another revealed truth

red

trigger warnings listed in opening author's note

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karl has developed a bit of a habit for doing his art in the kitchen. although a big part of why is just because his room is too messy and there isn't enough space, the brunette tells himself that he's doing it for his mental health.

he thinks it's safer for him to do art in the communal spaces. he often gets emotional when he paints, triggering himself more often than not, and part of his mind tells him that he's less likely to give in to urges if he's right there in the middle of the apartment. though, realistically, he always just ends up leaving a mess on the counter when he resides himself to his room or the bathroom to cut.

right now, for example, karl feels like he's riding the high of a serious urge. it's showing in his art, as he paints someone looking down at their own bloody hands - it's not as discreet as most of his art, but it serves the same message.

he's actually been working on this specific piece for at least a month now, since he started it just after starting college. it's a painting that he keeps going back to, adding little bits at a time, but has yet to finish because every time, without fail, he ends up stopping to cut. it's something about the visualisation of blood that sends his head spinning.

if he really cared for his mental health, he would scrap the piece.

karl looks over at his pallet, loaded up with dried paint that, one day, he'll find the energy to peel off. he needs some bright red for a highlight, but the stuff he has out has already had black mixed into it, so he reaches over to his paint tubes to get the red back out.

he already knew it was empty, but he had been falsely hopeful that he would be able to get out at least a little more of the acrylic.

karl sighs in annoyance as he puts the empty paint tube down on the opposite side of the counter, separating it from the rest so he reminds himself to buy some more and throw it away.

the brunette props his elbows up on the counter so he can hold his face up with his hands while he blinks down at the unfinished work. his fucked up mind suggests the possibility of going to cut and using his own blood in replacement of the missing paint and, whilst he won't do it, the idea still sends his dark thoughts digging deeper.

he considers mixing some white into the darker red he's made but, because there was already black in there, he knows it would just make it greyish, which really isn't the bright scarlet red that he wants.

the brunette chews at the skin on his bottom lip. he knows deep down that this means he'll just have to leave the piece again for a few days, and he should just start painting something else or go do something else to occupy his mind, but he doesn't want to do that. he wants to finish the stupid painting.

karl hears george's bedroom door open and close somewhere behind him but doesn't bother reacting, too busy glaring down at his art and mentally convincing himself that's is disgustingly wrong to use his blood as paint.

"i'm going down to sapnap's," george announces as he enters the room from the lounge area, his footsteps getting closer as he comes up behind karl. "are you alright?" he asks, clearly noticing karl's slouched-over disappointment. then, when he reaches his best friend's side, george also adds, "oh wow, that looks so good."