as the world caves in - grian angst (scarian)

Spilling Over

TWs: Mentions of self harm, self hatred, blood, graphic depictions of sickness

Grian's POV:
I wake up in the cold embrace of my bathroom, blinking my eyes open as I push myself up from the hard tile floor, my head pounding harshly, an intense pressure behind my eyes.

Oh, my headache's not gone yet. How fun.

I scoff, squinting as I try to spot my glasses on the floor. Locating them, I promptly pick them up and slide them onto my face, my view of the world becoming less blurry. I decide to take a look at my legs, remembering the deep cut I made in my right leg.

Oh. That didn't look nice. The blood from my legs covered both of them and formed a dark red puddle on the floor around me. I sigh and push my hair back from my face with a shaky hand. This was going to take a lot of time to clean up. A cough rattles my chest and I take a deep breath in afterwards, the coughing emptying my lungs of air.

It was at that thought that I remembered that I had work today. With a groan I locate my phone off to the side of me, a few spots of blood covering its surfaces. I push back my disgust and pick it up, looking at the time as the screen lit up.

4:57...

I would've gotten up soon to my alarm anyways, even if I didn't pass out again last night. I tighten my hold on my phone as I stand up, a wave of dizziness and nausea washing over me as I do so. I hold on tight to my bathroom counter, my legs violently shaking beneath me. I close my eyes, trying to wait out the dizzy spell, but open my eyes after a few seconds of the dizziness staying. I stare down into the bathroom sink, not wanting to look up into the mirror, guessing that I probably looked just as bad as I felt, if not worse, and I felt pretty damn bad this morning.

I shake off the thought but still don't dare look up, instead opting to open the cabinet beneath the bathroom sink and grab an old raggedy towel that I didn't care for much.

If I can barely stand up without falling, taking a shower doesn't seem like a very plausible choice right now.

I wet the towel down with cold water from the faucet and lean back against the wall, sliding down to the floor, the dizziness and nausea finally subsiding. I gently dab the towel to my left leg, scrubbing away the blood from the wounds, hissing in pain as the towel rubbed against my cuts, but knowing that it was for the best. After all, if I went to work smelling like blood, there was going to be questions. Questions I don't want to answer.

So a little bit of pain was the better option.

After my left leg was cleaned, albeit red and irritated, the healing cuts and skin looking angry, I turned to my right leg. Finding a relatively unused part of the wet towel, I pressed it to my leg, careful not to press too hard, remembering how deep the singular cut I made on my right leg was and how precariously I secured the sides of it together in hopes of stopping the excessive bleeding. I slowly and gently clean it, biting my tongue as I clean the cut directly, holding back screams of pain from even the most gentle of touches.

After I finally finished cleaning my right leg, I let out a breath, not even realizing I was holding it in. I grab my phone, quickly cleaning the blood off of it before setting the towel aside and, after a coughing fit and a few sniffles, check the time again.

5:47.

I have enough time to finish getting ready. That's good. I leave the towel on the bloody floor, making a mental note to clean the bathroom after I got home from work, and stand on shaky legs, the wave of dizziness and nausea returning as I did so. I power through the feelings, pulling up my pants and putting my phone in my pocket, leaving the bathroom and stumbling over to my bedroom, where I almost faceplant into the carpet, but catch myself on the edge of my desk, which wasn't the best thing either, pain radiating through my hand and arm where they slammed against the desk in an attempt at keeping myself on my feet. It only partially worked however, as I fell to my knees, clutching my newly injured arm to my chest for a moment before getting back up on my feet, stumbling over to my bed, where I sit as I throw off my dirty, bloodstained clothes before standing again, trudging over to my closet and leaning against the wall as I pick out a simple red jumper and a pair of black jeans to wear for the day, throwing on the clothes half-heartedly, not really caring about how I looked today, knowing that even if I dressed in my best clothes in the neatest way possible, I would still look like shit, my body language and facial expressions giving me away. I lay down on my bed as an especially strong wave of dizziness and nausea comes over me, which was overwhelming, especially coupled with the particular painful migraine that pounded against my eyes.