Chapter 2

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Chapter 2: TW self-harm, blood

It left him needing much, much more.

He gave in the next night.

Come on, he hadn’t even reached blood last time. What was he, weak? Virgil couldn’t be weak. He’d been told all his life how strong he was. But it wouldn’t be the first time he did everything wrong. Wasn’t he supposed to be smart? He skipped a grade, and yet-- when was the last time he’d said something worth hearing? When was the last time he was enough for anyone? When was the last time he hadn’t been a useless, fragile burden? A lump of dead weight holding back everyone in his life? A--

Something cool touched his foot, pulling him out of his head. He’d given himself seventeen jagged gashes across his calf. A pool of blood was collecting by his ankle and was about to drip to the floor. A splatter of blood that big on his floor would be hard to clean and harder to explain. Taking a deep breath, he reached backwards and pulled the old pair of leggings he used to use out from under his mattress.

Damn. He’d forgotten that school started the next day, and now he’d fucked up his leg. There was no way jeans could be comfortable tomorrow. Sighing, he wrapped the leggings around himself and curled up under his blanket, staring wide-eyed at his ceiling. School would take most of the acting skills and energy skills he had in him. Maybe if he ever found a reason to live he’d get into some prestigious acting school.

Right. As if. Maybe in some alternate timeline where he was straight and Christian how he was supposed to be. Maybe he was happy in that timeline, too. Ha. Cute idea.

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