I'm Not Supposed To Like You

F I V E

TW: MAJOR Self harm

Shigaraki's p.o.v

   My neck hurt like hell whenever it was bandaged up for a while. I contemplated taking off the gauze but Dabi told me it would have made the scars worse. At this point, the scars were inevitable and it itched to have the bandages on so after he left my house, I ripped them off. My neck was slick with Neosporin and blood. The white gauze was now stained a deep red, residing in the small trash can in the bathroom. I stood in the mirror looking at my neck. Was I really a villain? I did this to myself, imagine what I would do to someone else. It hurt me to think that way but it was true. I was dangerous to society. Anyone could be hurt by me if I went to far but in the end I would just end up hurting myself worse.

   A sudden rush of anxiety and guilt ran through my veins and seemed to rest in my head giving me a migraine. I sat down on the tile floor and began to scratch my neck, the stinging pain coming to me from the tender skin from mere hours before. The blood started flowing back quickly but I couldn't stop. It hurt badly but I couldn't stop thinking of the people I had hurt worse. My parents. Teachers. Friends. Dabi.

"Loving someone is more dangerous to health than smoking. You kill me too."

   I'm killing him now. I'm hurting him. This pain can't be anything worse than he has to deal with. A deep pit fills my stomach and I lean to the toilet puking up anything I've eaten in the past few days. I clutch my hand over my stomach, letting my palm rest easily on my abdomen, careful not to dissolve my shirt away. Laying back, my pale blue hair cascades around my head. The tile was cold against my head and neck, the cool blood switching directions and following gravity, starting to curl around and leave a puddle of crimson under my head. It curled it's way around my neck spilling onto my hair and the floor beneath me. Sitting up, the feeling comes back to my stomach and I puke again, this time more painful. My head was pounding and I felt like it would explode at any second. Without standing, I dig my hands through the drawers of my bathroom and hope to find the migraine pills I had slipped in there but I find something better.

A small pocket knife.

   Grabbing it my hands, I flip the knife open, the silver blade glistening in the light. Staring at it a bit more, I set it down on the tile and eventually find the bottle of pills and Dabi's pack of cigarettes. I guess they fell from his bag when he got his first aid kit out. I was about to throw them away when I opened it and found the lighter inside too. Perfect. Taking two migraine pills, I dry swallow them before turning my attention to the cigarettes. What was the big deal with these anyway? Taking one out, I hold it like Dabi taught me to and lit it sucking in the smoke. I started coughing up the smoke, the instant feel of poison entering my lungs. The lit ashes fell on my leg leaving a hot burn and I hissed in pain. But the pain turned to something worse. With a sinister smile, I pressed the lit end of the cigarette to my leg, the smell of burnt skin filling the small bathroom. Hissing in pain, I lifted it up and pressed it down on a different spot leaving small circles of burned flesh lining my legs. I wonder if this is what his quirk felt like on his skin?

   The cigarette had gone out after a few times of using itand was useless so I threw it away and went straight for the lighter. Holding my fingers above the flame, I started flicking it and letting the flames burn my fingertips. If I didn't have fingers, I didn't have a quirk. And without a quirk I couldn't hurt people. Throwing the lighter across the room, I let it clang against the cabinets before landing with a thud on the floor. I felt so tired. Tired if standing, living, loving, breathing. I can't tell which reason made me fall to the ground. I touched my arm with all five fingers and it started to tingle and dissolve the flesh. My quirk was still there. Sadly. I didn't notice the salty tears streaming down my face until they mixed in with the blood on the floor and my hands. Wiping them away, I sat against the wall and looked down at the pocket knife on the floor. I had almost forgot about that. Grabbing it, I held it for a second admiring the carved handle. I forget where I got if from but be had it for years now, I'm assuming a gift of some sort.

   Holding it in my right hand, I rested my left arm in the air, placing the blade horizontally on my upper arm. Without a second thought, I sliced quickly. I felt no pain, only a slight sting and blood slowly made its way out of the slit. That wasn't enough. I went down farther towards my wrists instead of upper arm, slicing in all different directions before switching to my other arm and doing the same. It felt relieving. I was covered in blood from my back to my arms. My legs were burnt and my hands were the worst, white blisters all over my finger tips. I looked like a mess. I looked insane. I looked like a villain. But as far as anyone thought, I was a villain. A no good, terrible, hurtful, dangerous villain.

   Sliding my back down the wall. I laid on my back, the cold tile pressed against my back. I felt loopy and out of it completely. My headache went away while the rest of my body hurt like hell. It felt like I was slashed with a thousand knifes all at once in different places of my body. Without a second thought, my hand rested on the tile to my side and dissolved to ash, my other hand doing the same. Around my body ashes rested on the once tile floor. The light above me was blinding so I closed my eyes and let the darkness take over. The dark felt nice; calm and relaxing. With a hum of satisfaction, my head rolled to the side and black took over my entire body. Was this death? Or the more important question I had;

Would anyone even notice I was gone?