Broken English • Lafayette x Reader

~7: Past Incidents Have Current Consequences~

~(Y/N) POV~

As I flopped onto my bed, it gave a slight squeak and a frustrated groan escaped my lips. Why did I do that? He was just joking! Wait, he was just joking, right? Oh of course he was. I rolled over and clawed at my face; I'm such a disaster.

~Lafayette's POV~

As I sat back on the ground, I clutched my gut; it was no longer sore, I just needed to hold onto something to keep me grounded. What I didn't tell her earlier was that my head spin, she kicked me so hard. But that fact didn't keep away the one thing that plagued me. I was just joking; wait I was just joking, right? I'm such a disaster.

I shook my head and felt the rubber band holding my hair up snap. It kept its shape, but I ran my hands through my hair, allowing the kinky mass to fall down around my head and land on my shoulders. Huffing, I stood up and walked down the hall tentatively to the bathroom. My hands slapped the white sink-bowl as I stared into the polished mirror. I took in the way my hair fell, the shape of my eyes and nose, everything. How much I looked like my cousin with my hair down, and how much I wanted to be him in this moment. He is always so smooth when it comes to things like this. He knows exactly what to say, how to act, and gets everything he wants.

I wish I was him.

I wish I was Thomas.

Faster than you could blink, my emotions changed entirely. I closed the bathroom door and pushed my back against it, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. I buried my head into my hands. A warm tear stung my wind-chapped cheek as it silently descended. This isn't how I'm supposed to feel; I'm supposed to be a grown man. I should not like this, like a child.

I was only a child.

I dug my palms into my eyes to try to keep the images out of my mind, but to no avail. Images flashed through my mind: my father coming home in a casket, my mother sick in bed and dying not long after that. I shook my head desperately, frantically feeling for my phone; it was only a few feet away on the floor.

Sucking in my breath trying to stay quiet, I bit my lip and unlocked the screen with quivering hands.

~~

LeBaguette- It's happening again.

~~

I leaned my head against the door and breathed in and out, trying to stabilize my heartbeat.

~~

Horse-ules- What is?

Horse-ules- Oh my god, Laff. I'm on my way. Don't go into the bathroom, I'll be there in a moment.

~~

Help was on its way. All I had to do was get out of this god-forsaken bathroom. I stood and prepared myself to leave, but my hand froze just before I was able to reach the door handle. Something nagged at the back of my mind and I hated myself for it. I looked at the handle, and then at a drawer behind me, below the mirror, near the floor. Turning around, I opened the drawer to come face-to-face with its single occupant. An old razor.

I picked it up and examined it closely. It wasn't completely clean as I had hoped: there were small, dry patches of blood on the handle. My blood. I pulled up the sleeve on my left arm and took in every small, nearly invisible scar on my dark skin. Closing my eyes, I made motions of sliding the gleaming blades across my skin without actually touching myself. 'One can't hurt.' I touched it to my arm and then pulled it away, 'Yes it can. I promised I wouldn't.'  I heard the front door fling open. I dropped the razor in surprise and jumped aside when the bathroom door began opening and a shiny, round face peeked in.