ONESHOTS ONESHOTS ONESHOTS !!

Addiction - rant

Addiction was something Midoriya Izuku knew all too well.

Since he was diagnosed as quirkless, things had taken a turn for the worst. His parents had suffered a nasty divorce -his father had claimed his mom's genes were defective, that she was useless - and his mother wasn't handling it the best. She had loved her husband, and thought he would love her no matter what. Unfortunately, that was just wishful thinking. She had cried and cried, absolutely devastated by her husband's harsh words. A few days after the initial shock, she had felt completely drained. She just wanted to leave, leave to somewhere she didn't have to see the very reason her husband had left.

So, she often stayed in bars and drank for hours on end, only heading home once the places closed. At first, it was something she had done for an escape, but it soon became something that felt obligatory. She would get antsy, itchy, and fidgety when it just wasn't enough. She would get angry at Izuku if they had an encounter before she could get her fix.

But, there was also school.

His dreaded school had the biggest play in Izuku's knowledge of addiction. With everyone tripping him, hitting him, using their quirks on him, and their words, things start to take a turn for the worst.

Much like his mother, he had started cutting himself almost as an experiment. He had heard about it online, from forums and videos alike, and people had claimed it felt like a release. It made them feel better, and if it made them feel better, maybe it would make Izuku feel better too? Once he started, he found he couldn't stop. At first, he thought he was doing it because he felt hopeless. He liked being in control of the wounds he gets, unlike Bakugou's unwelcome explosions. These he can look at and get a strange sense of pride.

Soon, it felt like a routine. He didn't notice the itching to do it, as he normally had a set time. He would do it after his mother went to bed - in case his mother knocked and he had to scramble for an excuse - and lock himself in the bathroom. But, soon, when he tried to stop, he noticed it. He noticed the way it would become the only thing on his mind until he did it, did it enough to satisfy the itch, cut deep enough for a new record. He couldn't focus. It was there and never left. The imagery of dragging the blade across his arm over and over in the same wound until fat was protruding, uncaring if anyone saw. The imagery of being covered head to toe in scars and open wounds alike. The imagery of slitting his arm just deep enough and long enough to bleed out.

It was horrible.

Just trying to get through a day of school, talking to people, taking notes, completing work - it was all too much. He had tried to stop, he really had! But with the stress of everything, trying to ignore the itch, and the nagging feeling at the back of his head telling him he needed to be better - it felt impossible. Plus, with the dorms in place at U.A, it would be a hassle to hide every time he went out of his room. 

So, now here he is. Sitting in front of his school binder that held his homework, holding a pack of brand-new pencil sharpeners. He had bought them with innocent intentions, truthfully, but when he got back his mind had been fogged with different thoughts. He knew he couldn't - he had friends now! They would care..right? - but it was just so tempting. He ripped open the packaging and took one of the bright yellow sharpeners out. Was he really going to do this? He had been doing so well! He hadn't cut since the entrance exams! That was huge.

He quickly ran into the bathroom, sharpener and screwdriver in hand. Anxiety and excitement merged inside of him, coursing all throughout his body and fogging his brain. He was in a somewhat dissociated state - hyperaware of everything he was doing and every thought he had, yet not aware of anything at all. Everything merging together into fuzzy tingles yet the slightest touch felt so harsh and real - he knew that if he wasn't, it would make it harder. He knew the logical part of his brain telling him people would find out was right, and it wasn't worth it to get rid of the itch. But now? He was focused on the task at hand - break open the sharpener without any damage.