I don't- I don't know what this is.

~The Monster In The Mirror~

tw/cw: self harm, razor blades, implied body dysmorphia, insecurity, comparison to another person

Plot: Just alternate Damien being insecure and cutting. Nothing much, really.

Author's note: posted this on Tumblr and decided it wouldn't hurt to crosspost it here too. Honestly didn't mind writing it. It was more of a vent post than anything, but I enjoyed writing it either way.

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He looked at himself in the mirror, sighing. He'd
never be anything like his host. So perfect, so
loveable, so flawless to the point it was fucking
irritating.

He growled and drove his fist into the mirror,
watching it crack and even shatter slightly at the
point of impact, screaming at his own reflection,
before sinking to his knees on the tiled floor. Why
couldn't he be like him? Why was he such a
fucking failure at the one thing he existed for?

He sniffled, pulling open the draw beside him and taking out a razor blade...

And dragging it across the skin on the inside of
his arm.

He found the sting relaxing. Something else for
him to focus on rather than how flawed he was.
He did this almost every day purely because of
that reason.

He idly watched as dark red streaks of liquid
trickled down his skin from the cuts, then
continued to cut. And cut. And cut some more.
This was the only thing that made him feel alive.
That made him feel carefree. He needed this
feeling to last.

So, that's why he was now sat, both of his arms,
from elbow to wrist, inside and outside, covered in cuts. He embraced the sting for a while, eyes
closed, breathing deep and even. And then worry
settled in as he wondered how he was going to
hide this.

He supposed he could wrap it in bandages, cover
it with those elbow length gloves his counterpart
recently bought, chuck on a hoodie and hope for
the best. He'd just have to avoid anybody
gripping his arms and he'd be fine.

Yes. Yes, that'd have to do for now.