i wanted to write fluff and this happened :)
(i think this needs to be here so... this is a fucking trigger warning, who would've thought? :D)
I feel wrong.
That was the only way to describe the sinking feeling in his body, the undeniable feeling of being unsafe when he should be just fine. It was the only way to describe the breakdown they had in the bathroom, the tears running like a waterfall down his face. There was no logical reason behind it, one moment they were excitedly talking to themself about the most random topics and the next they were trying to justify their existence. It felt like there was a hole in his chest, the place where they believed their soul to be. The pain stretched down their hand, ending at their fingers, a discomfort that couldn't be relieved pricking their skin. It hurt so bad. He just wanted it to stop. Stop.
Please just stop.
Why couldn't they just forget? Why did they constantly have to remember? Why were they such a fucking horrible person? He cried harder, feeling detached, watching as everything happened again, over and over and over again, playing at the forefront of his mind like a deranged movie. It made him want to do it again, even if he hadn't done it in a while. They wanted to feel pain, to just feel the pin against their skin. To just fucking let go.
But everyone will be so disappointed.
He paused. He laughed. All they could do was laugh, after all; laugh as they sat there, shaking. It was the same as last time, the same as every time. He'd just cry, feel so not nice, and then be alright. He'd keep it to himself, his mistakes, his sadness, but he'd still worry everyone. And then, in an hour, after they'd poured everything out dramatically into a document, distorting everything into "why don't they all hate me?", they'd be okay again, smiling and dancing to his music, like the idiot he was.
That's how it always went, and how it'll go for as long they live- if they lived long enough.
