the book of fluff (that usually isn't)

"i begin to assemble what weapons i can find"

well i wanted to write something depressing so

also sorry for the language, claaaaaaiiiirrrrreeeee

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trigger warning, be safe, frens xx

Scott stood in front of the mirror. He was totally bare except for boxers, and a frown was on his lips as his eyes raked over his body. Inside his head, the voice was pointing out every flaw he had.

You're fat. So f*cking fat. Ew, look at that stomach. I know you're tall as a f*cking giraffe, but that doesn't give you the right to eat like one. God, Scott. Lay off the carbs. Or all food, really. You don't deserve to eat.

"Scott?" Mitch's voice called from the kitchen. Scott flinched and forced himself to call back a weak, "Yeah?" God, your f*cking voice. Just shut the f*ck up, sl*t. "I ordered pizza, want any?" Mitch said, as oblivious as always when it came to Scott's self-esteem issues. "N-No, thanks," Scott called shakily, his voice wavering. Mitch didn't notice, of course. "Suit yourself."

Scott quickly turned his attention back to his reflection, tears forming in his eyes. The voice kept whispering in his ear, telling him how worthless he was and how he deserved to be dead.

You're such a little sl*t. You just ruin everything. Haven't you heard? Even the fans think your voice is horrible. I hear them all the time. "Scott sounds horrible in this, wtf". "ew kys". Mitch thinks so too, did you know? Your one friend and f*cking boyfriend hates you. What do you think that shows about you? You're worthless and useless and better off dead.

Scott whimpered and his gaze automatically flickered to his razor. Yes, do it. You f*cking deserve it. He whimpered again but shakily began to move over to the counter it rested on, trembling fingers wrapping around the plastic and throwing it down. He didn't even bother with shoes, stomping down on it as hard as he could. The blades sliced into Scott's foot as they popped out of the razor, but he didn't care, tears starting to stream down his cheeks as he bent to pick one up.

Scott trembled more violently as he poised the blade over his arm. Already there were hundreds of small slices across his wrist, some faded but more still an angry red. He let out a soft sob and brought the blade down hard on his arm, and immediately blood poured out of the wound, trickling down his arm and over his hand and finally dripping off his fingers to floor. In no time, his fingernails were caked with half-dried blood and blood had formed in a small puddle beneath his arm, and his arm had ten new cuts.

Scott thought that was enough, but he couldn't stop, making slice after slice and sobbing quietly after each one. Soon enough, he began to feel lightheaded from the blood loss, and he swayed on his feet before falling to the floor.

Back downstairs, Mitch looked up from his pizza when he heard a loud thud. He frowned, tilting his head, and called, "Scottie?"

Scott blinked to get rid of the black dots in his vision, tiredly lifting his head. "Mitchie..." he tried to call back, but his voice was too weak and barely escaped his lips. A wave of dizziness overcame him and he rested his head back against the tile floor, fighting to stay awake.

Mitch frowned more when Scott didn't answer and hesitantly stood up. "Scott? You okay, babe?"

"Mitchie..." This time, the word was hardly more than a whisper. Scott's heartbeat slowed drastically and he could feel his consciousness slipping away despite his best efforts. His arm fell to the side and the blade tumbled from his fingers, and blood continued to trickle slowly out of his arm.

On the contrary to Scott's, Mitch's heartbeat picked up at Scott's continued silence. "Scott? Say something, please..."

Scott couldn't even make a sound, his eyes fluttering closed.

"S-Scottie? I'm coming to check on you, okay?" Mitch slowly wiped his hands and crept up the stairs, looking cautiously around.

Scott's breathing was ragged and shaky as he held desperately onto the last of his consciousness, managing to open his eyes for a moment before they slipped closed again.

Mitch saw the door to the bathroom open slightly and he got chills, carefully inching inside. "Scott? Are you in here?" He froze when he saw Scott's barely conscious form, his heart skipping a beat. "Scottie?" he squeaked, rushing over to his side and checking his pulse. Scott opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out, and he closed it again. "Scott, please stay with me," Mitch choked, sobbing quietly and pulling his phone out of his pocket. With trembling hands, he dialed 911, and then slipped his hand into Scott's to comfort himself as he sobbed softly.

"911, what's your-"

"My boyfriend, p-please, he's bleeding and I think he's dying but he can't, I love him, p-please help-"

"Okay, sir, calm down. You said he's bleeding? How much?"

Mitch sniffled and let out a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down. He subconsciously tightened his grip on Scott's hand as he assessed the situation. "H-He's not bleeding that much anymore b-but there's a lot of blood on the floor." He sobbed softly and curled up against Scott's chest.

"Can you tell me what caused the bleeding?"

Mitch sobbed again, but forced his eyes open and lifted his head up. "I think he cut himself..." He sobbed louder as he felt Scott weakly squeeze his hand, and he leaned up to kiss him quickly, murmuring, "You're going to be okay, just please stay awake," against his lips.

The operator heard this and raised an eyebrow. "He's still conscious?"

"Yes," Mitch sobbed, curling against Scott's chest again, "but barely."

The operator nodded and typed something into his computer. "Keep it that way."

"H-How?"

"Talk to him. Reassure him that he's going to be okay. I'm-"

Mitch sobbed quietly, holding Scott's hand tighter. "What if he doesn't want to be?"

The operator rose another eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that he tried to commit suicide?"

"Yes." Mitch's voice was small and choked with tears, and he curled closer to Scott.

"Well, just keep him awake. I've sent an ambulance over."

"Okay," Mitch whispered, burying his face in Scott's chest. He tried his best to get a grip, but tears stubbornly continued streaming down his cheeks. "S-Scott, um, stay awake please. Do you want me to sing to you? Um..." He paused for a moment, his tears falling faster, before he shakily started singing.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away."

As if on cue, there was a knocking on the door, and Mitch's breathing hitched. "I don't want to leave him," he called shakily, and the paramedics kicked the door down, following Mitch's voice to the bathroom.

Their hearts broke at the pathetic sight of a small, crying boy curled on the chest of what looked to be an unconscious man with scars on his arms, lying in a pool of blood.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we're going to have to ask you to move," the head paramedic said softly, smiling sadly. Mitch reluctantly moved off of Scott, but refused let go of his hand. The head paramedic sighed, but didn't push him, nodding to the others to help him carefully lift the man's body onto their stretcher.

Mitch followed them like a lost puppy, still clutching Scott's hand tightly. "H-He'll be okay, right?"

The head paramedic sighed and smiled sadly again. "I hope so."

To be continued (mmaybe)...