Self Medicate

Chapter 5

Cw: Self harm, drugs, hallucinations (auditory), injury, sickness, disordered eating.

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Mammon couldn't sleep and didn't try to either.

"Why'd he have to say that?" Mammon thought

"Cause he pities you" the voice whispers but only he could hear it.

But Mammon genuinely wanted to believe that his brother loves him. He wanted to believe that all of his brothers love him.

But he knows that's a lie. It could never happen, at least not anymore.

He got up, trying his hardest to ignore how dizzy he felt, and went to the bathroom.

He looked in the mirror. A Sick, sleep deprived, shell of a Mammon stared back at him. Was he always this terrible looking? He couldn't help but wonder so.

He hates it. He hates himself so much that he couldn't bring it into words.

Grabbing his knife, he wanted nothing more than to distract himself from the world around him. Even if it means covering every inch of his body with cuts.

He looked at the now healed scars on his palm and thought of a better idea as memories of a few weeks ago flashed in his mind.

He carved the word 'worthless' into his forearm. He watched as the blood slowly poured.

It wasn't enough.

He did more

'greedy'

'scummy'

The same words that had haunted him the first time he did this to himself were now something he would wear for everyone else to see.

Finally 'die' was harshly carved into his hand. This one was more painful than the last ones and alot deeper too.

"Do ya' think Lucifer would care or would Diavolo need to tell him to first?" Mammon says with a sad smile.

"Actually please don't answer that."

He instead went to take a shower.
He couldn't decide if he was too hot or too cold so he laid in the shower as warm water hit him until that too became unbearable.

When he finally got out of the bathroom he remembers just how hungry he is and grabs the plate Beelzebub left by his door. It was now cold.

He only got a few bites in before he felt too sick to continue. He decided to take it to the kitchen knowing that if he didn't, he would forget about the plate, and let the food on it get moldy. Only resulting in something else his brothers would make fun of him for.

Just as he began to leave he remembers the cuts. The one on his palm was still bleeding although it was significantly less than it was at first.

He really didn't feel like bandaging them but he really didn't want to get blood everywhere in the house so he simply wrapped bandage around his arm and hand so haphazardly that it began to come undone as soon as he finished.

He didn't care to much though. All he needed was to put the plate in the kitchen and leave. He just hoped he could get away with not cleaning it.

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As he was walking to the kitchen he heard people talking in the dinning room.

It was his brothers.

"Didn't they already had dinner?" Mammon thought.

"and he's lost weight too." Asmodeous said. Mammon couldn't make out the first part.

Are they talking about him? He hasn't noticed any weight loss though it makes sense. He hasn't been hungry and spends most of his day walking.