The Quirkless At U.A. (Student Reader x Aizawa)

Chapter 6.

CONTENT WARNING: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF SELF-HARM, PHYSICAL ABUSE. Please do not read if you do not feel safe or comfortable in doing so.

As soon as I got home, I immediately kicked off my shoes and ran upstairs, ignoring the dirty looks from my mother. I opened the door, plopped my bag down, and fell onto the bed.

"What. A. Day." I whispered to myself.

My bedroom was kinda plain looking. The walls were painted a light blue, clothes strewn here and there, and a beat-up old desk that housed a lamp and a second-hand laptop I got from the charity shop. Pretty good find though, I'd say.

I got up and walked over to my desk, the chair squeaking as I lowered myself onto it. In the drawer lay a packet of cigarettes, a dismantled pencil sharpener, and a pack of craft knives. Sighing at my own weakness, I closed the drawer and was suddenly brought back to the shitty memories that drawer held.

----

Hyperventilating, I spun around the room looking for my pencil sharpener.

My emotions were about to burst the dam. Anger, sadness, frustration, everything. I had to let them out somehow before I went crazy.

Still struggling to breathe, I rifled through the drawers, searching for that damn blade.

"Nope, no, no, fuck, come on, shit," I was growing more and more upset as I chucked things out of the drawer. At last, a glimmer of hope. Or rather, a glimmer of the blade reflecting against my dim desk lamp.

"Yes." I picked it up and rolled up my short sleeves. With a ridiculous amount of haste, I slashed and dragged the metal across my shoulder about 30 times. By the time I was done, blood was dripping down my arm, and the stinging began to settle. However, a dead, empty calmness and relief also washed over me at the same time. My breathing settled. A blank expression on my face, I stared down at the damage.

'Disgusting.'

I wept silently, sitting on the floor, hearing the muffled shouts of my parents arguing about me. Screaming about how useless I am. How worthless. How pathetic.

'Well aren't they right, really? Why do I try? Why bother? Why put up with the pain of everything? When have I ever been happy?'

The blade looked as tempting as ever before. I picked it up, and held it vertically to my wrist. Without thinking, I threw it to the other side of the room.

'Not yet. Just a little longer. Just try.'

The sobbing continued throughout the night.

----

By the time my flashback was over, I was hyperventilating once again. The warm, sick feeling of dread and disgust settled in my chest. Unconsciously, I began to scratch at the cuts on my shoulder; some a day old, some 2 weeks old.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck" I whispered desperately, about to grab that all-too-familiar blade.

'No. Not today. What if I over-exert myself during training and they open up?' I convinced myself, luckily. This was an issue for another day. Instead, I tried to focus of the ray of hope Aizawa had given to me. That one, slither of a chance that I could be ok for once.

----

"So, first day. You haven't been expelled yet or anything? That surprises me." My father muffled in between mouthfuls of food. I sat there in silence, with a sad lack of food in front of me. They liked to make me watch them eat, so I would "know my place."