One direction and 5 Seconds of Summer preferences and images

He finds you cutting *TRIGGER WARNING*

calum: you step out of the shower, sliding the glass door half open and letting the steam roll out with you. You stare at yourself in the mirror through the fog. Disgusting. Your thin, stringy hair clung to your neck as the ends dripped excess water that landed on the rug underneath your feet. You turn to the side and look at your stomach, and your hips and your thighs. and you trace lines with your fingertips where the fat shouldnt be and you clutch and pull and tug at it, the dampness making your fingers slip. Your face is blemished and your cheeks are puffy and your mouth is two small but your nose is too big and your eyes are narrow and close together, and no matter how hard you look and how deep you pry, you can’t find an ounce of beauty in you. You think of the girls at your school with the porceline skin and full lips and small waists. You think of the celebrities and the models and you slap yourself hard on the face for not looking like them.

Then you do what you have to, and you shove those friendly 2 fingers down your throat until everything you ate comes rising up your throat and into the toilet. And your stomach feels as empty as the rest of you, and you slide slowly into a heap of self pity and resentment. You look down and still see those rolls of fat, those reminders of how unattractive you are, that no one could ever love something so repulsive.

You lie back and bang your head repeatedly on the tile floor, killing the brain cells that will in turn, kill you. You let out an exasperated sob, scratching at the layers of fat on your legs and the soft spots covering your hip bones. The steam is slowly clearing out of the bathroom and you shiver, your damp skin not used to the cold air flooding in.

You stand up, weak in the knees and heavy in the head. You turn your head back at the mirror and reach out with your hand, writing in the condensation covering the glass,

Ugly.

Fat.

Worthless.

Gross.

"How could Calum be with you." you whisper to yourself.

"I hate you." you say.

"I HATE YOU."

The tears overflow onto your cheeks, like a river threatening to flood the earth in a second. You let out a scream and you pound the wall with your fist until your knuckles bleed. And you stare down at your own blood and just admire it, like releasing that blood from your body was like lifting some of the weight off. And as another tear rolls down you reach for the razors lying in the bottom of your makeup drawer. You don’t even think twice about it before making the cut in your wrist sliding the smooth blade along in a perfect horizontal angle, again and again, letting out breaths between your teeth. You cut again, but on your thighs, watching the deep red evil trickle down the side of your leg. And you grimace as you cut again all the way down your thighs and all the way up your sides of your stomach, every single line parallel to each other, and you cry as you stand in the middle of the blood stained bath rug beneath you.

And that’s all you do is cry. Until it turns to a light weep. Light enough to hear the front door open and shut and a happy sounding Calum yelling from the entrance. “BABE, I’M HOME.” You can hear the smile on his face and you try to gather some clothes to throw over yourself, to cover up what you did. To toss a sheet of the canvas and never let the artwork show through. “Babe?” you hear the door creak, and you struggle with the clasp on your bra.

"I-I’m in here, Cal. Don’t come in." you say with a shaky voice, and trembling hands trying to put on the DAMN bra.

"I just want to show you something." He says, opening the door anyway, the smile fading into the horrified look on his face as he sees you sitting in a pool of your own blood, the sheer razors lying next to you and cuts still bleeding. You cover them up with your hands as best you can, and you look around stumbling to your feet. "Calum.." you say.

"I told you not to come in here."

He shakes his head, his mouth hanging open, and he brings you into a tight hug, his chin resting on your back.

"…why?" he says, his voice hoarse and frail, like it’s about to shatter into pieces.

A million reasons why flash in your mind and it takes every muscle in your body to keep from shaking but you stay silent.

"(y/n..) was it me? Did you do this to yourself because of me?"

You shake your head and wipe away the tears.

"I did it.." you say "because I needed to. Because I needed to understand, and when I couldn’t I just.."

"understand what, (y/n) I’M the one who doesn’t understand."

You say nothing again, and just catch your breath.

"why aren’t you running away from me."

"because i love you."

"you love a monster, Calum, look at me. This is me entirely, this is all I am, this is what I’m made up of." You start to leave the bathroom but he catches your hand.

”.. you are no monster, (y/n.) The real monsters are the ones making you feel like this. The real monsters aren’t real at all, they’re in your head. (y/n) please.. I just want you to see everything as clearly as I can, you’re beautiful. It’s that simple, and it doesn’t even matter that you don’t love yourself because I love you enough for the both of us.”

"(Y/n.)" he whispers through the thick air you both breath in.

He embraces you again, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Let me be the one to save you."

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