Alien On This Earth

FNF Pt. 2 (I'll Carry All the Pain)

It was too loud. 

Way too loud. 

So loud that Han felt like crying. 

He ripped his headphones off, throwing them onto the floor despite the fact that they'd probably break. He didn't care. The music blasting through his skull wasn't enough to drown out the voice anymore. It was screaming in his head, louder than anything he used to be able to use to drown it out. When did it get so loud? It used to listen to him when he told it to shut up, and it used to even be encouraging at points. When did that stop? 

"Composing not going so well, Hannie?" Changbin chuckled from the kitchen. 

His laugh - which usually felt like the soft texture of a fluffy blanket - suddenly felt like a scratchy shirt that made Han's skin crawl with discomfort. He needed to get away from it. It was too much. "Yeah, composing sucks. I hate this song." He huffed, slamming his laptop closed. 

"Oh." The amusement in Changbin's voice vanished. "We all have off days, Sungie. Maybe you could go take a shower and try again tomorrow. It's nearly midnight anyways." 

Yeah, but it seems like every day I have is an off day.

"Yeah, I'll take a shower." He threw the laptop to the side and wandered down the hallway to the bathroom. He slammed the door way too hard and if Chan were here instead of at the studio, he'd probably have scolded him. But Changbin wasn't going to say anything, and Han knew that. 

He turned the vent on, hopeful that the sound would drown out the voice in his head. It didn't. Of course. 

His clothes felt scratchy and tight, and he couldn't get them off fast enough. But looking at himself in the mirror, Han hated the way his body looked. Sure, yesterday Chan had commented that he looked thinner. He loved it and hated it at the same time. Loved it because someone noticed that he lost weight. Hated it for that exact same reason. 

He clenched his hands into fists and turned the shower on, waiting for the water to warm up as he pinched his skin, staring down at the body he hated so much. The body he found revolting, disgusting, ugly. He loathed the body he was looking at. Still, he'd only lost 8 pounds - he was at 127lbs - in the just over a week he'd been dieting. He was certain people with eating disorders lost weight a lot faster than that. 

But he didn't have an eating disorder. 

Maybe he wasn't dieting enough...

He pinched his stomach which had sunken into his body, creating a slight cave under his ribs. His ribs didn't poke out though, he couldn't count them unless he raised his arms above his head to pull the skin taunt. He loved the way that looked though, when he could count his ribs. 

He stared harder at the body below him - the body that suddenly didn't feel... real. 

He blinked a few times, clearing his head. It didn't work - it never did anymore. Instead, he abandoned the effort of trying to think rationally and hopped into the shower. The water was warm and soothing, but the voice in his head was screaming, and suddenly the water felt sticky and uncomfortable. 

What changed? What happened? When did it all start feeling too much? I'm fine. I'm fine. I'M FINE! 

He couldn't handle it. He sank down onto his knees, rocking himself back and forth as the hot shower air suffocated him. His body - which didn't feel so much like his now - was disgusting. He hated it so much. And his thoughts - which also didn't belong to him - repulsed him. 

He wanted out. He wanted to be fine. He was fine. But he wanted to actually be fine. Not whatever version of fine this was supposed to be. 

How do I fix it? How do I feel okay again? How do I take control of my life? Please. Please! Someone has to know! I'll do anything. 

Anything?

Absolutely anything. Please. I can't do this anymore. 

Take Hyunjin's razor on the ledge. 

Han obeyed before he even realized he'd stood up and moved. The razor felt cold in his hand. It didn't feel right. What was he even doing? 

Oh, he knew what he was doing. Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew exactly what he was doing. But the innocent, terrified Han Jisung was screaming, confused and pleading for help. The other version, the version that screamed louder now in his head, didn't listen to those innocent cries for help. 

Now hurt yourself. That's how you get control. 

No, it isn't. That's not healthy. 

Is anything you've been doing for the past few weeks healthy? 

Han didn't realize he'd done anything until he felt the burn on his leg. He looked down at the once unblemished skin on his upper thigh, now there was a raised bump of red skin. No blood. But definite irritation at being sliced by an old rusty razor. 

No blood. Good. No injury. He could easily get away with this then and it wouldn't even count as hurting himself since he didn't bleed. He slipped the razor up and down his leg, right where his thigh met his hip. Some strokes hurt more than others, some produced raised red bumps and other times nothing really happened. But one sharp pain had Jisung frozen as he watched a single line of red - crimson red not just irritated skin red - form over where the razor had slid. 

Slowly, and ever to so carefully, Han reached out to touch the streak of... blood. 

He'd made himself bleed. 

The world came crashing back down onto him and he dropped the razor in shock. For now, just for a moment, the voice that had been screaming in his head retreated, leaving a terrified Jisung alone to deal with the consequences. 

"What have I done?" He whispered, staring at the thin line of blood. 

It was barely anything. Sure, it stung, but there wasn't even enough blood to drip. Still, the weight of what he'd done brought Jisung to his knees. 

The water washed away the blood and cleaned the raised bumps of red and the single cut. He could just stare. 

This isn't happening. This is not happening. I did not just do that... 

"But I did." He whimpered, pressing a hand over the cut. It stung. But... but he deserved it. 

Everything was eerily silent. No thoughts reminded him he was fat and ugly. There was no voice screaming that he was worthless. 

It gave him the chance to actually think clearly for a second. And only one question arose in his head: What happened?

I was fine. I knew I was fine. So how did I get here? People who are fine don't cut themselves. That I do know. But when did I stop being fine? I really was okay - I was more than okay. I'm... I'm not okay now though. I'm not okay.

Oh, god, what have I done to myself?