her, pinning her to the mattress in a move that sends the springs screeching. She could easily throw him off of her, and he'd let her if it was clear she wasn't trying just for show. But she doesn't feel like putting up much of a fight, especially since it would utterly shatter the serenity of the late night/early morning hours. He pulls her arms from under the pillows, and loosely holds her wrists down while he kisses her.

Then, he sits up fully, weight braced on his knees beside her hips, and pulls her arms up to his face, pressing his lips against the scars that are old enough for him to be able to find even in the dark.

"Sometimes," he begins, and she sighs at the feel of his lips forming the words against her skin, his hot breath rushing over it. "I wish my fingers were erasers. And that, just by doing this," He traces over the most prominent scar on her right wrist, made four months before, when he had been in Canada and her parents had announced their divorce. "I could make it so it'd never happened. Not just take the scar away, but wipe the thing that made you pick up the blade in the first place from existence. And I'd do it for all of them."

"...That'd take a shit-ton of time." She mutters, already following her knee-jerk reaction to lock the emotions his words made her feel in a box and bury them somewhere far away.

"Don't care." He countered.

With an odd, graceless flopping motion that she's sure had the poor mattress plotting to kill them as they slept on it, he rolls off of her and jerks open his bed-side table. Then, he holds her arm steady and she feels the drag and pull of a marker writing on her skin. She isn't sure how he can write in the dim light – she certainly can't see what he's putting on her skin. Maybe living in the RV, with its tinted windows, has honed his night-vision, or maybe he's just been awake for longer than she had, giving his eyes more time to adjust.

Either way, he inscribes messages on both arms, then wraps around her like some stupid koala-octopus hybrid and tells her to let it be a surprise in the morning.

She wakes alone, but the bed's still warm, and she knows that Beck just went over to his parents' house to grab some food and maybe a quick shower.

In the morning light, she can see the words on her arms, the black Sharpie marker drastic on her pale skin.

You're beautiful. on the right.

I love you. on the left.

For the next week, she wears long sleeves. But, for the first time, it isn't to hide fresh scars.

He countered the permanent marks she left on her own skin with marks of his own. Unfortunately, the Sharpie would eventually wash away. But she wants to wear his mark for as long as it will last.

-End-