Tics and Scratches

Chapter 17

It was still dark when Bakugo bolted upwards, tangled in soft sheets, sweating and gasping desperately to fill his starved lungs. Ripping himself from the mass of bedding, he stumbled towards the floor, clutching at his chest as he finally managed to grab hold of his surroundings. His breathing evened out quickly as his mind came up blank with what he was so scared of. He knew he had had an awful nightmare, he hadn't woken up like this since he was first kidnapped. But no matter how hard he scoured his brain he couldn't remember what is was about, only the sickening fear that lingered in his body.

He stayed silent for a moment, waiting for the sound of angry footsteps that would surely come thundering down the hall at any moment, before remembering where he was. Either he was extremely lucky and he had made next to zero sound or Aizawa and Mic were incredibly deep sleepers. After a few minutes, he deemed it safe to crawl over to the table where his phone sat charging, reaching up and snatching it down towards him. 

The 6:30 that shone off his screen shocked him somewhat. He didn't know when he had gone to sleep in the first place but this was a relatively late start for him. Normally he would have pulled himself together and left for a run around an hour ago, but he couldn't really do that right now. The logical other option was to go back to bed, but even as his eyelids drooped he decided he would rather do anything else. The nauseating fear was still clogging his throat and he had zero desire to relive what had caused it. So instead he pulled the duvet off of the bed, wrapping it around himself while he sat crosslegged on the floor. He briefly debated whether he should text Kirishima about everything that had happened, the other boy had been so worried before they parted ways for the holiday after all. But as soon as his mind wandered back to the events of yesterday he felt tears prick his eyes and the familiar electricity shoot through his body. That could wait for another day.

It was finally beginning to hit him that this was it, he couldn't go back there anymore. He didn't want to go back there anymore. But the understanding that his own mother hated him still filled his body with an overwhelming sense of grief. Which is exactly what prompted him to shrug the duvet off of his back and pull up his shirt. Deep down he knew he shouldn't be doing this, that it wouldn't work. But he was so angry at his own body for doing this to him. Sure, his home life wasn't perfect before all of this had happened, but the fact he had no control over what had tipped Mitsuki over the edge filled him with anger. 

Therefore, as one last attempt to gain control over his rapidly crumbling life he pressed his steadily heating hand to his scarred stomach. With every whistle, every twitch of his neck, every involuntary movement or sound, he activated his quirk just a little bit more, hunching over himself as he softly whimpered over and over again. He had no idea how long he stayed like that on the floor, time seemed to blur together when he was like this, but the sound of his door creaking froze him in place.

"Bakugo, we're getting worried." Shit, shit, shit. His entire body had frozen in place, fear coursing through his veins. He could vaguely remember a voice coming from the door as well as knocks increasing in volume. But something in past him had decided that it wasn't a pressing issue. God, he was so stupid. He tried to open his mouth but yet another idiotic tic replaced the 'no' he was intending to shout.  

The announcement of "we're coming in" still wasn't enough to shock him out of his stupor that left the physical representation of his shame and anger on show. He just sat there, hand still poised over his stomach, as the door in front of him swung open. He wasn't sure when tears had started falling down his face, the dryness of his lips indicated hours ago but the looks on his teachers' faces prompted a whole new wave of them to begin falling.

"Bakugo, oh my god!" Yamada exclaimed, finally prompting the teen to drop the hem of his borrowed shirt.

As he begun to curl in on himself, head covered by his arms and between his knee, he saw Aizawa striding through the door and towards him while Yamada booked it down the corridor. These past 24 hours have officially become the definition of his worst nightmare. This is the last thing he wanted, to have them assume he was doing that. He wasn't self harming, he was sure of it. This was a completely different situation. But he was well aware of what it would look like to anyone that saw it. As he sniffled he felt a hand fall softly onto his back, it felt like it belonged there now with how many times it had comforted him.