If anyone reading does self harm, stay strong beautiful.
Warning: Trigger
MICHAEL: You two tell each other everything…is what he thinks. His smile is always genuine; thinking that you two trust one another with everything and anything. But the truth is, he’s never went past arms length. He’s never felt the scars or the warm blood seeping from your skin in the middle of the night. He’s never heard your scream…as loud as it may be, he has never heard it.
You’ve silently begged him to notice the deep cuts that penetrate your skin during those nights. The nights where you find yourself lost in all the hate. You hear all the voices in your head, causing you to feel suffocated and the only release you have…is your blade.
"Why would Michael ever date a fat girl like you? He’s never seen your cuts because he doesn’t want to see your saggy body."
"Don’t look into any of his mirrors in his apartment…do you want to break his belongings?"
"Don’t you dare step on Michael’s scale in his bathroom, you’ll break it."
"You’re so ugly, he probably pretends there’s a bag over your head every time he sees you."
You don’t know what comes over you, but when realization hits you…it’s too late. You shattered the glass. The little shards of Michael’s bathroom mirror is stuck in your hands as they shake rapidly. Your mouth goes dry as tears burn your cheeks and fall into the wounds.
"(Y/N)?" You gasp, hearing Michael’s voice by the door.
You’ve been caught.
"Sweetheart…" His chest is rising up and down frantically, as everything begins to come into place. He slowly approaches you, afraid you’ll back away from his touch. He reaches his hand out to you slowly, asking, "This is why you never take you jacket or sweater off, isn’t it?"
You’re silent.
You watch as his adam’s apple bobs, tears streaming down his cheeks. His broken eyes say it all, as you whimper, “I-I’m sorry. I-I may seem strong but I break Michael…I break and I can’t fix it-I can’t do this on my own I can’t-.” You collapse in his arms, and he wraps his arms around you, settling you onto the floor. He sees your arms covered in dried cuts, along with your shaking hands with tiny pieces of glass intended in your skin.
He kisses your forehead, his lips longing on your skin. He’s sniffling against your ear, as he whispers, “We’re going to take you to a hospital to get your hands cleaned up. But (Y/N), I want you to know I will never leave you to your lying thoughts again. I’ll be right here by your side to remind you how beautiful, how breath taking you are to me. How without you, my world would be like a lifetime with no sunshine.”
He reaches into your jeans pocket, and pulls the razor blade from your possession. You look into his eyes nervously, as he smiles through his tears, “I’m taking this blade out of your hands and I promise you, I will never give it back.”
LUKE: He knew your ex-boyfriend abused you. He knew all the names he called you, and how he would always remind you how worthless you were. But he didn’t know that his words always lingered in the back of your mind. When Luke would wrap his arms you and whisper how much he loves you and how beautiful you looked, sometimes you would hear your ex’s voice overpowering his.
You two are lying in bed together, with your matching penguin pajamas on. Tears are brimming your eyes when you begin to realize that this feeling is eating away at you and you can’t get rid of it on your own. Luke’s eyes are half lidded, as he’s rubbing your back beneath your shirt to sooth you to sleep. You nearly jump off the bed when he skims over your waist, and feels a fresh cut from last night.
You were weak; you couldn’t help it.
"(Y/N)…what happened to you? Did you bang your hip against something?" He asks, concern in his tone. You bite back your lip, shaking your head slowly, as you admit to your boyfriend of eight months, "I-I wish it was just a harmless bang, Luke. I really wish I could lie to you and say it was no big deal."
Luke’s hand wraps around yours, as you whisper, “I haven’t stopped cutting…I know I told you I did, but I was afraid of what you’d think. I thought I had-I thought I had this under control by myself. I thought I could handle this. You were away on tour and I didn’t want to bother you-.”
You stop talking when you see the hurt in his eyes. He’s never looked so distraught. The tears are gathering in his eyes as he pulls you into his embrace, “You’re not a bother, (Y/N). You’re my girlfriend; the one I say I love you to every night, the one I care about just as much as my family and best friends. I’ll remind you every second of everyday how beautiful you are if that’s what it takes because (Y/N), to be honest, none of your scars can make me love you less.”
CALUM: He’s caught you in the act. He told you he would be gone for at least a few hours-but he forgot his jacket. You were huddled in Calum’s closet behind his clothes with a blade to your thighs, with bleeding wounds obvious to the eye. Calum doesn’t know what to do when he sees you; he can’t scream, for his voice is lost.
"Why?" Your husband cries, dropping his jacket but it doesn’t make a sound.
All you can hear is his sobbing. His lip is quivering as you slowly crawl out of the closet, and sit between his legs, facing his broken expression.
"Every since we got married back in May, people have been tweeting and the magazines have been saying I have thunder thighs…I’m just trying to make them smaller and-." Calum’s fingertips pick up your blood as he traces your choppy thighs.
"You’re so perfect, (Y/N). Don’t let the world change you. I married you because you’re everything I ever wanted in a woman. A sweet, funny, caring, beautiful, compassionate woman who is also my best friend. I love you so much." When he pulls you into his shaking embrace, nothing else matters. It’s just you and Calum’s thoughts that matter; not the press, or the haters…just the love of your life.
ASHTON: The baby weight you’ve gained has been driving you insane. Your feet are swollen, your belly and waist is covered in stretch marks and you can’t help but cringe at your reflection. Standing next to your husband Ashton makes you want to crawl into the darkest hole and be left to your knife. He’s perfect; his toned body never left him after marriage and pregnancy. Ashton continues to get better looking, as you progress into a bigger pumpkin/watermelon figure.
Your phone vibrates on the counter, as the fans comment on a picture you were tagged in with Ashton last weekend at the beach for your anniversary…
"Damn, is she having twins or what?"
"Looks like she’s eating for octuplets.”
"OMG I didn’t know Ashton was going whale watching."
Tears spring from your eyes as you toss your phone, watching it smash into the television screen. You scream loudly, and begin to pick at your skin. Whenever you felt this unexplainable feeling of depression, you needed to pinch. You always made sure to leave your fingertips long enough for it to inflict pain. Your hands shake as you dig into your skin roughly, feeling your baby girls feet kicking in response.
Nail marks are covering your body and you jump, seeing Ashton walk in. He sees you doubled over on the floor, and rushes to your side.
"Baby…baby, baby, what’s wrong sweetheart? Is it our little kicker again?" He asks, until he notices the fingernail marks on your skin. They’re red and raw, some bleeding, some already dry.
"Sweetheart…oh, (Y/N)…come here." He takes you into his arms, pulling you against his chest. He leans against the wall, and kisses your neck lightly, up to your ear.
"(Y/N), I love you so much. Those people who comment rudely or nastily don’t deserve to make you cry or hurt yourself. You’re carrying a little baby in here, a life. You’re responsible for our little girl, you’re her home right now…she needs her mommy. Your belly is for rubbing, not for harming." Ashton whimpers, his tears falling onto your shoulder.
"Can I tell you something, (Y/N)?" You nod at his question, "Nobody is perfect…but then I saw you."
