The glass shatters against the bathroom floor, scattering into little, sharp pieces. Chase let's out a line of profanities under his breath.
This is why you shouldn't hang picture frames up in the damn bathroom, dumbass...
Chase crouches down and picks up a piece of glass, just a small, sharp piece. He stared at it for a second, then stared at his wrist.
It was such a coincidence that his long sleeve was riding up, exposing the top of his wrist.
Chase was surrounded by broken glass, his mind was set on it. It was like surrounding him in a room of cookies after he's been starving himself all day.
He just couldn't resist the urge that was growing by the second.
Chase rolls his sleeve up, noticing how some cuts were beginning to finally fade away after weeks and weeks, possibly a month of cutting.
Then there were the newer ones, there wasn't much on his wrist. His thighs and stomach was so much worse.
But his wrist tingled with need. He wanted to see red lines across them. He wanted just a drop of blood to turn into a drizzle and leak out, mingling with another cut.
Chase always did whatever he could to get what he wanted.
It stared off with one, small cut, across the inner forearm part of his wrist. Chase slid it easily across his skin, watching as the scratch surfaced drops of blood.
And just the sight of the small amount of blood excited him greatly. He lost all control, striking his wrist again with the sharp glass.
One turned into two, which turned into four, which turned into too much to keep count of.
A small thought in Chase's mind kept screaming, no more after this one.
But that thought remained small as bigger ones trampled over it.
His wrist stung, his hand shook. Chase held his wrist up, watching as blood poured out of the dozens and dozens of cuts, smearing on his dark skin.
It always amazed Chase how quick blood sometimes dried. Or how long it could drip until it dried.
He set the bloody glass aside, still staring at his arm. He admired the cuts. The angry, bloody, dark red lines.
Chase ran his thumb over them, feeling the now textured skin, sighing heavily.
The cuts weren't too deep, deep enough to leave scars for over a month or two though. He was fine with that, it was going to get cold soon anyways.
He finished picking up the glass, cutting his hands more than he should've. Chase wasn't sure if he purposely did that or not, but didn't mind either way.
Chase saved all the pieces of glass, figuring he'd use them later.
He dampened a cloth, harshly rubbing it against the bloody cuts. That's the only way blood can come off without soap.
I want chocolate.
Don't I have an assignment due at midnight?
Ice cream. Ice cream. Ice cream. Ice cream. Ice cream. Ice cream.
I can have ice cream while doing my assignment...
Chase thought that was the perfect idea.
He crept down the stairs, trying his hardest not make a single noise. His parents would kill him if they caught him sneaking ice cream at 11 at night.
