band one-shots

relapsing || kellin quinn

*wheezes in depression* i wrote this months ago and now feels like a nice time to post it bc nothing is fucking going right and my thigh looks like it went through a cheese grater

tw for very descriptive self-harm

ship: kellin quinn x reader

~

I'm curled up on the couch, head on Kellin's shoulder as he scrolls through Twitter. I like watching him interact with his fans. There's so many stories of him giving them hope, and inspiring them, and it makes me love him even more.

He's looking at a fan's page, when he freezes and nearly drops his phone. The girl had posted a picture of her arms lined with crimson. My stomach twists and I read the caption.

"Maybe I'm better off dead...if I was would that finally be enough? 😰 #swsfangirlforlife"

The caption doesn't make me feel any better, and my breath quickens. Beside me, Kellin scrolls to something else and pulls me against him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I was going to find that." His gaze searches my face to see if I'm okay. "I know that's the last thing you need to see. I'm so fucking sorry."

"I-It's okay," I make out, trying to calm my heart-rate and erase the image from my brain. But it feels like it's ingrained into my eyes, and it haunts me.

She's what, 13? My cuts were never that deep.

Not even close.

Fucking pussy. Why have I never gone that deep?

My hands are trembling and I push myself up from the couch, tearing Kellin's arm away from me. He looks as if he's going to pull me back down, or follow me, and I'm shaking too badly to let him do that so I speak.

"I'm j-just gonna use the bathroom. Take a breath."

He looks conflicted. I give him a shaky smile that I hope is reassuring and walk down the hallway. The sound of the bathroom door closing echoes ominously.

Once inside, I actually do try to take a breath. It fails, and I'm left gasping for oxygen that refuses to reach my lungs for some unknown fucking reason. My hands shake and I scratch my nail across my wrist, desperate to break the skin. It leaves a thin white line that burns but doesn't bleed.

There's a razor on the counter, one of Kellin's. I shouldn't take it apart. Under almost any other circumstance I wouldn't. But seeing the picture triggered that sick part of my brain that likes to see me bleed and I break it.

I slide out the thin piece of silver. Fuck being clean. Fuck recovery. I'll recover when I'm truly sick.

Not when I'm just barely scratching the surface.

I skim the razor across the surface of my wrist, and drops of blood bead up. They're too small for my liking, and I slide it across again, harder. A line of blood opens, and the skin separates.

And I'm breathing a little easier.

"Y/N." Kellin's voice breaks into the silence. He's on the other side of the door. "You've been in there for ten minutes."

"I-I have?" I drop the blade back onto the counter, but there's no point. It's not like I can put the razor back together and cover up what I did. I shove it to the corner of the counter anyway, and steal a glance at my arm. It's still bleeding.

"Yes. Let me in."

"H-hold on-" I should wrap up my arm, but I'm too captivated by how crimson drips so easily. I wipe some away with a tissue, but it beads back up again.

Why did no one ever tell me cutting deep was so satisfying?

It's so thrilling and twisted, and I can't tear my eyes away.

Kellin turns the knob, but I had the foresight to lock the door. He sighs. "Y/N. Please, please tell me you didn't relapse."

My silence is enough of an answer for him.

"Please let me in."

I unlock it and he rushes in, only to be stopped by the sight of my arm.

"Y/N..." I watch his heart break more with each syllable of my name.

"I fucked up. I'm a fuck-up."

"No you're not. It's okay." Kellin takes the tissue from my hand and presses it against the cut, applying pressure. "It's not your fault." The blood doesn't stop and he curses, carefully holding my arm. "I think you might need stitches."

Good. That's what I wanted.

He places his hands on my cheeks, forcing me to look at him. I close my eyes. "Y/N. It's okay. Relapsing one time isn't the end of everything. You're still recovering."

"I don't want to recover anymore." The words break off my tongue violently and I wish more than anything that I could take them back.

His face grows pale, a sickly shade that disgusts me because I know I'm the one who caused it. "Babe- Yes you do- We made a promise." He persists, rubbing his fingertip across my cheekbone soothingly.

I stare at the blood slowly dripping from my wrist. "N-no- It's too deep, and it hurts, but I like it. It lets me breathe and I'm okay now and Kellin, look at me, I don't have a problem, I swear." My stomach twists and I continue to ramble on. "It's not that big a deal, it's just blood, it heals, it-"

He places one single finger over my mouth to stop me, and it's not until the room has grown silent that I realize he's crying. The corners of his eyes drip with blurry drops as he removes his finger from my lips.

"It is a big deal, Y/N. You're hurting yourself, and I don't care if it heals, it's still hurting. Do you know how much it hurts me?"

"I-"

"Shhh. I'm not done." Kellin says. "Do you know- Hold on-" He looks conflicted for a moment before rolling up his sleeve. He points out tiny white lines that are nearly healed and my mouth drops.

"Kellin- What the fuck?" I trace my fingers over the small raised skin, feeling sick and intrigued. "You did it?"

"When I tell you to stop, I'm saying it as someone who's been exactly where you are. I know that it feels good. And I know that it's not worth it."

~

so like i've been simultaneously just chilling and enjoying life and also destroying the fuck out of myself and being a sad ass bitch so lUv tHaT fOr mE 🙃