"It" Can't Be Helped (Revised) | ✔️ | Blue Exorcist

52

Monday came a lot sooner than I was prepared for, and there wasn't the possibility of hiding from my reality. I'd clenched my jaw at the curious glances, the looks of pity, the whispers in the hallways. Even the more rugged looking guys had the audacity to look disgusted with my presence. Testosterone was one hell of a drug, and cutting myself was probably the most effeminate thing I could do in their eyes. But at least there weren't any more confrontations, no immature gestures like last time.

Maybe it's because they had context. Last year, when the rumors started, everyone had assumed I'd cut myself for attention. After everything was revealed, things died down. Everyone figured out that I truly was self-harming, and the severity suggested more than a teenaged outburst. Now... knowing that history, everyone seemed like they were just waiting. The unstable kid just got outted for a suicide attempt; how long until he tries again?

My gym class had been hellish. Especially when the coach basically yanked me aside before it began. He'd apologized profusely, telling me that he hadn't known and wouldn't have pushed the topic if he had. I'd seen the way that his eyes had skirted over my long-sleeve, but he made no attempt to ask me to change to the proper uniform. It was safe to assume that I'd be permitted whatever clothing choice I wanted for the remainder of the semester.

Regardless of that small incident, the day continued normally. I was thankful, yet part of me was just waiting for something to happen. My muscles were tense, my posture rigid as we went through our routines. Bon and Izumo did their best to ignore my obvious anxiety, pulling me into conversations and not fretting when I was selectively mute. I knew they were concerned, but I was helpless to placate them.

When they day was over, cram classes finished, all I wanted to do was stare into nothing whilst in the shower. The chance to disassociate and work through my issues in peace was abruptly squashed when Kuro made it his mission to chatter until my ears fell off. I knew his goal was to keep ahold of my attention just enough to not let my mind wander, but I was already mentally exhausted. By the time dinner rolled around, all he managed to get out of me were half-hearted grunts. He'd thrown a small fit when I stated I'd be making dinner by myself, but I'd felt a small snap in my patience and told him to just sit his ass on the counter if he was so worried.

I'd taken a picture of the meal and created a small groupchat on my phone. I sent it to Bon, Izumo, and Yukio — captioning it with a snarky remark about my ability to feed myself in their absence. I wasn't surprised that Yukio couldn't answer, and was even less surprised at the simple emoji's I got back from the others. I wasn't sure if I even tasted my meal before going upstairs and crawling beneath my blankets.

I'd longed to grab my knife; to feel something. It had been damn near impossible to fight and I'd sat up in bed, aware that my familiar was snoozing softly at the bottom edge of the mattress. I'd pried open my nightstand and held the blessed object in my hands for several long seconds. I had contemplated texting one of my friends, but after the attitude I'd given them, I was sure I'd only be making their night worse. Not knowing how long I'd sat there, thumbing over the cross etched into the wood, I'd somehow gathered the courage to put it back and attempt to fall asleep.

Tuesday wasn't much different. I'd let Kuro out like usual and made a simple breakfast. By the time I got ready to leave, it had started raining. A quick glance at my phone told me a rainstorm was coming and I had taken a moment to close the windows in the dorm, just in case the wind carried the downfall. It felt oddly fitting that the weather reflected my mood. It seemed like recently, when it rained — it goddamn poured.

Bon and Izumo had been a bit standoffish in the morning, and I didn't blame them. My text last night had been plain and open about my irritated mood. I felt static, stuck in my brewing and too pent up to even begin figuring out how to help myself.