Chapter Text
Luz couldn’t sleep.
They sat against the wall just behind their bed, headphones probably too loud, playing their depression playlist, but tonight it just wasn’t making them feel better.
It wasn’t making them feel anything infact, they felt hollow, numb; like all the emotions had leaked out of them, realising what a shitty person they were, all except a hazy backdrop of guilt and an emotion that could possibly be sadness infused with the emptiness.
God they wished they were dead.
Everything’d been made worse because of them, they’d inadvertently destroyed the Boiling Isles by proxy cause they were too fucking stupid to realise Phillip was Belos.
They briefly thought about taking their own life, they deserved it after all, and had a few means to do it, but ultimately decided against it for the time being, as their friends (for some inexplicable reason) cared about them, they weren’t so deluded as to not realise that, and losing their friend (and in Amity’s case, girlfriend) would affect them badly, and make it even less likely for them to happily get back home.
No, Luz had to fix everything before they could give themself the reward of death, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t still punish themself.
They got up quietly, careful as to not wake Amity, and walked over to their dresser before slowly opening it and pulling out a razorblade they’d had hidden there for over a year.
They picked it up and quietly shut the drawer before walking to the bathroom and locking the door.
They rolled up their pyjama short, exposing their upper thighs, a place that had been littered with scars and cuts since they were 12, and brought the blade down fast on their exposed skin.
The gash stayed white and unbloody for a second before deep red blood filled the cut, slowly spilling over the top of the wound.
They repeated the action a few more times on the same thigh before realising how much blood there was and how little space there was.
They moved to the other thigh slashing quick and deep, knowing the spots where the layers of skin broke easier, giving them a nice clean, deep, bloody cut.
God it felt so good to finally feel something.
The sting that always took a minute to come when they cut on their thighs started to set it, it felt painful and horrible yet also so comforting, comforting in a way they could never get from their friends.
Cutting worked so well as both a punishment and a comfort cause of this, the horrible pain was punishment for their actions with Belos and the Collector (of course it doesn’t make up for their actions and they deserve so much worse) and the sting and the surreal comfort was finally a fucking feeling they could be sure wasn’t just their brain trying to process the numbness.
After about 10 minutes of sitting in silence, letting it all sink in, the numbness and guilt came back.
They picked the razor back up and decided to continue on their arm (hopefully the scarring won’t leave them in long sleeves for too long).
They dragged the blade across their forearm, making sure to stay closer to their elbow than to their wrist incase their sleeve rolled up.
The cuts on their arm weren’t as deep, they never were, the few times they tried they’d never be as deep as the ones on their thighs but fuck did they bleed more.
Once they reached around 10 cuts on their left arm they decided to stop, the sting and comfort setting in sooner than on their thighs, and blood almost dripping onto the floor.
They needed to clean this up.