Outsiders Preferences, Imagines And Headcannons

Under Sand

TW: Suicide Attempt, Graphic Self Harm. Not very graphic I guess cause I suck at being graphic. Careful...

Brook ran her hands through her hair with her only free hand and sniffled. She looked at her left arm that was shaking horribly and had small scars and art she drew on herself with sharpie.

She grabbed the razor she stole from some girls pencil sharpener in school months ago. Her right hand shook as she placed the cold metal on her skin on her forearm.

She ran across and paused Half-way. You gotta do it. She thought to myself. Push through the damn pain! God you're useless! She then quickly ran the blade across her skin with a yelp from the pain but it went away.

She did it a few more time, she looked at them after a while. Blood was running down her arm but she could still see it was slightly puffy. Red from her skin surrounded it.

She let tears fall, she set the razor down. She knew no one was home so she let it all out. "You're fucking stupid!" She screamed as she punched her stomach and her thighs until she knew they were bruised for sure.

She got up and punched the walla hard, she didn't care that she probably damaged her knuckle. She walked into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror.

"How can anyone love you? You're an attention whore. A slut. A girl who only wishes she was as pretty as the girls in the magazines and just as skinny as them but you aren't! You can't be positive and you're ruining it! They entire world hates you! GIVE UP ALREADY!" She screamed at her reflection.

She leaned her head against the skin counter and her breathing slowly quickened the more and more she felt like sand was building up in her lungs.

She soon felt like she was fully trapped under sand and she shook horribly. "Why were you born?" She whispered to herself. "You don't mean anything... Give up..."

She threw herself against the wall and walked out to the kitchen and opened the drawer.

She stared at it for a moment. The long kitchen knife. Cleaned Saturday and hasn't been used since. Weird how she knew that, huh? Gotta keep track of your suicide weapon.

She grabbed it and closed the drawer and stared at it. She stared at her reflection. "You're hopeless. I don't know how anyone can look at you." She scowled at herself.

She was about to raise it but stopped. Yeah, totally gonna kill yourself in the kitchen where everyone is gonna be scared to walk and they'll ruin their appetite. Real nice, Brooklyn.

She walked up to her room, swaying the knife and letting it cut her thigh, she didn't care right now.

Door open or closed? Separate suicide notes or not?

Open...

Separate...

She left the door open and grabbed paper and a pencil.

Dear Darry.

You're probably wondering. Why the hell did she do this to herself? Well, save the thought. It wasn't your fault. You were an amazing big brother. You'll be better with only two kid brothers instead of a stupid stubborn sister. I hope you find someone in your life and you have a happy life. Happy wife, happy life. Right?

~ Brook

She reread the letter and figured it was enough.

Dear Sodapop.

Hey man. Thanks for being there for me. You were really the most supporting brother (no offense Pony and Darry). You don't deserve Sandy by the way, don't think about her. You might not have me to sing to you but Johnny's pretty good. So is Ashlyn.  Love you.