My baby // Brallon oneshots 👑 //

Small Cuts

(UhhhHhHhhh... Idk... I just like this song and I haven't been feeling the.. happiest or best lately, uh yeah)

TW: Self harm

(Please don't hurt yourself, you matter more than this one shot.)

Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten.
Five on each wrist.

Brendon shakily drops the blade into the sink and he steps back. He looks at the cuts on his wrists and he lets out a quiet sob.

'You said it would be the last time so long ago... god, you're pathetic.'

He softly cries as all these thoughts race through his head.

'You lied to him.'

'You said you'd quit, so much for that right?'

'You're pathetic, worthless even.'

He grips the sink tightly and hangs his head. He takes in a shaky breath before looking up at himself in the mirror, his cheeks are tear stained, his eyes are red, and his hairs a mess, not to mention the blood dripping from his wrists.

Few of the cuts are deep enough that gentle streams of blood are flowing down his arm and onto the counter. A habit he had was to start off gently and then cut deeper and deeper as he went up his arms. Whatever he did to one arm, he did to the other.

Brendon shakes his head and reaches for a towel. He soaks it in water and gently begins dabbing his cuts with it until they're hardly bleeding.

Once he's done this, he grabs his bandages and quickly wraps up both of his wrists securely. He's still shaking as he does so but tears are no longer rolling down his cheeks.

He grabs his black sweatshirt that he's left hanging over the bathtub and he quickly slips it on, pulling the sleeves down over his hands to cover the bandages.

Okay fine, it was Dallon's hoodie that he'd stolen a long time ago but Dallon hadn't realized, so as far as he was concerned, it was his.

He'd always worn long sleeves no matter how hot he was, it didn't matter to him as long as he could hide his cuts. He also never took his shirt off in front of any of his friends, even his boyfriend.

Brendon had seen his boyfriend shirtless but never has anyone seen him. He felt bad about it but he didn't want people to be worried about him if they saw the bandages on his wrists or even the small cuts or scars he had up his arms or thighs.

Nobody knows about his cutting, not even his boyfriend and he plans to keep it that way.

What they don't know can't hurt them, right?

He didn't want them to think he just wanted attention out of it, everyone wants attention at some point in life.

He cut because it was the only way to make him feel satisfied. He wanted to feel pain.

He has numerous scars all up his arms, and some down his thighs. His old scars are so faint that no one could even see them unless they looked hard enough. So far no one had looked hard enough.

He was clean from it for several years, only did he actually do it in high school. But now, it had sadly become a regular thing.

He'd always repeat the words, 'This is the last time, I promise.'

But never did he actually stick to his promise.

He had everything he ever wanted, an amazing boyfriend, amazing friends, you name it, and he probably had it or was satisfied without it.