Hercules was an amazing boyfriend. He seemed to make everything feel safe and okay. Aaron couldn't remember the last time he felt unsafe or terrible, excluding work. Today was a bad day for Aaron and he wanted it to end.
His morning routine was normal. Aaron woke up first as usual and made breakfast. He and Hercules ate quickly and the two left for work. Nothing unusual, right? That is, until Aaron stepped foot into his office. Washington was waiting for him there and he had a very long lecture about something that Aaron couldn't catch on to.
Aaron plopped down into his seat, a headache already pounding against the inside of his skull. Washington hated him. He didn't know why but Washington, his boss, absolutely hated Aaron. Aaron forgot to get coffee on the way to work which didn't help the situation at all. He began to look over his case and work on it for about two hours before he heard Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton arguing loudly outside his office. Aaron flinched at the loud sound of Alex's voice. It reminded him of his uncle. The door to Aaron's office slammed open and the fight ensued in his office. Aaron's headache was becoming too much.
Suddenly, Aaron yelled in frustration," Shut up!" For the first time in Thomas' and Alexander's life, they both shut up. Only for three minutes. Alex teased," Is Aaron angry?" Aaron glared at Alex, not amused. Thomas slipped out of the room and left the argument. Aaron said," Hamilton, can you ever shut up? I'm trying to work, here." Alexander asked," Why the Hell are you even dating Hercules? If you answer that correctly, I'll fucking leave." Aaron said," Because I can." Alexander's foot closed the door and his eyes narrowed. He asked," So, you don't love him?" Aaron answered, panicked," Of course I love him! Why the Hell would you say that?!" Alexander paused, observing Aaron. He said a bit too loudly," You know, Theodosia only dated you because she pitied you. She died because it was your fault-" Aaron's heart stopped and he blocked out all the angry words spitting off of Alex's tongue.
In the next room, James Madison and Thomas froze. They were currently working on a case and they heard everything from the room next to them. Both of them knew for a fact that what Alex says he doesn't mean it but some things he says hurts you. Aaron wasn't going to take this easily at all.
Aaron stared at Alexander in shock and he stood up and quickly left before Alex realized what he said. Aaron just wanted to go home. Aaron was going to cry but he held it back as he hurried through the building. He'll cry at home. And maybe cut. Maybe. He didn't even know what he did wrong. For once, he said one opinion and Alexander brought him down.
Aaron walked through the snow, not giving a fuck about how cold he was. He was so close to home so it didn't matter. He made his way up the steps to his apartment building and took the elevator up to his floor. He knew that he and Hercules had the biggest apartment in the whole building so if Hercules did come home early, it'd take a bit to find Aaron. Aaron grabbed the keys in his pocket, unlocked the door, and closed it. He threw his keys on the counter and changed in their bedroom. He got into a red flannel and black jeans. From what happened this morning, he wasn't going back to work until he felt better about himself.
Aaron got to work. He scavenged the entire house for a razor and found one on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet (which was really hard to get to since Aaron was short.) Hercules never knew that Aaron dealt with depression before their relationship. No one knew. Except Theo and Aaron's uncle. Aaron sat up against the bathroom wall, pulling down his sleeves to reveal scars that criss-crossed his skin. They were barely noticeable because of Aaron's dark complexion but they were there if you felt the skin on his wrists. The door to the bathroom was locked. Aaron wasn't that dumb.
He began to cut slowly across his left wrist. He flinched. But, he felt a spark of...something in him. It felt like happiness. Control. He slid the blade across his skin again, and again, and again, and again, and again. He lost count of how many lines he drew. Each cut meant something to him in a language that he only understood. Each cut represented something.
