Triggering
Michael
I'm fat
I'm ugly
I'm worthless
I'm talentless
I'm a mistake
I stared at my terrible reflection, thick thighd, squishy love handles, fat gut, chipmunk cheeks, black bags under my eyes, scars lining practically every inch of my body. "FUCK!" I shouted and punched the wall in anger, a hole forming in the bathroom wall. No one was around to help me. My hand started to bruise from the impact, I admired the purple and red marks on my knuckles as I slid down the wall, I pulled a shirt over my body and then took out the small box of blades I hide from everybody. I picked up the sharpest one and slid it across my forearm, watching the crimson red liquid trickle down my arm and onto the tile floor, drips of blood hitting the floor. I sliced both my arms 10 times on each, a total of 20 cuts and a small puddle of blood under my arms. I screamed in anger/sadness, "I'm sorry I was born!" I sobbed and stood up, leaning against the mirror and bloody handprints stained the glass. "Mikey, babe, what's wrong?" Luke asked and I gasped, I just sobbed and he opened the door. He grabbed the first aid kit and cleaned my arms with hydrogen peroxide, the fizzing on each cut sending a shiver up my spine. "I'm such a mistake I'm sorry." I sobbed and looked wrapped my arms in gauze and white bandages, then pulling me into his chest and kissing my arms over and over. "You're the reason I'm here Michael. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me and the band! We wouldn't be here without you, I wouldn't be able to do this." He smiled and cupped my face, kissing me hard and I put my clean hands on his face, deepening the kiss. Luke had just picked up the broken pieces that were me and fixed me.
