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(AN - tw for self harm and stuff, if you're sensitive to these kinds of topics please be aware if you choose to read, it's not super gory, but just a serious warning. Ik i mark all my books as mature to pre warn my readers in case things may be too grotesque, but mentally prepare yourself for this)
The next morning, when Ian had awoken, Mike was already gone, leaving the boy in a bit of disappointment. He could've woken him up for a moment and let him say goodbye, couldn't he? Maybe he was in a rush, he couldn't help but give Mike the benefit of the doubt, no matter what. Ian climbed down off the bunk bed, walking to the dresser and closet to grab some different clothes, feeling gross and craving a shower. As he went to open the bedroom door, he saw the sticky note, reading it before taking it off the door and folding it to put it in his pocket.
Ian walks across the hall towards Holly's room, seeing it was 8am, and he knew Mrs. Wheeler would want her down soon for breakfast. Ian takes Holly downstairs, dressed in princess pajamas, and holding a teddy bear. Holly was now five and a kindergartener. This made Ian feel old as he knew Holly ever since she was born, and now she was halfway finished with her first year in school.
"Morning, dear," Mrs. Wheeler smiles, looking back at Holly and Ian as she's frying eggs.
Ian just gives her a smile, pulling out a chair for Holly to let her sit. The boy walks over to one of the cabinets, grabbing five glasses to set them down at the table alongside a carton of milk and bottle of orange juice. Ian walks back upstairs, going up to get Nancy from her bedroom. He just taps on the doorframe as she was setting down an outfit to wear that day, silently telling her breakfast was almost done. She gives him a light smile as he walks off back to the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the closet and turning the shower on so it could get warm enough.
He steps in the shower, still in shorts and a t-shirt. He didn't even notice before he realized what he was doing. How he was hurting himself.
The blood seeped down his forearms, dripping down onto his bare feet and the shower slipmat.
It wasn't a lot, but it hurt as the hot water hit his wrists.
He quickly pulls himself out of the shower, throwing the bloodied razor into the trash can. He hides it with some tissues and under trash.
His hair was only a little wet. Maybe he could just lie about showering.
He leaves the water running as he scrambles to find some gauze, or bandages, or anything. He felt disappointed in himself as he panicked.
