Too Late

Arata's Bedtime Routine

Yoshida Arata hated bedtime.

It was when his thoughts were able to eat him alive, causing sleep to be a foreign thing.

His head pounded as he turned in his bed for the 10th time in 5 minutes.

Useless

Stupid

Retard

Brat

Just die

All the things his parents call him and his siblings rang through his mind.

"I really am useless." He sighed before standing up, flipping over to turn on his head lamp.

He had to close his eyes for a second in order to get his eyes to adjust to the new brightness surrounding him.

After he was able to open his eyes fully without discomfort, he grabbed a box hidden between his side table and bed.

The box contained the few things that helped him sleep.

Razors, melatonin, and headphones connected to a mp3.

He opened the bottle of medicine and gulped a few pills down without water. Then placed the headphones in his ears and blasted music to knock out whatever negative thoughts he had.

After he felt content, he looked at the clean razors that were wrapped in individual packaging to keep the clean.

He contemplated if he should to the thing he was trying to stop doing.

Nothing about cutting himself was good beside the fact that it distracted himself from reality for a few minutes, maybe hours depending on how deep and how many he had cut into himself. It was kind of like the weed he smoked. The in-the-moment effects felt amazing and calmed him down, but it only lasted a few minutes until he would start to get paranoid and cotton mouth.

He sighed before placing the box on his side table.

He took hold of the waistband of his joggers and boxers, pulling them both down to just above his knees.

After grabbing a few tissues to place down right beside him, he reached over to his box again, grabbing a wrapped razor, undoing the plastic, and once that was done, he huffed a bit of air.

Then, the first slice came just below his v-line on his right hip. The second was next to the first. The third was in the same spot but on his right. It was like this until he had 8 new cuts adorning his skin.

Blood was soaked up by the tissues he had previously gotten. 

He looked at his thighs and arms for a minute. They both were covered in scars.

It made him feel sick.

Why was he doing this to himself?

After cleaning up, he placed everything back in his box besides the mp3 that was still blasting music in his ears.

Arata kicked off his joggers but left his boxers on, pulling them back up.

He shut off the lamp and laid his head back on his pillow, releasing the air he forgot he was holding.

As his eyes started to droop as the melatonin kicked in, he had one single thought swimming in his mind.

Death.