Tear-Stained Straight Face - Depressed Logan

Late Nights, Early Mornings

***Trigger Warning: There is talk of self harm and suicide throughout this chapter. Be cautious***

He laid in bed, one hand resting on the back of his neck, the other draped across his chest. He looked at everything, and nothing.

What's the point? As long as you can't sleep you might as well be productive.

His thoughts prompted him to get up, to do something, anything. And yet he continued to lay, as if he were glued to the bed itself, the blanket stitched tightly around his joints, forcing him to stay perfectly still. He took a deep breath, feeling the air enter his lungs. Why did it feel so different now? Why did each breath feel exhausting, as if ending them would be some form of respite. He closed his eyes, beckoning for sleep to draw him in, to give some break from his endless stream of thoughts. And yet, the longer he sat, the more he knew this would be just another restless night. Hours seemed to go by in minutes, and by the time he glanced at his alarm clock, it read 4:35 AM. 

Logan sighed and sat up, rubbing his sore neck and heading to the kitchen. He filled a mug with some of the cold coffee from yesterday morning, sticking it into the microwave. As he started the machine and turned around, he only then noticed Virgil staring at him, sitting at the island of the kitchen, holding his phone. He seemed equally surprised to see the other side, and slowly took off his headphones.

"Hey... You're up late... Or early?"

Logan merely waved him off, turning as the microwave beeped to retrieve his drink. He sat across from Virgil, staring down at the coffee, deep in thought. A slight sting emanated from his arm, but he tried his best to ignore it. I should really doctor those again... After some time, he looked up, seeing Virgil staring at him, a look of concern on his face.

"Logan... Can we talk...?"

Logan nodded slowly, worried that the other side might have caught on to him. I didn't think it was that obvious...

"I just... You've been acting... unusual. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Logan looked down at his cup, hoping to keep his thoughts a secret. "Yeah, no, I've been doing fine. Why do you ask have I been acting out of the ordinary?"

Virgil watched Logan stare at his coffee, absently rubbing his forearm. Had he always worn long sleeves to bed? And during the day, to say the least? No, this was new. And alarming.

"This might sound weird... But can I see your arm...?"

Logan shot up, panic quickly rising in his stomach. "Wh-why do you need to see m-my arm?"

"I just... Nevermind, I guess it's nothing..."

Logan stood up, grabbing his coffee cup. "W-well, I should return to my room. Goodnight" He strode to his room door, desperate to get out of the tense situation.

Virgil sighed, putting his headphones back on. Stupid... Obviously that would be too much... He grabbed his phone and walked to his room, making a mental note to check back in with Logan in the morning.

Logan quickly closed the door, setting the trembling coffee cup down on his bedside table. He slid to the floor, tears welling in his eyes and his breath becoming unsteady. The room became fuzzy, the edges of his vision fading slightly. He reached under his bed and pulled out a small, unlabeled box. He opened it, revealing a dozen or so razors of various types and lengths. I really shouldn't... But these thoughts... They're too much!

Do it...

Do it.

NOW!!

He reached into the box and pulled out the sharpest razor in the collection, setting the box on the ground and pulling up his sleeve. He stared down at the scarred muddle of cuts, each marking a day when he couldn't handle his own brain. Control had never been a problem for him. He had been cool-headed, logical, precise. But lately, his thoughts had just become more and more cluttered and vague. He couldn't think... Until recently. The only way to clear his head that he knew was with the sharp pains. He slowly rested the edge of the blade onto his skin, feeling the cool touch, the potential growing. His hand trembled slightly, causing the blade to nick his arm. He pulled away quickly, the unexpected pain startling him. A small bead of blood slowly grew on the cut, and he examined it. That's a lot for such a small cut... I guess this thing is sharper than I thought... He slowly pressed the blade down again, gliding it through his flesh. He didn't even register the pain until the blade had made it's way down his arm.

MORE!!!

He searched for an empty space, anywhere where he could continue. He looked up at his wrist, seriously considering it for the first time. He had read that a single cut too far down into this sensitive spot could send him to the ER, or could even kill him.

What does it matter? It's not like anyone would care.

Do it, you'll feel better.

It only hurts for a little.

Do it!

DO IT!!!

He slid the blade through his wrist, tears running down his cheeks as the blood began to run. And continued. And didn't stop. He blinked, watching as the blood ran down his arm. What do I do? The red liquid continued it's quickening pace, reaching his elbow and beginning to drip onto the ground. He felt sick and dizzy, the haze in his vision quickly returning. What have I done?! He tried to stand, finding he was too weak to walk. He crawled to the door, barely reaching the doorknob before stumbling to the ground. Help!! Help me!! He tried to scream, but a mere mutter came from his throat. Just before his vision went dark, he could see Patton run through the door. He heard the echo of his scream, a faded whisper in the back of his mind. Then his thoughts started to slow...

Slower...

Then stop.