twenty one pilots one shots

Permanent

A/N: *chuckles evilly*

People Involved: Tyler and Jenna

Warning(s): MAJOR self-harm warning, epilepsy warning in the video attached

Enjoy (or not)!!

Tyler trembled violently as his wide eyes drifted downward.

He had done it again.

His forearms felt warm and sticky, a familiar feeling, but it contrasted starkly with the cool metal in his right hand.

Situations like this were really ironic to Tyler.

His mind tells him to do this, to draw his own blood and carve permanent marks into his own skin, but as soon as the blade is lifted from his forearm, his head immediately chastises him for it.

Though, he supposed Blurryface was the one who convinced him to cut, and his logical side was the one who scolded him for listening to Blurryface.

But this wasn't the worst part.

Not relapsing and letting himself cut again. Not the large amounts of blood he loses with a single blade. Not the long process of healing and threat of infection.

The worst was when Jenna found him.

Whenever she did, he was already losing consciousness, his eyelids slowly sliding shut as Jenna slips on his blood to get to him.

He hated seeing his blood on her hands, the fear and worry and slight disappointment in her eyes, the panic settling in her bones.

He hated making her worry over his own weaknesses and leaving them on his dearly beloved wife, his dime-piece wife.

This time, Jenna came in just after Tyler started feeling nauseous.

"Tyler," She gasped.

Her tone whenever she's found him has changed drastically over the course of their relationship.

The first time, she was in hysterics. She screamed his name and was sobbing over his cuts.

Tyler had lost count how many times he had done it, but now she was much more calm whenever it happened. But there was still worry in her voice, and tears brimming. She's gotten better at hiding, just like he was.

Jenna pulled out her phone and called 911.

Tyler knew what she would say by heart know.

"Yes, hello. My husband... He's cut himself again, and there's a lot of blood. Our address is ... There's a key under the mat you can use to get in. Please hurry."

Tyler, whenever he looked back on times like these, always felt this crushing weight of sadness of guilt.

But whenever he was bleeding out from the cuts, he felt nothing.

Jenna dug through the cabinet below the sink for the gauze, or anything to staunch the bleeding until the paramedics arrived.

Her touch was as warm as the blood trickling down his arm and dripping onto the floor as she pressed down on his cuts with a towel.

Tyler watched as she stared down at her work, frowning when the blood kept soaking through towel after towel.

Jenna sighed in relief when she heard the door creak loudly as it was thrown open. She let a single tear fall, and quickly wiped it away when she heard the thundering footfalls.

She loved Tyler with all of her heart, and she hated how it always ended up this way.

Tyler would relapse, go back to rehab. And she'd sit in their empty house, wondering why her husband had to go through this, such a loving and caring person.