scars and stories

habits

Very heavy content! S*lf h*rm and mental health issues are the star of this chapter, please don't read it if it could be damaging to you. It is easily skippable, and not reading it shouldn't affect your understanding of the next chapters, so please consider not reading if it could be an issue.

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"The first time wasn't... I didn't mean for it to happen. And, spirits, I never meant for it to get so out of hand. The first time was about a year after Su left the city, when mom retired. I'd just stepped in as Chief, and I don't know why, but it was much more stressful than I'd expected. There had been a reasonably large explosion on the outskirts of the city, and in the fight afterwards, we'd managed to arrest every gang member involved, but I lost several officers in doing so. When I got home, I was a mess. It surprised me just how painful each of those losses were, even though I'd barely known the officers. I was careless taking off my uniform, and when I sat on my bed, I noticed a trickle of blood running down my leg..."

I stare at the cut. My vision is still slightly blurred from my tears, but something about that small red line... It's barely an inch long, and not deep at all. I must've really not been paying attention when taking off my uniform, I usually never let the sharp edges scrape me.

My mind is spinning with the day's events. No civilian casualties. Only one triad member killed, and not by an officer. He jumped from the sixth story of the building as it exploded.

Four officers. Four of the most highly trained metalbenders in the city, who cared only to protect the city, now dead.

I read their files at least twenty times each before leaving my office earlier. Two of them had been parents, both to very young kids. Kids that would now have to grow up with only one parent. Another was barely more than a kid herself. She'd finished her training only months before, and now... The last was the highest ranking officer besides myself. He'd served closely alongside my mother for many years.

While I'm lost in thought, my eyes stay fixed on the cut. There's something so... enchanting about it. An urge comes suddenly over me to cut my leg again, on purpose this time.

I shake my head against the absurd thought, shoving it aside. What would that ever achieve? I shake my head again and get up to make food.

Several hours pass by, and my focus remains on doing mundane tasks around my apartment. When I go to the bathroom to shower and get ready for bed, however, my attention is drawn suddenly back to the already healing cut on my inner thigh. The image of a single drop of blood falling from it flashes in my mind again.

Before I have the time to think reasonably, my hand reaches for my razor, bending one of the small blades out of it. I pause for a second, momentarily seeing how absurd what I'm about to do is, before letting the impulse blind me.

I sit cross-legged on the floor and slash at my thigh. Each time the blade cuts through my skin, it stings, but makes it somehow easier to breath. It almost feels... good. I stop after about ten marks are made, setting the blade on the counter in front of me. I'm fixated by the streams of red liquid dripping slowly down my thigh and onto the cold ground.

I'm not sure how much time passes, but it feels like an eternity sitting on the bathroom floor. I finally force myself to move, to stop staring at the now scabbing marks. I turn the shower head on, adjusting the water's temperature before stepping in. I look down at my thigh again.

I'll never do it again, I think to myself as I wash my body of that day's events. A lump in my throat tells me that it's a lie, but I ignore it. Even if it is a lie, nobody will even know. And it was such a release to do...

"...I never threw out that blade. It became a habit, anytime I had a rough day at work, lost an officer, was extra stressed for any reason... There were some periods during which I sat on the floor every day, forcing the blade deeper and deeper every time. I numbed myself to the reality of what I was doing to myself, and I- I've never told anyone. I still do it from time to time, I don't know how not to. I'm sorry, I- I- "

Lin's chest felt like it was going to collapse. They'd never spoken to anyone about this nasty little habit, and they'd just told Kya everything. It felt like their skin had been peeled off, like every inch of them was exposed completely.

Kya didn't know what to say. She knew Lin had never been big on sharing personal issues, so their openness and trust in her were a shock. The first story had been interesting, and Kya had even been surprised at Lin's willingness to share it considering their insecurities regarding the scars, but this story was on another level.

Kya looked up from the spot on the floor she'd fixed her eyes on while listening, meeting the earthbender's searching eyes. They looked so lost, so raw. Kya's heart clenched. She wanted so badly to make Lin happy, to take away all the hurt and anger they kept locked inside. A tear fell from Lin's eye as they blinked.

Kya reached her hand up, gently using her thumb to swipe it away. Lin pulled their face away, letting out a quivering breath. After several more breaths, each one getting gradually deeper, they continued on to the next story. One that hurt a little less.