Wrong

•2•

⚠ Implied rape, self harm ⚠

*Eddie's POV*

6 meals. That's an entire weekend worth of food. That's how many meals I skipped. That's how many meals I had to make for Daniel. That's how many meals I had to watch him eat, while not having any food for myself.

Then it was 9 meals. Daniel smirked when I said I "wasn't hungry" on Monday.

"Good." he muttered and shoveled eggs into his mouth. I just sat quietly across from him. When he threw the plate into the sink, I flinched, terrified of the sudden noise. Daniel chuckled.

"See? Now you're aware of everything around you. I'm helping you, and it's paying off!"

I nodded frantically. He's just trying to help me. That's all. He loves me, I swear.

12 meals. I don't plan on eating at all today. I'm actually not hungry. I don't have an appetite after last night.

I was making him dinner, homemade mac & cheese, when I knocked over the bag of shredded cheese. I could feel all the blood drain from my face and I started cleaning quickly. I felt a big hand grab my shoulder and turn me around.

"Eddie." he said with ice in his voice.

"I'm r-real s-sorry Dan, I didn't mean t-to!" I tried pleading with him as he dragged me up the stairs and into our bedroom.

"N-no, p-please Danny!" He only did this when he was really mad. I deserved it though, I messed up.

I shut up after he started undressing me. I knew I couldn't stop him now.

So, when morning rolled around, I saw an ice pack and a note next to me.

I forgot to make a cut last night, make one yourself. I'll be checking.

They used to be little love letters. It would show me that he cared, and that he loved me. He would write things like "I love you hun" or "I bought you flowers, they're downstairs". Now, it's always threatening messages.

I shuddered and grabbed the knife from his drawer. I cut a deep gash in my stomach then stared at my arms.

I stood up and walked to the bathroom still holding the knife, blood starting to drip down my stomach. I climbed into the bathtub and start cutting my wrists.

This felt so amazing. Like I finally have some control over the pain in my life. I need to cut, it makes me feel better, and when Daniel sees the scars, he says that at least I know what I deserve.

I tear my hand away from my wrist and look down at the cuts. There's too many to count. I start to feel light headed, but I don't care, I just go to work on my other arm. I barely get to 10 cuts before I heard a pounding on my front door.

"Ey, is there a Mr. Spaghetti here? Edward Spaghetti?" I hear an awful New Jersey accent say. Richie.

At first I'm relieved. I haven't been able to see him since Saturday morning and now it's Tuesday. And I only got to see him briefly for breakfast.

But then reality sets in. I'm bruised up and down, my arms gushing blood. Richie can't see me right now.

"Richie, why are you here?"

"What, can't a guy visit his friend of almost 10 years?"

"Not right now, no! Rich, you gotta go."

"Why?" I can tell his voice is laced with concern, but I can't calm him down right now.

"I got a stomach bug and I could get you sick!"

"Fine," he sighs. "But call me when you feel better, ok?" And with that, he's gone.

It's weird, as much as I don't want him to see me, I wish he'd stayed. I wish he had said 'Screw it, I don't care if I get sick' and walked upstairs. I wish he had seen me, and I would have to tell him everything. And he could tell me that it's gonna be ok and that I'll be fine. Then he'd hold me in his arms and hug me until we both fall asleep. And then Danny would come home. And Richie would yell at him and beat the shit out of him. And then we'd leave, head back to his apartment, watch Friends and cuddle. And we'd call up the Losers and they'd come and make everything better. And I could finally be happy again.

But that's not what happens. What happens is that Richie leaves me, not thinking too much of it. What happens is that I keep cutting. What happens is that I pass out. Daniel doesn't come home for another 7 hours. He walks into the bathroom to see me bleeding out in the tub. He calls 911, but he doesn't cry. Not even a little bit.