A Life, Unforgotten

When Things Take A Turn For The Better

The Guardian was practically smothered with his dysphoria, it ached to move because everything reminded him his chest was a presence — and one so desperately unwanted. He did literally everything he could as if he could ease the feeling but, seven weeks with no binder and it's worked into his skin in a less than pleasant way. A very, very large part of himself was tempted to revise an old scar, one that was finally, finally fading. One leg wasn't as obvious anymore, the declaration on his leg that was fading was like his supreme validation was no longer valid.

It twisted his stomach.

He'd throw up twice before he'd practically crawl into the shower, shaking fingers prying loose the one tile that hid an unpleasant tool for destruction, the same one that carved the word REMEMBER into his thigh almost... almost a year ago.

But he didn't dive into it like before. He held it between his teeth, the sharp metal as always making him quietly, softly reconsider his decision but, it always failed. He'd bathed himself, ignoring the way his old burns pulled at his skin when he leaned too far forward, or how his old scars itched, or how his chest — his chest — got in the way of everything he did. Nyx he hated it, he'd refuse to acknowledge the slight tears that prickled at the corners of his eyes. He'd just gone about this as if it were any other shower, as always thankful for the little seat that, when he did use it, helped keep his wings out of the water. It made everything easier.

But once he was scrubbed clean, hair included, he'd pulled the metal from between his teeth. Cobalt eyes stared, hard and plain at it until he didn't want to anymore, until his mind was static, until he couldn't think couldn't feel couldn't tell who he was. He'd simply be.

And yet just as he'd moved to press it into the old scar, to refresh it without care, he'd hesitated. An arm was over his stomach and he hesitated, because he thought about Jay. He thought about how a child always has curious, wandering hands, and how hard it could be to explain something like this were they ever to find these. He'd glanced down, rather suddenly feeling as if ice ran through his veins, as if every scar on his wrists and legs — and Nyx forbid, the one across his entire torso or across his neck — stood out, screaming that Jay could worry, that Jay could get the idea to be like him, that Jay could want these for themselves.

He didn't need to think again. Metal fell from his fingertips and he'd curled into himself instead, those marks left alone, not to be refreshed. His arms were wrapped rather tightly around his legs, hating himself for being like this, hating himself for hurting himself, hating himself for hating himself.

He'd just grounded himself, trying his damndest to remind himself that this isn't normal, that he needs to get better and this is not the way. He needs to get better, not for himself, not for Thymós, but for Jay. The slightest of bumps was noticeable to him because of this, even he knew how thin he was now and he... hated it.

And yet, after he'd taken his time in just getting himself together, he'd lifted his head, not even batting an eye at how cold the water had begun to run, he'd glared hard at the metal. Swiped it up and flicked the water off. He didn't miss a beat in pulling himself up too, blinking away the black dots in his sight and as soon as he could see the trash bin, he'd hit the foot flip and threw the metal into it, the way the lid slammed like a final goodbye to the terrible habit. And while he was at it, he'd gotten them out of all his hiding places, totaling to four, and threw them out as well, wrapping himself in a towel before he'd gently gently storm out of the bathroom, rubbing his face in his hands, to anyone else it would just seem like he was tired. But it was all he could do to keep from crying. He's tired of crying.

He didn't really have the strength to redress himself, only managing to pull on boxers before he'd fallen onto the bed and buried his face in a pillow, doing all he could to keep calm, keep breathing. Just, to do anything but cry.

While he knows this is a turn for the better, it scared him. He wanted to be better when it came to this. But hell if it isn't the hardest thing he's done. And likely, it will continue to be.