arescere ✿ xavier thorpe

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47 - stinging showers
UNEDITED!

when peter wakes in the morning, the sunlight is creeping through the glass. casting a golden glow upon him. him. he lies alone. the warmth of xavier was long since gone. the only sign it was real was the crinkle of the sheets where he had laid. he shivers. wishing he had a jumper on as he turned in the bed. burying his head into the pillow. mint. the scent covered everything, it was intoxiciting. so sweet others would find it sickening, but not to him. the cold settled back into his bones slowly, the sun disappearing behind clouds as he rolled back in the bed, sitting up slowly. the window was open. it was always open. in a moment like this he wished he had his phone, the smashed metal still lie in a pile on his desk. he would sit, headphones in. most likely listening to phoebe bridgers. he had been in that 'know its for the better' mood a lot recently. he knows he should get off his bed, but he can't find the energy to care. instead he stares forward to the ceiling. he wonders. he ponders. he hated being alone, the empiness would settle deep into his bones. that's why he wore headphones, to block everything. the noise. the voice in his head. but he could hear it. it was mumbling. uncoherated words as of right now. he was the problem. he didn't have to listen to the voice to know that. the self proclaimed self sabotager. pushing people away when he needed them most. he needed to get out of this room. he moves from the bed, his limbs snapping and cracking as he stands. and soon hot water showered down him. his skin turned a tinge of red, but he couldn't find he mind to care. blistering under droplets. the soap was sweet, smelling, floral. chamomile, alike the tea his mother would drink. he refused to look at his body, the bruised pale skin. the markins that littered his body. he hated it. all of it. all of him. his skin burnt, but that's not the cause of the tears welling in his eyes. it was guilt. what would his mother think? she would be so disappointed in him. he was nothing. he could imagine her, a soft smile on her face as she clasps her hand on his shoulder. he could almost hear her sweet like honey voice. his throat stretched a sob as he could imagine her calling his name. the golden hour women. hair like december flames, the gentle glow that lifted around a deorated room. his chest was cold, although the water painting it red was far from it. until the water cut off, a perfectly carved hand turning the knob off. the curtian drew back. steam lifting around them like a blanket as the boy reached out to grab the boy from the shower. he let out a sharp cry as the towegentlyle wrapped around his hurt skin. he didn't say a word, and nor did he. peter could finally see his reflection, and he felt sick. nausaed. how could anyone ever look at him. his face had sunken, dark bags under his eyes. his lips were red and cracked from the biting. but the worse of it, was his torso. he turned towards the mirror, for the first time in a long time. he rewrapped the towel around his hips, and nearly let out a strangled cry. his skin was white porclein. his fingers followed every rib bone on his chest.  against the bruises on his waist and  little cuts on his waist to his hips. the large gashes the women in the woods had left still remained painted on his skin. large deep red cuts that jaggered into his skin. the surronidng skin seeminlgy almost grey. dark viens following around the skin. it was disgusting. it was groquest. a finger hooked under his chin, forcing him to look away from the boy staring back. the boy he didn't recognize, to find himself staring back inot the most beatufyl green eyes the earth had let him witness. the boy efore him was the eptime of beauty. long dark hair, piercing eyes. if i get more pretty, do you think he would like me? without a word, xavier traces his thumb over the boys lips, the finger gently moving to his still warm cheek. it was the first time peter's touch was warm, it was strange. xaier didn't like it. the hot water still cooling in the bathroom air. he leans forward, ever so lightly pressing a kiss to the boys lips.

"you could have anyone you want, why would you wanna be wih me?" peter spoke into the silence of the steamed room. his voice was low, yet it still felt like a knife to the chest. cold metal against warm flesh.

"i'm nothing special." the boy spoke again, his tone unchnaged. the knife lodged in xaviers chest twisted. efore pulling o, spilling his blood before them.

"because you are peter belfiore."

"yeah, the screw up son."

"no, the boy who scribbles in his diary. words i wish to read. the boy who is so smart that's its nearly fustrating. who wears headphones and hides in dark corners of the libary. who prefers hot chocolate because coffee reminds him of his father and tea reminds him of his mother. who loves plants and tries his hardest not to hurt them. who would rather spend his time with an old liabrian than any of the people in this school. the boy made of rainy storms and books. of brown jumpers and white shirts littered in ink stians." And the rest of the words get caught in his throat. But even still, it's too long for peter. he's up in seconds, grabbing a handful of his clothes and disappearing into the bedroom. xvier stands for a moment, thinking over what happened and then decides to follow pete but its too late. as he enters the dorm, the door inot the hallway shuts sharply. and he sighs. sinking into his bed. the cold tingle of peters skin still on his lips.