5 Seconds of Summer Imagines

Self Harm

Ashton: You rest your head against the bathroom door, staring at the cold granite floor you’re sitting on. Your legs are tucked in toward your chest as your sore arm lays on your knees. You close your eyes as tears slowly roll down your cheeks. The blade is being held in your dominant hand, as you fiddle with it with your fingers occasionally dropping it on the ground. You had gotten into a huge fight with Ashton earlier which has resulted in him storming out. You knew he was going to be with the boys today at the studio, yet you were still worried he would forget about you. You had gotten over cutting in the past, along with your paranoia and anxiety. You had to deal with it on your own until you had met Ashton. It was recently that you had begun again, feeling the familiar sensation of a blade scraping across your arm. You always assumed things were your fault, that every tiny mistake you made was going to change how people looked at you. You never knew why you thought this way, you thought it was something everyone went through. As you grew older, you discovered that you couldn’t stop. It became a tradition to cut yourself every night. You didn’t think you needed help, but in the long run you did. A knock on the bathroom door interrupted your thoughts. You quickly wipe your eyes preventing any further tears from falling. “Y-yes?” you yell. You mentally hit yourself for stuttering while retrieving your blade from the floor. You close your eyes and hope for the best. “(Y/N)? Are you in there? Are you okay?” It was Ashton. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just, um trying to find one of my shirts.” you quickly cover. The door knob turns and you stand up as Ashton walks in. You could’ve sworn you had locked the door. You take a few steps back while immediately hiding your arm behind your back pulling down the sleeve of your sweater. You can still feel the blood dripping down your arm. “I thought you were at the studio all day today, why are you home so ear-” “What were you doing? Were you crying?” he questions, completely cutting you off. “I-No I wasn’t.” you deny. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he seems concerned. “What are you hiding behind you back?” You swallow hard, as your jaw tenses. He walks toward you and grabs your hand. There’s blood dripping from your arm into your palm. He gently rolls up your sleeves and sighs. “Oh (Y/N). Baby, why?” You couldn’t answer. Tears were beginning to form at the brim of your eyes while you were left speechless. He looked so disappointed. He takes the blade from your hands and places it on the bathroom counter. He gets a paper towel, wetting it with water while still keeping his grip on your arm. He gently rubs the blood off with the towel, trying not to hurt you even further. Once he finishes, he takes a step back. The blood is mostly gone by now, yet he still stares at your scars while tears fall from his eyes. “Please, don’t do this again (Y/N). You don’t have to tell me why or when or how. Just promise me you won’t hurt yourself again.” You bring both arms to your back, acting like you are only holding your hands together. You cross your fingers as you mutter the words, “I promise.”

Luke: You sit in your bedroom with the door shut and locked. Your parents were fighting about something again, you couldn’t keep track of what they constantly bicker about. Most of the reasons they were fighting were because of you. Everything you did was a disappointment to them, like they never notice when you accomplish something. It’s as though you never did anything right and when you did, they wouldn’t care. They would pretend it had never happened and only remember the mistakes you’ve made. Yes, you regret making them but they always have to use them against you. You open your bedside drawer, immediately seeing a small, white square jewelry box. You lift the cushioning and there sit at the bottom is a blade. You had been cutting since your early teenage years. Suffering from teasing and paranoia. You would always think your closest friends despised you and only see the worst in situations. Your paranoia would drive you crazy. Insanity soon filled your mind as you took apart your sharpener, using the razor. You take the razor out of the box and lift your feet up, so that your entire body is resting on the bed. You rest your head against your bed post and lift your sleeve. On your skin, it reveals scars. Some are old that had never gone away, but some are new. You rest your arm on a pile of blankets and begin to cut your skin. The more you cut, the deeper they get. Soon enough, blood is cascading down your arm. You remain in this trance until you hear a knock on your window. You leave your place and slowly walk towards the source of the sound. There, you find a familiar face that happens to belong to your year long boyfriend. You flash a weak smile and open the window, allowing him to enter your room. He looks down at your arm and stares at you questionably. You are soon filled with tears, as he pulls you into his arms. You shake your head and keep repeating that your sorry. “Baby, please don’t cry. Seeing you cry only makes me more heartbroken.” he frowns. He guides you to your bed and you both sit down. He helps you clean up your remaining blood and puts your blade back in its case. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong sweetheart?” You wipe your tears and begin to tell him the story. You soon finish your story by completing it with, “The End.” “You can’t say that.” he objects. “You can’t say ‘The End’ because the story isn’t over. You’re still here, with me. You’re alive and well and I love you.” You smile. It feels as though it has been a million years since you last smiled and you want to cherish the feeling. Being there with Luke and pouring your heart out has shown that you can’t give up, for him. That sometimes things get rough but when you find that one person that’s worth it, you can fight through it. You can’t promise him that you’ll stop. Yet you can’t promise yourself that it will never get better. “I love you too, Lucas.”