Sturniolo Triplets - One Shots/Short Stories

Self-harm - C (request)

Warnings: Self-harm, Mentions of Blood, Nightmares, Arguing, Cursing, Panic Attacks

Chris picks up a bad habit to cope with his intense nightmares

A/N: This was a request, hope you enjoy! Feel free to comment your thoughts and leave more requests under that older chapter dedicated to them :) 

The Story:

The scenery suddenly changed, the awful imagery disappearing as his eyes shot open, remaining wide and alarmed. He bolted upright, gasping for air as if the horrors of his nightmare had chased him into consciousness. 

Chris's world shifted from the too vivid murder-scene, back to reality of his dimly lit room. His chest tightened and it was hard to breathe, it was impossible to get a full breath of air. Chris was still wildly disoriented, hand clutched over his heart, which was beating so hard it was painful. His vision was foggy, mind panicked and the ringing in his ears was so loud he couldn't hear anything over it.

His room, usually warm and safe, now seemed alien. The moonlight filtering through the window cast dark shadows, which did nothing to help his fear. It took a moment for Chris to recognise the walls of his own room, the outlines of furniture slowly morphing into familiar shapes. But the horror of the dream clung to him, not yet easing up.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, vision still swimming. Why can't I come down? He tried to regain control over his body, to regulate his breathing and fully shake off his disgusting nightmare, but for some reason he just wasn't able to pull it together.

In the quiet of the night, in the aftermath how his overwhelming nightmare, the only thing he wanted was the reassuring presence of his brothers. Nick and Matt were safe, the two people he didn't doubt to always have his back. But this was one of the rare nights Chris chose to sleep alone, a decision he's come to regret.

He attempted to get up from the bed, without a clear destination in mind, he just needed to get out of here. Each movement was a struggle against the left-over fear that clung to him, making his limbs feel heavy. The room spun, Chris could barely make out the shapes of the furniture around him, then to make matters even worse, a surge of nausea overcame him and his stomach lurched, so he had to strain not to throw up. Panic tightened its grip, and he fought the urge to scream.

Chris's hands fumbled blindly on the nightstand for a glass of water, but he was still shaking and disoriented, so as the glass met his trembling fingers, it slipped from his grasp. The shattering sound echoed in his ears, another factor that added to his chaotic state of mind. He winced, mentally cursing to himself.

Desperation still clawed at him. He needed for it to end, he had to get up, to escape the suffocating grip of his nightmare, but his body refused to cooperate. The room closed in around him, prolonging his mental battle.

He tried to force himself to stand, but his leg ended up buckling underneath him, causing him to fall forward on the floor, landing harshly on his side.

His arm collided with the shards from the broken glass and pain immediately overtook his senses. A sharp shard etched itself into his upper arm, and warm blood began to seep from the wound. The metallic scent following.

Fuck, Chris cursed under his breath, speaking for the first time since waking up. He pushed himself to a sitting position and fumbled with his hand to find his phone, turning on the flashlight as soon as he found it. He inspected the cut and noticed the shard was still sticking out from his arm, blood flowing freely. Goddammit, fucking shit. He was properly annoyed, he knew he had to take care of this as soon as possible, then still clean the mess that the broken glass, spilled water and his blood made on the floor.