5SOS Book of Imagines

MASHTON // Cuts (1)

(IS ACTUALLY TRIGGERING, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. I DON'T AT ALL MEAN TO ROMANTICIZE OR GLAMORIZE SELF-HARM, I JUST REALLY FELT LIKE WRITING SOMETHING LIKE THIS BC THIS IS MY SORT OF VENT)

It continued to flow lavishly down your wrist to your palm, turning your pale skin crimson red, dripping down the bathroom tiles. Your skin screamed of pain yet you breathe in and out deeply, as if the cuts brought you solace, peace.

In a way, it does.

Severe emotional pain and trauma consumes you so much every day that a different kind of pain was welcome in your system. You enjoyed the feeling of forgetting the pain of something unknown squeezing your chest and feel it physically through the cuts. At least it would be gone when the blood stops.

Once the blood's gone, the physical pain is gone. You wished it was like that inside, that maybe once you've cried enough tears, maybe your heart would feel numb, would start to feel less pain. But it seldom ever was. You'd cry all night but still the searing pain would resurface every time and you'd be hit by a fresh wave of raw pain that you just black out or wail out like a crazy person.

The present took you back by hearing knocks on the bathroom door.

"Y/N? Y/N? Are you in there? Open up!" you hear Ashton's distressed call.

You scrambled up in panic, cleaning up your mess. You turned on the faucet and washed the blood away; you took your blade and put it on the running water, wiping the sides to wash off the crimson liquid.

After clearing your throat, you shouted to the door, trying to keep your tone light, "What's up? What do you need?"

"Open this door up, now!"

You winced as you took your bracelets by the sink and put them on, your slit wrists revolting against the contact. "Fine, fine! I'm almost done, Ashton. I'm urinating, for Pete's sake!" You forced a laugh to appear like you were fine.

But he always sees through it. Damn him.

"I'm betting my whole life that you weren't Y/N, you can't lie to me!" he was knocking so hard you thought maybe he'd get to smash the door open.

You arranged the bracelets to hide your fresh cuts and took one last look in the mirror to see if you looked okay enough to play it cool in front of Ashton. You gulped and opened the door.

"Are you that impatient to get in? Are you shitting yourself?" you demanded as you saw his face beaded with sweat and masked in worry. Guilt swam inside you as you realized that it was you who caused him worry. It made you hate yourself more.

"Give me your hands." He said deadpanned.

Your eyebrow twitched. Of course, he knows, "No."

"Y/N, give me your hands. Let me see your wrists."

"No."

"You cut again, didn't you?" His tone was piercing, and the regret of hurting yourself again started to surface.

"I didn't."

"Look at me and say it, then. You're a bad liar, Y/N. Maybe you can lie to others but you can't lie to me. Ever."

You laugh. If he could really see through you then you wouldn't even be cutting at all.

"Okay, fine. I did. I'm sorry, I can't help it," you mutter detachedly, bored.

"Why now? Why did you cut? Are you upset? I told you you can always talk to me about that, haven't I?"

You shrug your shoulders already feeling annoyed with his insistent blabbering.

He looks at you and moves his hand to yours, taking your arm and inspecting your wrists. You fought off a wince of pain as he moved your bracelets away to see the fresh cuts.

They were still bleeding.

"Oh, Y/N," he says, his voice breaking.

This was why you didn't want him to find out you were cutting. He makes you feel guilty. He'd feel like he was being a crappy friend, letting you do this to yourself but the irony of it all was lost on him. If you could you would've laughed.

He makes you feel guilty for cutting when in the first place, you cut because of him. Him and his wretched girlfriend.