𓈊 Petal's Diary

Entry #34

TWs: implication of sh and implication of abuse

*  *  *

i slept over at Jimmy's that night after dyeing and cutting our hair.

we went to bed after my hair dried (i didn't want to accidentally stain Jimmy's pillow purple), but i woke up about three hours later. i was clinging to Jimmy's shirt like my life depended on it, so i think i had a nightmare. i don't remember what it was about, though it still made me anxious.

i downstairs to get a glass of water, but stopped when i saw the kitchen light on. peeking in, i saw grian standing over the sink with the water running.

"grian?" i said hoarsely, and grian visibly jumped. i didn't mean to scare him.

"oh, uh..." grian looked away, hiding both of his hands behind his back. "hey, scott."

i stepped closer. "hey," i said back softly, glancing at the clock on the stove. it was hardly even midnight yet.

"what are you doing down here?" grian asked. he looked uncomfortable. "shouldn't you be asleep?"

i laughed quietly. "i could ask you the same." i had figured he had insomnia at first, but i was more curious now about what he was hiding.

he sighed. "what I'm doing is none of your-" the sound of metal against tile rang through the room as something fell on the tile floor, and my eyes were drawn downward. gasping, grian shuffled to hide it behind his feet.

"what was that?" i asked, coming closer again to lean against the island counter. i already knew what it was, but i didn't want to assume.

"nothing," grian said frantically. he cleared his throat and spoke a little slower this time, "it's nothing. you should go back to bed."

i sighed. "i just need a glass of water. you know where the cups are?"

grian nodded. "they're in the cupboard to the right of the oven," he said, not moving from his spot.

"thanks." i moved around the counter, reaching up to the cupboard. i glanced over at grian, who bent over to pick up what he'd dropped. "oh my god, is that a kn-"

grian rushed forward to cover my mouth with his hand. "shh! don't be so loud," he begged. "you can't tell anyone. please."

i wriggled free from grian's hold. "why do have-"

"scott."

"-that," i finished.

grian stepped back. "it's nothing."

i quirked a brow. "oh, really?" i knew he was lying. i would have done the same. "so if I asked you to roll up your sleeves, then there won't be anything there?"

there was something there. they weren't fresh and they weren't caused by himself, but there were marks there. and so many scars. by the looks of them, a lot of them were made himself.

Grian was just like me.