Scaring The Thought of Kissing Razors (Pierce the Veil fanfic)

Chapter 6

Sup, frenz. I hope you guys like where this is going! SHALL we continue, this time in Vic's POV?

Yes?

Okay here we go!!

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«VPOV»

I didn't realize how thin she was until I actually picked her up. Extremely light, so she wasn't to hard to carry. I stood up.

Carefully, with her and her things in my arms, I climbed down the playground. I held her small body close to mine, and tried to think about where we were.

Once I found my way back to the venue, I checked the time. It was about 8ish. Fuck. I hoped the guys canceled the show. I hate disappointing the fans. Well, we'll just have take up for it tomorrow night.

I carried her to the tour bus, opening the door.

Jaime and the petite blonde were giggling on the couch, Mike and the brunette were playing Call of Duty, and Tony and the chick with black hair were having a heated discussion about Star Wars. Heheh. Figures.

As I'm walking in, I meet the grey eyes of the chick with black hair. Immediately, everything goes quiet, and her eyes fill with horror.

"HOLY FUCK. ZOE!" The chick with black hair shouted.

"Ohmygodwhathappened?" The blonde said, eyes as wide as saucers.

The brunette paused the game and sighed.

"She's ALIVE, right? That's all that matters, right?" She asked, seeming uncertain, but deadly calm. Almost like she's dealt with this before.

Oh, fuck. I bet this isn't the first time Zoe has cut. Sigh.

"Yeah, she's just sleeping. She's perfectly fine," I said. "Well aside from her, um, arms."

There was an awkward silence as we all tried to figure out what to do.

"Let me see." Was all the brunette said, walking over.

"Sure, but can we get her cleaned up first?" I asked.

A couple of those cuts looked deep, and I didn't want them to get infected or anything. I cringed at the Thought.

"Yeah. Got any band aids, bandages, or any of that good stuff?" She asked, following me to the bathroom.

"Of course. The first aid kit is in the bottom right cupboard, in the back,"

A couple moments later, I had the sink full of warm, soapy water. I grabbed some paper towels and got to work on Her arms.

As I wiped away the dries up blood, I gasped.

There were about thirty or so fresh cuts on her arms. But underneath that, I saw hundreds of scars.

Some were thick, some were thin.

Some were very light, others were dark purple.

Some were small, some were long.

They covered her forearms from elbow to fingertip, her wrist taking the brunt of it all. Her scars were well covered, left over gauze was still on one of her exposed wrists.

I let out a cry, feeling tears sting the corners of my eyes.

WHY would she do this to herself? I could understand TONIGHT, but most of these scars look really old, some seeming years old.

"How long has she been doing this to herself..." I look at her, speaking quietly.

"Madi." She supplied.