I ran home as fast as I could, tears streaming down my face. I went straight into the bathroom and grabbed the only thing that could provide me with comfort: the blade. I slashed at my arms, crying out in pain and anger. I heard someone rattle the handle on the front door. I didn't know who it was, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything. I ran into my room and collapsed onto the bed, screaming and crying. I heard someone run up the stairs and burst into my room. I yelled at them to go away, not caring who it was. But they didn't go. Instead they came and sat down on the edge of my bed. They began to stroke my hair, my body still quivering with pain and terror. Eventually they spoke. "Please don't cry." I recognised Michael's voice instantly, "I hate seeing beautiful girls cry." My body was still shaking, my cuts were still bleeding, but I forced myself to sit up. "I hate myself," I whimpered, trying to hold back the tears that were flowing from my bloodshot eyes. "Please don't hate yourself, y/n," Michael said. He took my hand in his. I saw his eyes fall upon my cuts. He fell silent. "I'm s-sorry," I sobbed, burying my face into his shirt, "I'm sorry, Michael. Please don't hate me. Please, Mikey." I half expected him to give me some lame excuse as to why I shouldn't have cut. To lecture me about how 'cutting wasn't the answer' or some stupid shit like that. But he didn't. He just stayed silent, holding me close to him. Eventually, I sat up. "I know how you feel," Michael whispered, slipping off the bracelets that he wore constantly. As my eyes fell upon his scared writs, I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces....
•//
To be continued...
