Chapter Text
It was a stupid habit really, all it had been was a morbid curiosity. He'd heard about it and it didn't make sense why someone would cut themself, it'd always kinda simmered in the back of his mind, but then he saw someone in real life with scars. They were healed, and he saw the person just in passing, but it made that simple question burn stronger inside his stomach. What was to gain from it? Why would someone willingly hurt themself. What was the point? The thoughts knotted into his stomach and he thought about it more and more. He went from an occasional curiosity, to thinking about it so often it kept him awake. He remembered the first time he tried it, the air inside his home was stale, or maybe it was just how he remembered it due to the warping on his memory. It had been late, he'd quietly walked past Heavy and down stairs. Every step felt heavy, he knew this wasn't right and every fiber of him was telling him to stop, but he couldn't, he needed to just understand so he could forget about it.
His father had been having a bad day, one of those where he was less present and more likely to snap so Dee really shouldn't have been surprised when he was sitting at the table with tea. It almost stopped him, god he wish it had stooped him, but instead he walked down and slipped into the kitchen instead of the kitchen he went through the living room, going to the garage door, that door always creaked when opened, he remember the noise being so deafening, of course his father looked over before looking back at the tea mug. Dee grabbed a chromebook charger, in case his dad asked, then he went for what he was looking for, he opened his mothers tool kit and grabbed the little screwdriver pocketing it. Then he headed back out
Glam spoke up first looking over "Is everything alright Dee?" he asked, and Dee wanted to crawl into his own skin, even just knowing he was going to try felt so.. shameful, he really should be doing this. Why was he doing this.
"I forgot to make sure Heavy's chromebook was being charged, it wasn't" he lifted up the charger showing Glam, he felt like he was shaking, was he? In the memory he felt like he was
Glam looked at and then the charger smiling "That's very mature if you Dee, but please try to rest it's getting late" he just nodded and went to his room, he hesitated moving to plug in heavy's computer anyway, just to keep his story straight before going to his room.
He turned on his lamp, grabbing the sharpener he had gotten from school. He hesitated struggling a bit to get it in, the first turn felt strangely impossible but every twist after became easier.. he unscrewed one of the blades, it felt like there was a tension building in his body. He held the blade for what seemed like forever, he hadn't thought this through. Where should he do it, it couldn't be visible, how long would it take to heal, what if he cut too deep immediately? Every part of him was saying this was a bad idea, the tension was too high, he held the blade up to his arm and dragged, wincing as he did. He immediately dropped the blade onto the desk looking at the cut as it beaded with blood... it really wasn't that bad. He didn't know how to feel. he got up to go to the bathroom and wash it but a bandaid over it, it was in a bad spot- he'd have to wear a jacket till it healed, that was so stupidly impulsive, but the tension, it wasn't as bad. he felt like something escaped.. something inside of him felt a little lighter…
The healing process was weird, every time he went to the bathroom he'd pull up his sleeve, it was one small cut, it had already scabbed, he kept touching it, tracing it. Looking at it trying to understand why he did it. In the morning he found he'd managed to cut in this awful spot where when he held his phone it rubbed against his jacket, aan after realizing that he switched hands but it felt like everyone noticed, everyone knew. Obviously no one actually did, logically he knew no one was jumping to that conclusion but it felt like it. He let Heavy choose the movie they watched and he smiled hitting Dee's arm right into the healing cut, and he fought back a wince. He wanted to complain, but this wasn't like when a cat scratches you, you couldn't say anything about it and it was suffocating. When he was reaching for something it felt like the inside of his hoodie caught in the scab and it hurt like being pinched but Dad was right there he couldn't react. He couldn't yelp or wince. This really was awful, how did this help anyone…
The cut healed pretty quick, it was small so he shouldn't of been surprised, but seeing it healed, it was suffocating. It didn't even scar, and it felt like it was gutting him, he touched over where it had been looking at the pencil sharpener he'd put back together. It was like that tension was building again, and all he wanted was enough room to breathe. No, he wasn't going to be one of those kids who died from this. He took the sharpener putting it into his desk with the pencil. He'd use it how it was supposed to be. He was going to be a normal teen. He wasn't that pathetic. He was smarter, he was above a cutting issue.
Those thoughts were lost quickly, his father got upset at him once and he had dug out that stupid sharpener undoing the blades, then undoing his wristband, he didn't know where else would be easy to hide, but he rarely took the bands off, no one would notice, he hesitated before setting the blade against his arm, above his wrist, he was too nervous to cut there yet, logically he knew he was unlikely to die but he was still scared, so he drug the blade above it biting his lip and taking a deep breath, it felt like he hadn't been able to breathe in days. Then he moved to do it two more times, watching the blood dot. the lines were thin, small, he didn't mind it. They gave him room to breathe, he could breathe with this. Maybe the people who did this were like him, and they just wanted room to breathe too. He grabbed a tissue wiping away the blood, putting back on the wrist band. He'd only do it so he could give himself room to breathe, he was smart, the smartest in his grade. He wouldn't grow to depend on it like an addiction. He was better than that.
The first week was hard, he was paranoid. Every noise he made, every odd movement, any touch on his arm made him nervous. Some one was going to find out, he only made a few cuts in the same space, but he was quickly running into an issue. The places his wrists bands were not big, just within this week his left wrist was covered, except that space where his veins were. He didn't want to die, just to breathe. He was a little more desperate for the feeling, but that was normal. He wasn't cutting that deep, just a few cuts every night or two. He hadn't even gotten any suspicion against him if it got bad surely someone noticed.
That thought was ingrained into his head, even now, someone would notice. Heavy was always good with emotions, and Dad was logical and good at reading people, and Mom she could be rough but she'd notice eventually. Not to mention Uncle Ches. Someone would notice. trailing the deep raised scars on his shoulder. Someone would notice when it got bad. He still had it under control. He could quit whenever he wanted, he just wasn't worried because he wasn't bad yet.