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WARNING: CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF SELF-HARM, DEPRESSION, AND SUICIDE.
You walk through the door to your private apartment in the Teen Titans headquarters and lean against the wall.
It was a long day, with a long mission that left you and most of the team drained to the bone. You feel heavy, not in a physical manner, but rather mentally, as if something is pulling on your heart. Most people would find this sensation strange. For you it's normal. It's inescapable. It's depression.
You pull off your tight-fitting (f/c) sweaty suit and throw it in the corner to be forgotten. At least for tonight. You want to forget everything tonight.
You flip on the dim, flickering bathroom light and gaze at your mangled form in the mirror. Crimson colored scars stretch in jagged rows from your wrists to your elbows. Your friends on the team are oblivious to your behaviors and for good reason. If anyone of them knew, they'd betray your trust and report you to Black Canary. You'd be off the team in a heartbeat. You couldn't even trust Tim. Your best friend. Your secret love. You know he would tell simply because he would think it'd be best for you, but he doesn't understand. It's the only way you know to truly rid yourself of the stress and anxiety you carry.
You open the small sink cabinet and pull our your razor blade. You wash off the bloodied tip with alcohol and step into the bathtub. The evidence will wash away and no one will suspect you. You let the cold water run over your body and numb the skin. You poise the razor gently between your fingertips and puncture your leather-like flesh. Blood oozes from the wound and drips slowly down your arm. It hits the water and spreads in intricate designs of ruby before swirling down the drain. One more stress removed from your life...
Just as you're about dig another laceration on your forearm, the door swings open and Tim walks in. Your eyes meet his and he gapes in horror at your dripping arm.
"Oh my god, (Y/n), what the heck are you doing?!" He yells racing to your side.
"Tim...I..." You barely manage to choke out.
"Shh don't talk," he says, ripping off a piece of cloth from his cape and wrapping your arm.
"Please...don't tell any of them," you beg. "Don't tell Canary...I'll be removed from the team!"
"I won't stand aside and pretend like nothin's wrong, (Y/n)!!! If you keep doing this...who's to say you won't end it for real?!"
You reach out to hold his hand that is wrapping your arm and you lace your fingers with his. "Tim...if you love me...you won't tell them. You know I hate it when people smother me! They'll never leave me alone and it will just stress me out more! I know I need help but...please."
Tim sighs and hangs his head in defeat. He reaches out to cup your cheek and he kisses your temple. You stay like this for a while, just holding his hand in silence. Finally, he speaks.
"Alright, we can keep this between us, but only on one condition; you have to stop doing this to yourself. "
You sniffle and hang your head in shame. "Tim, you don't understand I-,"
"Yes, I do. I know how stressful and emotionally damaging this job can be. Sometimes, it feels like we're fighting this battle on our own. No one else can do what we do and we're expected to save the day every time. When we let someone down, it's like we're disappointing the world."
He gestures to your bandaged forearm. "But this is not the way to help you get through it. You need someone to lean on for support. Someone to reassure you that you're doing the right thing and that we all make mistakes. It's how we handle them that truly matters. I will be here for you every step of the way, but you have to trust me. You are an incredible person, (Y/n). Never let the world make you think otherwise."
You crack a small smile and lean your head on Tim's shoulder. He responds by draping an arm around you.
"Don't worry Y/n..we'll get through this together."