Wrong

•34•

⚠ Suicidal thoughts and actions, blood, self harm, death(?), pLoT tWiSt⚠

Word count: 1903

Inspiration: Chapter 3 of It; "Stanley Uris Takes a Bath"

I've had this chapter done for over a month, so I really hope you enjoy!

*Stan's POV*

It was 9:16 am when I heard a rapid knocking on the door. Eddie had come over to helped me with wedding plans. It's his favorite thing to do nowadays.

He's too stressed to get a job, he doesn't like be out in the open and vulnerable. He has this fear that if he goes in a super public place, Dan will find him.

So instead of working, he stays with me all day. It helps both of us honestly. I don't trust myself being all alone with all of these knifes around. Or razors, scissors, pills or something else.

But I try not to think about everything dangerous in the house. I will myself to think about Bill and the Losers. How they all love me, even though they shouldn't. How they willingly hang with me, even though I'm pathetic and worthless.

"Staaaaan, you're spacing out again." Eddie nudged me and I snapped out of my thoughts.

"S-sorry Eddie, I'm just thinking..."

"About?"

Death. How I hate myself. How easy it would be to just grab a steak knife and slit my throat and wrists.

"Nothing."

Eddie looked at me suspiciously. He always knows when something's up, probably because he knows what it's like to feel like this.

"Shitty, crappy or angry?"

We made up this code a while back, when I first found out about how Eddie cuts. Shitty means you feel bad about yourself. Either from eating, cutting or just hating yourself in general. Crappy means you want to cut again. Angry means you're feeling suicidal.

"All of them." I muttered and Eddie's eyes popped open in concern.

"God Stan... I'm really sorry. Hugs?"

I nodded every so slightly and Eddie flug himself towards me. I couldn't help but smile as his small figure tried to wrap over my back, almost like a blanket.

"You're loved, Stanley Uris. Please, promise you'll come to me if you want to do anything?"

I just looked down at floor and didn't answer.

"St-Stan," Eddie's voice started cracking. "Promise. Please?"

"Ok, Eddie... I promise."

What a lie that was.

•°•

Now, I know I promised. But 16 hours later, at around 1:30 am, I wasn't thinking about that. All I could think about was killing myself.

Everyone has to die eventually, why don't I just end it early? It's not like anyone would REALLY care.

I walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind. I can't do this anymore. I know I promised Bill and Eddie I'd talked to them if I ever felt like this, but they'd just be so disappointed in me.

Stumbling to the shower, I grabbed the razor. My head was throbbing as I spun it around in my fingers.

"I could kill myself right now," I muttered to myself. "And nobody would even care. The Losers would move on, they wouldn't even remember my name."

I threw the razor against the floor and smashed it with my foot. It broke easily, all of the blades seperating from the plastic. I picked up one of the silver pieces and stared at it for a second.