My Pink, Your Blue. || markbam.

nine.

edited and proofread.

Trigger warning: self harm & violence.

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BamBam hurriedly scurried through the mirrored bathroom cupboard, his hand reaching for that familiar object he hadn't touched in a while. He fumbled his hand around, finally hitting a metal object that hid in the back corner.

BamBam pulled the small object towards him, glancing down at it as he chewed on his lip. "Well, I haven't seen you in a while."

"One time won't hurt right?"
Tears threatened to tumble down his cheeks as he rolled up his sleeve, positioning the piece of metal before his arm. Sliding the cold blade across his skin, crimson fluid leaked as a stinging sensation zapped through his body. He winced in pain, but continued to drag it across his skin, continuously torturing himself. He chewed the inside of his cheeks to muffle his sobs, his left arm now printed with bloodied cuts. He sank down onto the bathroom floor, sliding the thin metal across his arm one last time, earning a yelp which his mother heard.

A light knock settled against the door, BamBam's eyes wet with streams of tears. "Honey, are you okay?!"

"Y-yeah, I'm okay." He lied, muffling his sobs. "I just tripped."

It was more than obvious BamBam was not okay. Even he was surprised to find himself in the bathroom cutting after 5 months. The last time he touched that blade had been a while, and he had been holding himself back from his painful addiction. He certainly didn't cut for fun or attention, of course, he was suffering; yet, he always hid it from others. BamBam despised the fact that blades and razors were his only source of comfort when he felt a hole had been pierced through his heart. Constantly depressed, he continued to harm himself without anyone knowing.

BamBam twisted on the tap, the gush of water plummeting painfully against the fresh cuts. He winced, cleaning his blade and his cuts before placing the razor back to where it belonged. Staring at himself in the mirror, he glared, disliking his reflection. The self-loathing, the self-harm and his own depression started since middle school, but it only became worse when he entered high school.

The events from earlier that day had threw him off, BamBam unwillingly recalling the moment as he pulled down his sleeves.

"I'm despicable... Just like they say."

-

"BamBam, you know you're worthless right?" Jackson cackled, pinning him against the wall.

BamBam turned away, not daring to lock gazes with Jackson.

"You're honestly just a waste of space and your presence itself is disgusting." Jackson glared, tugging at BamBam's tie.

BamBam kept still and silent, his mouth sealed tightly shut as he prayed for the moment to end.

"I guess I'll just have to force the words out of you then." Jackson jokingly shrugged, his fist slamming forcefully into BamBam's stomach.

Continuously abusing BamBam, Jackson just laughed it off as if it was a joke. BamBam was in serious pain and he had just recently got out of the hospital, but his stomach was aching and he was desperate for Jackson to stop.

"Please... Stop...." BamBam begged, his throat raspy as he gasped for air. He was becoming desperate. "Jackson... stop it..." He breathed heavily, Jackson ignoring him and continued to pound at his body endlessly.

BamBam felt his knees weaken as he blacked out once again, his vision fading as everything became a blur and his ears rang.

Collapsing, fainting and suffering had all become too familiar to him, each of them seemingly to become apart of his daily schedule. Jackson had gone so far, ever since BamBam transferred, his body felt as if it was going to be torn apart. He eventually became used to the never-ending cycle of pain, realising that his desperate cries were of no use. The crowd surrounding them just whispered amongst themselves and snickered, all pointing and watching.

No one was ever there to help him. Not a single person.

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A/N: Well... That was a terribly written chapter.