Band Self Harm Imagines

Michael Clifford

(Probably gonna completely re-write this, cause I don't like it and it really doesn't have to do with what people requested.)

"I don't understand,"

He was breathless, his eyes never leaving the scars trailing up my arms.

I said nothing, knowing that whatever I said wouldn't make a difference.

They would still be there, like ugly battle scars carved into my arm.

"I'm so sorry," His voice drops, eyes brimming with tears.

I refuse to continue making eye contact, tearing my eyes away from him and gluing them instead to the floor.

It had started out harmless.

He had wanted me to help him make cookies and I had agreed. We set out the ingredients and Mikey got smart and threw a handle of flour in my face so I cracked a couple of eggs over his head.

It went back and forth until we were covered in various foods and my kitchen looked like it had been through a war.

He was grinning at me, leaning close and cupping my face with his hands.

He kissed me and I kissed back.

His hands went straight to my shirt and I panicked.

He tugged at my shirt and I stuttered trying to explain that I wasn't quite comfortable with that yet.

But it was too late, before the words were out of my mouth, my hoodie was off and I was standing there in a tank top and leggings- my arms on full display.

I was kicking myself for not wearing long sleeve under it- but I was so hot as is.

"Y/n," He said softly.

My head snapped back out on my reverie and I took a deep breath.

"It's cool if you wanna leave. I mean I would too. No one wants a broken fucked up person-"

"You're not broken or fucked up." Michael said firmly, "Okay? You have issues, stuff we can work on. So does everyone. Even me. I wanna help you. I love you okay?"

Tears filled my eyes and he pulled me into a hug.