Five More Minutes | 18+ [HIATUS]

hurt

"Stop hurting yourself."

My eyes shot up, looking at him with both confusion and embarrassment. How could he be so sure that it was me who scarred my palms?

"What do you mean," I grumbled, acting oblivious.

I huffed out a breath aggressively and kept my eyes on him, trying my best to seem confident.

"Don't try and act like you don't know shit, you dumbass," he sighed out.

My eyes dropped and in an instant, my act was put to an end.

There was no point in trying. He already knew, and he wasn't about to be convinced by whatever silly act I'd try to put on.

"The wounds run inward, up into the center of your palm," he let out. "It makes it so obvious," he continued as he grabbed my fingers, pressing on my nails. I simply watched as he went on, not having anything to say.

"And by the looks of it, you've done it a million times," he snarled with a hint of anger.

He quickly interrupted himself, raising his eyebrows. His eyes called me pathetic. "Stop hurting yourself, because you're making my fucking job harder."

I sent him a glare and mumbled, "Fuck you."

He ignored my comment as he grabbed the alcohol once more and spilled it carelessly on my palms, not stopping once to think about the pain it'd cause me.

Yet again, it's not like he cared anyway.

I grimaced as I took a deep breath in, watching him close the bottle and grab another roll of bandage gauze. He unrolled it and cut it in half with the scissors he'd found in the kit. Wrapping both bandages on my palms, he taped them down tightly.

"Good enough."

He placed the kit back where it belonged and walked out without waiting for me, his hands buried in the pockets of his sweatpants. Wordlessly, he left the room, slamming the door behind him and finally leaving me alone.

I let out a heavy breath before jumping off the counter and heading inside the room. I climbed onto the bed and tucked myself in comfortably. I shifted towards the ceiling and put my hands up, staring at the bandages.

"You're so damn pathetic, Athena. Did you know that?" I croaked. Keeping my facial expression straight, I let a tear run down my cheek as silence filled the room.

I hated feeling this way— feeling pathetic because of my scars.

"And I'm not even supposed to be feeling this way," I reminded myself aggressively.

The sadness quickly turned into anger, and I squeezed my hands and put pressure on the gauze. I clenched my jaw as I watched my blood stain the bandages. Sighing with frustration, I put my hands back down and let my eyes wander the ceiling.

At least the pain was able to distract me.

Not long after, I turned to my side. I spaced out as my thumb rubbed my palm softly, feeling my eyes struggle to stay open. Before I knew it, my eyes were closed and I was drifting off to sleep.

• • •

My eyes fluttered groggily as I sat up, looking around. I didn't bother to check the time before hastily walking into the bathroom, turning on the shower and waiting for it to heat up.

As I waited, I took the new toothbrush sitting in a cup next to the sink and grabbed the toothpaste along with it. I watched as the sink dampened its bristles, then squeezed a good clump of toothpaste on it. I let the toothpaste spread in my mouth as I brushed my teeth, staring at myself in the mirror.