28. Hidden Wounds

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Trigger Warning: Self-harm, negative self-worth

Max felt a deep sense of disgust and worthlessness, a gnawing feeling he couldn't quite understand. Valentino was still out shopping, and Max, alone at home, found himself in a dark place mentally. He was frantically searching through his backpack for something he had hidden away—a small, sharp blade. He had stashed it there to keep it out of the hands of his boyfriend, the maids, and his friend. He didn't want anyone to know what he was going through; he didn't want to burden them with his pain, and he certainly wasn't ready to share it with Valentino.

He finally found the cold, familiar blade at the bottom of his backpack. Trembling, Max carried it to the bathroom, locked the door behind him, and sank onto the cold tiles, resting his head on his knees. He felt utterly broken, overwhelmed by feelings of guilt and self-blame. He was consumed by thoughts of his father's death, the move before his father's passing, the murder that led to everything, and his mother. Despite not being responsible for any of it, Max felt as though he was to blame for it all.

With tears streaming down his face, he lifted his head and held the blade against his wrist. Each cut was a message, a painful attempt to process his anguish:

1. "That's for the poor guy your dad murdered."
2. "That's for moving out."
3. "That's for your dad dying."
4. "That's for your mum."

The cuts started to multiply, one leading to another, until he lost count—there were around fifty marks on his arms. His left arm was nearly full, so he moved to the right one. He didn't stop until he heard a soft knock on the bathroom door. Valentino usually didn't knock, so Max was terrified. He attempted to stand to clean and bandage his arms but collapsed back down, weakened from the blood loss.

He closed his eyes, wishing the person outside would just go away. But the soft voice persisted, "U-uh Mr. Max? I'm c-coming in..."

The door unlocked, and a young female maid entered. She gasped, dropping the tray of food she had been carrying. She had noticed Max seemed off earlier and came to check on him, finding him in a horrifying state. Max tried to lift his head to meet her gaze, but the shame and weakness made it impossible. Blood was pouring from his arms, and she quickly sprang into action.

The maid grabbed the first aid kit from the cupboard beneath the sink and began cleaning the wounds with alcohol wipes. Max winced in pain, tears flowing as she worked. "It's okay, Mr. Max," she said softly, trying to reassure him despite the gravity of the situation. "Everything's going to be fine. Valentino won't find out if you wear long sleeves or hoodies."

Max couldn't find the words to thank her, nor could he even look in her direction. His shame was overwhelming. She continued to bandage his arms from wrist to upper shoulder, taking care to ensure he was as comfortable as possible.

Once she had finished, she dusted off her dress and waited for him to stand so she could help him pick out some long clothing. Max struggled but couldn't quite manage on his own. Seeing his difficulty, she gently helped him up by the hips and led him to his wardrobe. He silently thanked her, and she nodded in understanding.

Max chose a black and red hoodie. The maid assisted him in changing from his shirt into the hoodie, a task she was familiar with from helping her younger brother. While she didn't fully understand why Max felt compelled to hurt himself, she recognized his need for assistance and compassion.

The situation was dire, but she was determined to help him through it. As she finished helping him get dressed, Max looked up at her with a mix of gratitude and embarrassment. She offered a reassuring smile, ready to support him until Valentino returned home.

The act of caring, even in such a painful and vulnerable moment, was a small glimmer of hope amidst the darkness Max was navigating.

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