𝙴𝚛𝚒𝚌 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚛 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ★ 𝙾𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ★

𝒮𝑒𝓁𝒻 - 𝐻𝒶𝓇𝓂 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

Trigger Warnings ⚠︎ : This story contains self harm. Please read with caution or skip to the next story.

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You sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at your wrists, numb to everything around you. The razor blade in your hand glinted faintly in the dim light of the bedside lamp, almost mocking you with its sharp, cruel edge. It had been days-weeks, maybe-since the pressure inside had started building, and now it felt unbearable.

The first cut was small, tentative, a line of red blooming slowly along your skin. You barely felt it, the sting almost comforting in its familiarity. Then came the next, and the next, each line blurring the pain inside with the one outside. The silence around you was deafening. The only sound was your shaky breathing and the quiet drip of blood pattering onto the floor.

Your hands shook, but your mind was detached, lost somewhere far away from the bedroom you shared with Eric, from the house that felt like a cage tonight. The tears came silently, slipping down your cheeks as you pressed the blade into your skin again, watching the blood pool at the surface. It was never about wanting to die-it was about wanting everything to stop, just for a moment.

You didn't hear the door open.

Eric had been quiet when he came in, his usual routine of dropping his jacket and calling your name was absent tonight. Something felt wrong the moment he entered the house, and he followed that feeling all the way down the hallway. The light under the bedroom door was still on, but the house was eerily quiet. His stomach twisted.

When he stepped into the room, his voice was soft, uncertain. "Babe?"

No answer.

Then his eyes caught the small pool of blood on the floor, and the sight of you-slumped forward, razor in hand, fresh cuts lining your wrists. The room around him blurred for a second, his heart dropping into his stomach.

"Jesus..." His voice came out in a desperate whisper as he rushed toward you, eyes wide with panic. "Oh my God, what are you doing?"

He grabbed your wrist, careful but firm, pulling it away from the blade before you could react. His other hand gently took the razor from your fingers, setting it down on the nightstand. The weight of what he'd walked into hit him like a ton of bricks, but he kept himself steady.

You blinked, snapping out of your haze, your body going rigid as you realized what just happened. Panic surged through you, and you tried to pull away from him, but Eric wouldn't let go. His grip wasn't tight, but it was grounding, holding you in place, tethering you to the moment.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, the shame burning hot in your chest. "I didn't mean-"

"Shh, don't," Eric's voice was hoarse but soothing. He dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands cupping your trembling arms as his eyes darted to the cuts on your wrists. "I don't care about that right now, okay? Just... Jesus, what happened?"

Tears brimmed in your eyes, mixing with the blood and sweat on your skin. You could barely get the words out. "I don't know. I just... I couldn't-" Your breath hitched, your voice trailing off as a sob broke free.

Eric's eyes softened, and his thumb brushed over the band of clean skin just below the fresh cuts. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady, though you could hear the fear in it.

"I'm here, okay?" he whispered, his thumb still tracing your wrist. "I'm not mad at you. I'm scared, but I'm not mad."

His touch felt so gentle against your torn skin, and that tenderness made the walls you'd built start to crumble. You couldn't hold back the sobs anymore, and Eric didn't say a word as he pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he dared.

Your face buried in his chest, his shirt becoming damp with your tears. You could feel his heart pounding against you, fast and frantic, but he stayed quiet, only letting out deep, shaky breaths as he tried to keep himself from breaking down too.

"I didn't know what else to do," you whispered into his chest, barely audible. "I don't know how to make it stop."

Eric's arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, almost as if he could shield you from whatever darkness had wrapped itself around you. "You don't have to figure it out alone. You don't have to do this by yourself."

You shuddered in his arms, the weight of everything you'd been carrying threatening to suffocate you. But he was still there, solid and warm, his hand now rubbing slow circles on your back as he whispered, "I love you." The words were simple, but they felt like an anchor, something real to cling to in the storm.

Eventually, the sobs faded into quiet sniffles, your body trembling with exhaustion as the weight of what had just happened settled in. Eric gently leaned back, still holding you, his hand brushing the tears from your cheeks. His eyes were red-rimmed now, but there was no judgment in them, only love and a quiet kind of desperation.

"We need to clean this up," he said softly, nodding toward your wrists. "Come on, let me take care of you."

You nodded weakly, too tired to argue, too drained to resist. He helped you up from the bed and guided you to the bathroom. As you sat on the edge of the tub, Eric ran warm water over a washcloth, kneeling down in front of you like he was handling something fragile, something precious.

The cloth brushed gently over your wrists, wiping away the blood with slow, careful strokes. He was quiet the whole time, his face set in concentration, though you could see his hands shaking as he worked. Once the cuts were cleaned, he reached for the bandages, wrapping them around your wrists with deliberate care. He wasn't a doctor, but he handled you like he was afraid you might shatter under his touch.

When he was done, he sat back on his heels, his eyes flicking up to yours. "Does it hurt?"

You shook your head slightly, though the sting was there. "Not really."

Eric's hand moved to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin as he gazed at you with a mix of love and heartbreak. "I don't know what to say," he admitted, his voice raw. "I'm scared, I- I wish I could fix this for you. But I'll do whatever you need. Just don't leave me in the dark like this, okay?"

You swallowed hard, your voice small. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Eric said gently, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Just let me help. Whatever it is, let me in."

You nodded, the exhaustion finally catching up with you, and Eric stood, pulling you to your feet and guiding you back to the bed. He tucked you under the covers, then slipped in beside you, wrapping his arms around you from behind, pulling you close against him. His breath was warm against the back of your neck, his arms a protective shield around your fragile body.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. Eric's heartbeat was a steady, calming rhythm against your back, and the weight of his arms felt safe, grounding. It wasn't a solution, and the pain wasn't gone, but in that moment, you weren't alone.