Take a break. (Style angst.)

Chapter One.

Stan rolls over in bed, taking a look around his room. A blanket covered the window, blocking out any unnecessary sunlight. Random pieces of clothes covered the floor, making it difficult to get around.

Overall it was just dark and messy. Extremely messy.

It's been two weeks since his recent breakup with Wendy Testaburger, and it's been hitting him as hard as ever. He's hardly gotten out of bed, drowning away his emotions with music and whatnot. He may be in high school now, but all his coping mechanisms are the same as from elementary.

He looks hardly presentable himself. His hair was messy, long enough to cover his eyes if he wanted it to. He's been wearing the same set of pajamas ever since Friday, refusing to change, or just take care of himself in general. He looks like he's been crying for hours, doesn't help that he hasn't been sleeping properly either.

School starts in 40 minutes, and he's still debating whether or not he's going to go. Mondays are the worst for him. They often cause him to stress about school. Or just seeing other people in general. Especially Wendy.

After 15 minutes he forced himself to roll out of bed, sluggishly changing his clothes. He didn't have many clean clothes that weren't pajamas, but he ended up finding a plain tee and jeans.

After getting dressed he decided to leave his room, walking to the bathroom to get a good look at himself in the mirror.

Since Shelly has graduated now, he doesn't have to worry about running into her in the morning anymore. She would probably push him down the stairs if she saw what he'd been wearing to school.

The second he walked into the bathroom he closed and locked the door behind him. He didn't need to do either, but it was a reflex at this point.

He looked into the mirror, sighing at his reflection. Dissatisfied with obvious knots in his hair. No motivation to brush it.

As his gaze lowered he couldn't help but notice more imperfections. The dark circles under his eyes, or even just the slight acne that appeared on his cheeks.

He looked down at the sink, turning on the faucet. Running the water on cold.

He narrowed his eyes, looking down at his hands, and placing them on the sides of the sink.

"What am I even doing with myself?" He mumbled, his voice pained.

He rolled up his sleeves, running the water over his hands, splashing some into his face. Hoping the cold water would wake him up.

After drying his face he looked back down at his hands, somehow finding flaws in them as well. As his gaze traced up his arms it caused him even more pain. Slight scars were visible from the underside of his wrists.

As he gazed upon them, memories flooded his mind. Memories of arguments and constant breakups with Wendy. Memories of his mom screaming at him when she found out. Memories of his dad not even caring.

He let out a shaky breath. Rolling his sleeves back down. He doesn't want to remember those painful moments, where that was his only escape.

He looked back up into the mirror, ruffling his hair around, hoping that he'd end up recognizing himself, hoping that he'd end up feeling normal. Like he's in control again.

He took a step back from the mirror, finally escaping his thoughts. He put his hands up to his face, covering his eyes. Pressing his back against the wall, he attempted to clear his mind.

After a few minutes, he finally opens the door and walks back to his room.

As soon as he walked in, all the feelings of negativity returned. His room turned from his safe space to one of the main things that clouded his emotions.