Only God Will Know

9007 words!

  The blonde was angry a lot (or at least what he calls angry) and he couldn't hide that fact. He grew up in a household where all emotions were amplified by ten and the one he felt the most was sadness. Of course he said he was angry, and chose to say he was angry a lot of the time instead of just coming forwards and telling others that deep down inside, he was just depressed. He was just sad all of the time for no reason, and it felt like one wrong thing, one failure would end him.
  Sometimes he'd wake up in the middle of the night, and his scarlet eyes would sting and he'd look around his room and no one would be there to comfort him. Even after he started living in the dorms with their near soundproof walls, he'd never allowed himself to cry. It felt like giving up, like he was telling what was sucking the life out of him, that it'd won. So he'd shove it down into the ball in his stomach that was always threatening to blow and he'd leave it and just stare into the darkness in front of him.
  Maybe it was because that darkness would occasionally start breathing, and out of that absence of light he'd see the young leader of the League of Villians smiling at him with his hands carefully folded in front of him. Or he'd see his hero, All Might, the man who gave everything he had left to saving him since he had already given his power to someone who he believed to barely exist.
  Maybe there was some anger in him somewhere, just it wasn't the black burning kind, it was the kind that eats away at someone slowly. Guilt and jealousy disguise themselves so, thinking that accepting anger is easier than accepting the former. And it's not entirely wrong.
  Tonight was one of those nights where he'd wake up and look into the void and feel that pit in his stomach expand and the ball that hid itself inside of it vibrate. Only this time, he didn't just sit there, he got up and he walked through the halls of his dorm. The bathrooms weren't too far away and all he really wanted to do was splash some water on his face. But most, if not all, half-asleep minds like to wander, and his was no different. His went to the usual places, like how he wanted to fight Deku, the nobody who became somebody, because he felt that the green haired boy thought he was better than him. He hated that he liked to make him feel small and smile about it, he really disliked Deku.
  There were also the nightmares of his hero crumpling on live TV and retiring because of him, and those League of Villain people who took him and forced him to watch. Yet, there was a little ray of sunshine in his mind and his name was Kirishima.
  The blonde wasn't sure when his infatuation with him started, but he couldn't help but feel his heart flutter when they locked eyes during training or how his stomach would flip when he draped his arm across his shoulder. And even though he acted like the innocent PDA made him angry, he wanted more of it. He wanted to hold his hand and kiss his lips, he just wanted to be his, he just wanted to be Kirishima's.
  The bathroom door stood in front of him, as if taunting him somehow in the dark, telling him that no one would see what he would do in there anyway. It told him that it'd ease the ball and the pit, and that if he did it tonight it'd go away. The door said it had a simple fix, and the scarlet eyed teen growled at it as he practically slammed it open and entered.
  "I don't want your fix." He grumbled, glaring into the mirror. He started to run the water and sighed, maybe he did want the fix... he shook his head and splashed his face with the freezing water. "What I need to do is tell my mom." He stopped himself, "Maybe Aizawa-sensei..."
  The door's voice seemed to enter the cabinet door and it told him his family and teachers couldn't help, he just needed a fix, the fix. It said no medicine would make the emptiness go away, no amount of bullshiting to a shrink would help.
  It told him that he needed the fix.
  The fix sounded so good, he splashed his face again but it didn't work like last time. The water continued to run, providing a calming white noise while his hands gripped the sink until his knuckles turned white. He wanted the fix, he needed the fix. "I shouldn't." But the cabinet door called.
  His legs felt weak and he slid to the floor, his scarlet eyes glued to the handle. The cabinet door called out to him by name saying, come on, Bakugou. It's only one time. Only God will know.
  He gulped and opened the cabinet. Inside he found a classmate's shaving kit, embroidered on the side was the name Tenya Iida. "He wouldn't know if I just took one..." opening the kit carefully, he looked through it precariously. He prayed to whoever would listen that no one would come through the door as he pulled out an unused razor blade and stared at it. The blonde closed the kit and set in back where he found it the way he found it. The cabinet door closed and he rolled up his sleeve, trying to figure out how far down his uniform sleeve fell.
  His brain argued with him as he found a place he felt would be unnoticeable. The small voice inside told him all kinds of things as he placed the cold metal against his arm, trying to find a way to talk himself out of it and throw away the small piece of metal before it did any damage it couldn't undo.
  It'll hurt. I don't mind.
  You'll regret it. That's okay.
  It won't just be this one time. Liar.
  Think about what'll happen if they find out. They won't.
  Please-
  He pressed down and slid the metal across his sun kissed skin. Fresh red flowed out from the cut and covered all of the exposed skin near it, it dripped onto his shirt, his pants, and the ground. But the blonde didn't care, the pain sizzled through this skin and his face didn't move an inch. He didn't smile or frown or grimace at it, he just stared blankly at the self-inflicted wound and the pit grew smaller but the ball grew in size.
  This was a bad idea. No, it wasn't.
  You need to stop. No, I don't think I will.
  As if in a daze he brought it across his arm several more times and by the time he stopped, there was a sizable puddle beneath him and all the fabric that had only been slightly damp before, was wet. His daze still didn't end as he got up, threw away the evidence of what he'd done and took off his shirt to soak up the red puddle on the ground. He wasn't sure what he was doing, and while he was washing off his arm and covering the still bleeding cuts with paper towels, he realized that he had no plan on what to do after he was done. There was that moment of release where all the tension he had melted away and nothing else mattered except for the cool metal in his fingers. He had thought he'd be afraid to actually go through with it, but as he watched himself pat down his red arm in the mirror, the blonde wanted to vomit as he found he truly couldn't care less.
  Panic started to settle in now as the daze left and he looked around the bathroom. He needed a towel but the showers were on another level, then again he had walked all the way down here without anyone waking up, but he couldn't risk someone coming in and find the red puddle and his shirt while he was gone. What else was there? He opened the cabinet door again, thank God for Deku's constant bone breaking, and found a small first aid kit (there were about five in there, but this one had the most bandages in it) and opened it. He washed his arm again and wrapped himself up the same way he'd seen Recovery Girl do for Deku a thousand times before sprinting out of the bathroom and down a flight of stairs into the showers.
  The next twenty or so minutes flashed by as he got the towel, ran back up the stairs and cleaned up the 'mess' he'd left behind. All the remains of that night were gone if one didn't bother to count the red pants, shirt or towel. Running back down the stairs he returned to the shower, found a type of plastic wrap made for covering bandages (he never realized how many of his classmates got hurt in training...) and got into the shower with the shirt, pants, and towel in hand. For an hour he worked at the washing them and the towel with the only thought racing through is head being: great job dumb fuck, why didn't you do this in your room or over a sink?
  Then he'd slap himself and say he shouldn't have done it at all before reverting back into the thoughts of how he was going to do it again without all the anxiety and clean up. The cabinet said only God would know, yet it seemed that the Devil would know too.
  The hour ended and his clothes and the towel were as clean as they could get without being thrown into a washing machine. He washed himself too of course as the panic of the night made him sweat through his pants, he was sure the bathroom would smell like caramel for the next couple of days as he dried off and got out the extra pair of clothes he kept in his locker.
  As he made his way up the stairs he stopped and turned around, heading for the landruary room instead. He figured he could do what clothes had been left over from the previous day and get out the fresh red from the items in his hands. He prayed again that they wouldn't stain as he threw them into the first washer he found alongside a couple black clothing items he found strewn about in hopes of the 'color' not bleeding into the other clothes.
  The blonde felt a little drowsy watching the washing machine do it's work and he wasn't sure why. He woke up at the same time every night and stared into the void until dawn when he put on new clothes and went to class with everyone else who were unaware of his issues, and he unaware of theirs.
  He started to doze off the washer binged and he moved the clothes into the dryer, when he saw the once semi-red items he brought down no longer barred the nights mark, he threw them into the dryer and went upstairs. He'd get them in the morning or the next night, now he just wanted to sleep. The panic had taken its toll, he realized as he closed his dorm room door and fell fast asleep.