One Direction BSM Preferences

You Self-Harm, and One of the Other Boys Finds Out

   Warning: May be triggering. I'm trying not to make them too bad, but I tend to get emotional when I talk about this stuff.

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Zayn (15):

   You sit on your bed in the dark, holding a razor blade in your hand. Your wrist was bleeding from previously made cuts, and you were crying silently. You couldn't handle the hate that came from being Zayn's sister, from living with him. You couldn't take the bullying because of your intelligence, the creulty from the people you called your friends. You had been cutting for several months, but you hadn't told anyone, especially not your brother and the band.
   Now, you were supposed to be asleep. The boys were all sleeping over, but you had told them you wanted to go to bed. In reality, you had needed to feel the comforting pain that came from your blade. You slid open the drawer of your bedside table, removing a roll of toilet paper. You add a few more cuts to your wrist, before wrapping the toilet paper around them. You roll up the leg of your pajama pants, and begin making more cuts, adding to the scars covering your calf. One for being worthless, one for being stupid, one because your brother doesn't really love you, one because you just need the pain.
   Suddenly, your bedroom door opens. "Shit," you mutter in voluntarily. You drop the blade, and dive downwards, draggin the covers over your torso. Unfortunately, your blade fell just beyond the edge of the blanket, and your leg was  outside as well. 
   "(Y/N)?" you hear Niall ask, "I know you're awake. I heard you." He moves towards your bed. You lay as still as you can, wanting him to leave. He gets closer, and sees the blood on your leg.
   "(Y/N)? You're bleeding. What happ-" he cuts off, and you risk a peek at him. He's holding your blade into the light coming from the hallway, staring at it's blood-stained surface. You gasp, and he turns towards you, gently tugging the blankets from your body.
   "Why?" he asks, and you collapse into sobs. He sits next to you, wrapping an arm around your soldier. 
   "I - I'm sorry," you cry, "Please don't tell Zayn." Niall frowns.
   "I...Okay," he sighs. He stands, carrying you to your en suite, where he cleans your cuts as quickly and carefully as possible.

Harry (17):

   You drag your curling iron across your skin, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. Your arms are covered in red patches and scars. You can't take this hatred. You wish everyone would just leave you alone.
   "They're liars," you whisper, "Harry loves me, he has too. Right?" Your voice hardens, and you press the iron harder into your skin. From behind you, you hear a sharp intake of breath. You whirl around, dropping the curling iron. It lands on your foot, and you wince, but don't really pay much attention.
   Louis is standing in the doorway of the bathroom, mouth open in shock. "Lou-" you start, but are cut off when he crosses the room and folds you into his chest. 
   "Why, (Y/N)?" he asks, kissing the top of your head. Then he shakes his head, brown hair flipping from the movement.
   "Wait, don't tell me. Tell Harry," he says, dragging you towards the door. You know that Harry and the other boys will all be downstairs, ready to go to Nando's for dinner. You don't want them to see you like this. There's a reason you always wear long sleeves. 
   "No, Louis, please," you struggle, but he's already leading you down the hallway. 
   "Haz?" he calls, "Haz, you need to see this." You swallow hard, feeling the tears rising up your throat. You are terrified of what will happen when he sees your arms.

Louis (14):

   "C'mon, (Y/N)," your brother, Louis, calls, "Swim with us." You shake your head, keeping yourself firmly planted on the towel up one the beach.
   "No thanks," you call back, slinking further into the shade of the umbrella. "I'll just read." Louis looks concerned, as if he's about to protest. You know he doesn't want you on the beach alone, but he really wants to go swimming.
   "It's okay, mate," says Zayn, who's standing on the edge of the water, watching the other four frolic in the ocean. "I'll sit with her." Louis smiles, turning to Harry, and splashing the brunet with salt water. Within moments, those who are swimming seem to have forgotten you, becoming obsessed with their water fight.
   Zayn walks over to you, sitting on the towel next to yours in the sun. He looks over at you for a moment, before closing his eyes, slipping on sunglasses, and lying back.
   "Aren't you hot?" he asks after a few moments, turning his head towards you. You turn red, looking down at your rainbow tie-dyed skinny jeans, and oversized sweater that cover your bikini. You are, but say nothing. If you tell him, he'll make you take them off, and then he'll see your scars.
   "(Y/N)?" he asks when you don't reply, leaning up on one elbow, "Something wrong?" You shrug, brushing a peice of your sweaty hair out of your face.
  "I'm fine," you lie. He looks confused - or at least you think so, as you can't see his eyes - before shrugging.
   "Want something to drink? I saw a cabana up the way." You shake your head, causing Zayn to frown.
   "I can't leave you, I promised Lou. Come with me,"  he announces. You shake your head again. Exasperated, he grabs your wrist, yanking you to your feet. His large hand covers scars that are fresh from last night. You gasp, snatching your hand back and clutching your wrist to your chest in pain. Zayn looks concerned.
   "What's wrong?" he asks. You shake your head quickly.
   "It's nothing," you reply, "I fell on it earlier and it's a bit sore." Zayn frowned, tugging off his glasses.
   "Let me see, it might be sprained or something," he said. You began to panic, eyes widening, heartbeat quickening, face reddening even more than you thought possible.
   "It's okay," you say quickly, "No big d-" You're cut off by Zayn grabbing your wrist, and pushing up your sleeve. He freezes when he sees the cuts, his eyes widening. He doesn't look like he wants to believe it.
   "Zayn-" you start, but your voice dies when he looks up at you in disappointment. He shakes his head, dropping your hand and turning towards the sea.
   "Lou!" he yells, and your heart drops, "Boys! We need to leave." He runs towards one of the security gaurds that was spaced around the beach for the band's protection. Zayn speaks to the gaurd for a moment, before he comes back to you, leading you to the car. You know what's coming next, or so you think. You're surprised when the next words out of Zayn's mouth aren't "why" but rather, "Love? Are you wearing a swimsuit under your jumper?"
   You nod slowly. "Good, take off your shirt."

Niall (16):

   "I hate you!" you yell at yourself, scratching your arms, "Why can't you just be good enough for him?" You begin to hit your shins with your heels, slap yourself, pull your hair, in a rage. You forget that you're at Liam's house, that he's watching television in the next room.
   Today had been your school's performing arts exhibition. You had gone on stage, and preformed a monologue, Mia's from the movie The Princess Diaries. You had practiced so hard for months, and were ready when the big day came. The whole band had come to see you, and you were so proud.
   Afterwards, however, Niall told you he had a date, and you would stay with Liam that night. It wouldn't have been that big a deal, but you had a tradition that after every one of your performances, no matter how small, the two of you would get ice cream. When you reminded him, he shrugged, and said, "Come on, Princess, it's not that big of a deal." Then he had handed Liam a bag of your things, and walked away.
   To him, it may not have been a big deal either, but you cherished that tradition. It made you feel like everything people said, about how you couldn't act, or sing, and Niall hated you, were lies, because Niall loved you. Niall was proud of you. And he just blew that off. You suddenly realized those people wre telling the truth.
   The door banged open, and you heard footsteps pounding across the room. Liam wrapped his arms around you, restraining you so you couldn't cause more harm t yourself. You struggled, but eventually grew tired. You leaned into his chest and sobbed.
   "Please, please tell me that was a one time thing," he said. You shook your head. You were too tired to lie. You had been hurting yourself on purpose for two years. Normally, you gave yourself bruises and lied about them, once you went so far as to jump out of a tree and break your arm.
   "Oh, god Thalia," Liam said, hugging you tightly. You felt him fish out his phone, and he held to his ear, still holding you tightly.
   "Ni?" he said a moment later. You sobbed into his shoulder at your brother's name. "Yes, I know... No, I don't care...just come here...It's Thals, Niall! ...Okay, bye." Liam threw his phone onto the bed, tugging you closer into his arms, picking you up carefully, and taking you to the couch.
   "Sh," he whispered into your hair, "Ni will be here soon." You whimper into his chest.

Liam (15):

   "Hey, (Y/N), you waNna watch a movie?" Harry asks from your brother's couch. You shake your head.
   "No thanks," you give a fake smile, "I'm going to bed," you reply. Liam stands giving you a hug.
   "Night, love," he says. You hug him back, savoring his warmth, the comfort.
   "Night, bro," you reply, trudging to your room. Once you get there, you close the door, and flick on the light, thinking no one will notice. Gently, you open remove the makeup covering the scars on your wrists and your shoulders. You then remove your normal makeup, and slide under the blankets. You reach under your bed, where a box containing your knife lies, awaiting your call.
   You pull the knife out, leaning back and rolling up your shirt to expose your stomach. You run your fingers over the scars one your sides, before making a cut to join the rest of your "tiger stripes." You hiss in pain, pressing a hand over the stinging cut, before smiling slightly.
   Cutting is the only thing that makes you feel anymore. Your brother told you to ignore the hate, and you built up your walls so much, no emotion at all can get through to you. You read the hate, simply to see if it affects you. It  never does. Cutting brings you pain, followed by happiness and relief. You relish in it.
   There's a gentle knock, before someone pushes your door open. Harry's head of curls appears. He closes the door behind him, walking backwars towards you. He turns, opening his mouth and smiling. Then he sees the knife in your hands and the blood on your sides, and his face falls. He reaches over, grabbing the knife, and throwing it behind him.
   "Don't," he whispers. You just stare at him, unfeeling, excpet for maybe the slightest hint of shock. He looks over his shoulder, and calls, "Liam! Get your ass in here." You stare with wide eyes, and feel something you haven't felt in months. Fear.