Double-Edged Sword - $UICIDEBOY$

A Single, Bloody Cigarette.

In the darkness of the kitchen, the single, smoldering light of a cigarette illuminates alone without the moon. The bronzed glow highlights Scott's face; his forehead is glistening with sweat which runs down over his scarred cross. Its inversion is striking.
He relishes the taste which he has put off for so long, though it is tainted. The blood on his lips has been absorbed by the filter of the cigarette, and the smoke he inhales is metallic and acidic. The moment is short lived, and he stares down at the stub with an empty gaze.

    He puts it out into the top of his arm, over one of many bruises, and sets it aside.
    His flesh hisses.

He stands up with noticeable weakness and peers out of the window to try and find the moon. But it is a new moon, and hides from him. The tears in his eyes don't glisten or reflect their pain to the world.

He loathes himself right there, feeling hot tears stream yet again, and wishes he had never been so idiotic as to trust the wrong people. Before, when it had been just him and Ruby within the house, the same event had happened before. It was a nearly perfect repeat: a rough dealer, a laced blunt, a horrible night. He had never meant for it to repeat with someone else to watch, much less someone else who had given out her heart.

He stares down at his hands and lets his eyes adjust. He sees the crusted blood in his nails- not his own blood- and the bruises speckling his arms. He knows by the pain in his face from simply frowning that he is swollen and must look awful himself. Everything tastes bloody and looks hazy.

Scott strolls into his room with immense effort and stands in his own smear of blood in the carpet. It had poured from his face and pooled beneath him there when he took the final blow- a deafening slam of the knuckles to his temple. Anymore damage and a hospital would have been mandatory. Yet, it was needed to put him down. Drugs were crazy.

It is a steady process in the darkness, but he manages to fit his only meaningful belongings into a single duffel bag. His hand reaches into the drawer of his nightstand and retrieves a hidden orange bottle. It is full of medications- none of them his. He has been sober for the most part, but the occasions on which he dabbles in his pills are becoming too frequent again.

He lays the bottle on his pillow and pulls the duffle bag onto his shoulder. It burns- he is bruised everywhere.

He steps into the living room and swiftly hobbles to the bathroom. Scott stops and stares down. There they are, Y/N and Ruby, asleep on the floor. Ruby is by all means, obliterated beyond what Scott can accept. He doesn't know how Ruby had kept standing up each time he was hit with the full force of a laced fist or foot.

But yet, Ruby had continued to stand back up without a single twitch in his eyes. Had Y/N seen the blood drip down into Ruby's eyes and half-blind him for a time? Had she heard how both of them shrieked outside of human limits from every rail-splitting crack of flesh?

    Through it all, Ruby's face had said "I love you. I'm heart-sick, but I love you.", to Scott.

Scott closes the door and hikes the duffle bag into a more comfortable position. It is mere seconds before he is out of the front door and texting someone on his phone for a ride.