Self Destruct

Broken Hearted

A/N: This story includes suicidal thoughts and actions, depression, anxiety disorder, thoughts and feelings of worthlessness, split personality disorder, a yandere, and a tsundere. Read at your own discretion. I don’t own BNHA in case that wasn’t clear. 

Broken Hearted 

Izuku Midoriya POV 

I sit alone, staring at the door, waiting for them to appear. I had scrubbed the words Class 1-B had left on my desk the previous night already so that Todoroki won’t notice when he walks in.  I don’t want him to worry about me because then he will stop smiling. And when he smiles at me the world has meaning in a way it hasn’t since mom died. For a moment the world loses its black, white and grey tint and is filled with a rainbow of colors in all different hues. Instead of feeling the numbness that I always feel, I feel a warm tingly sensation. And, sometimes, the feeling is brought on by someone else too. Sometimes, when Kacchan offers me a kind word, I feel like I’m melting. Because I love them. 

I await their entrance eagerly, anticipating Todoroki’s smile. As if thinking about him summoned him he walks in, but he’s not alone. Holding his hand is none other than Katsuki Bakugou. I can feel tears beginning to prick at my eyes. This can’t be happening. I can feel my throat closing as I try to force the tears back. I sit there, a statue, as Todoroki leans over and kisses Kacchan. And I can’t hold it in anymore, I’m crying. I stand up and dash out of the room, pushing past them, tears streaming down my face. I can hear someone shouting my name, but I don’t look back. I run until I can’t breathe, and I must stop, hunching over and taking gasping breaths.  

I can hear footsteps behind me and the two people I would least like to see currently. Todoroki bends down looking concerned. Kacchan is on his knees in front of me in a flash, his concerned expression mirroring Todoroki’s. I had unknowingly sunk to the floor, still shaking and sobbing. 

“Midoriya what’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying?” Todoroki asks. 

“I’m fine. Just go away,” I gasp out, my heart clenching in my chest. It hurt. I feel as though someone is driving a knife through my heart repeatedly and I let out a ragged sob. 

“Izuku you are not fine. Tell me what’s wrong,” Kacchan pleads with me. 

“It’s not important,” I say refusing to meet their eyes.  

They look like they are about to protest, so I get up and walk away. I can hear them follow me, so I break into a sprint and leave school running as fast as I can. I run along the streets full of red and brown brick buildings. I stumble up the stairs of the apartment complex I live in. I struggle to get the door of my studio apartment over, but finally manage it after minutes of struggling. I fall through the door, slamming it shut as I crumple to the floor. 

The blinding pain in my chest shot through me and I see nothing but bright white, painting everything in a glow that was from heaven itself. As though it was a sign that I should end it all.  I haven’t felt a pain

this intense since I realized Mom was gone. When I realized I would never be enough for anyone as evidenced by the fact that everyone I have ever loved has left. I want it to be over. I’m so alone. No one would care if I left. All my friends are superficial at best and back stabbers at worst. I shouldn’t even bother with a note, no one will read it. But I can’t help but hope that maybe Kacchan or Todoroki will. Then they’d know that they were all I had left.  

I go to my bathroom and take out a razor. I may as well make it a long, drawn out affair. I’m planning on overdosing, but in case that fails I’m also going to slit my wrists. I take out the dull orange pill bottle, left over from when my mother was still alive. There are so many reasons for me to do this. I have no one. I am noting. I’m a quirkless loser and a wannabe hero who never actually had a purpose. I bring the silver blade to the thin porcelain skin of my wrist and slowly make a small incision. Immediately a jolt of pain rushes through my body. A bead of crimson blood flows from my wrist and drips down the snowy skin of my arm. I smile, my expression crazed and do it again deeper. The blade I skates along my arms leaving tear tracks of red running down my arms. I’m unhinged and it feels phenomenal. I no longer feel the blinding pain I had. With every drop of my own blood spilled another tear falls away until I’m no longer crying. It takes the nearness of death to finally make me feel alive.