[A/N: Whenever I read a story and there's a trigger warning saying "this chapter includes self harm" it always is cutting (not that cutting isn't self harm) and they don't show other self harms. A way of self harming is scratching yourself and this isn't like scratching a bug bite, scratching is when you furiously scratch your body part so much the skin starts to peel off and then you get to the sensitive part of the skin. Sometimes it draws blood and sometimes it doesn't. People say it's not self harm and it's only self harm if you draw blood but self harm comes in many different forms, such as: hitting yourself until you bruise yourself, pulling your hair out, throwing your body against someone hard to bruise it, hitting your head against something and etc.
Dallon's P.O.V:
It wouldn't stop.
My depression has been getting worse and it won't stop. No matter what I did, I couldn't stop the feeling of doing it. I tried playing the bass to get my fingers busy but I still needed it. I tried drawing and I still needed it. I couldn't get my mind off of it. So I gave in.
And that's how I got where I am, with bandages and anti-infection cream, sitting on the bathroom floor. I pulled up my shirt and stared at my stomach. Marks were littered all over my body. Some long, some short. Some big, some small. I stared at my stomach, seeing none of the marks will ever disappear and they are now a part of me forever.
I sighed, closing my eyes and bringing my right hand to my stomach. Picking a random spot, I started scratching.
He gave in. He finally gave in. The voice in my head said and they were right. I was clean, I was clean for months because of Brendon and Ryan but now a week after the accident I finally gave in.
I cringed at my nails feeling the sensitive layer of skin. I stopped, looking at the damage. The skin was pulled off, and there were small droplets of blood. I grabbed the skin that was pulled off and pulled it, making the damage bigger.
Automatically my hand picked another spot and started scratching at that spot. I closed my eyes and threw my head against the cool tile, feeling a slight chill on my body.
My therapist would ask me, "why do you scratch and not cut yourself."
The answer to that was blurred to others but clear to me. I don't want to die but I do want feel the pain. To others it was stupid, they would tell me to "stop self harming then." But I couldn't stop. It was a part of me that I couldn't let go. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't run away from it. I had ran once though, but my demons caught up when the accident happened. No matter how hard I tried to drown them, I couldn't. They knew how to swim.
When I felt the same sensitive sensation, I stopped. I looked down at my stomach and a big scratch mark. This one had gotten bigger than I had expected it to be. I pick up the disinfection cream and apply some on my mark, hissing at the horrible burning feeling. I pull down my shirt and looked up at the ceiling.
"I'm sorry, Brendon. I'm sorry, Ryan." I whisper quietly, closing my eyes and slipping out of this world.
[A/N: When you think to yourself "wow this chapter is sad" but then you realise that it's based off of your own thoughts, feelings and actions and you do nothing to stop it.
So since this is a pretty vague oneshot, I'm gonna explain some things:
1) Brendon and Ryan had died in an accident.
2) Dallon is not dead, though in the end it sounds like he died but he a alive.
Okay so that's all. I'm actually debating on wether I should publish this or not.
Anyways, bye!]
