Converse x Vans

Downhill

Tw: thoughts of self harm and self harm

Charlie's POV

Last night was amazing and so thoughtful of Nick but still what Ben said lingers in the back of my head, I'm getting better at least I was but I'm eating better but the urge to self harm still stays no matter what happened. Even so that when I even just have scissors in my hand  when cutting paper for work, that intrusive thought is still there and it's starting to affect me.

Nicks still on a high from last night but I don't know if this is the right time to tell him.

"Hey Nick" I whisper.

"Yeah, what's up" Nick says knowing that when I whisper somethings wrong.

He grabs my hands and says. "It's okay you can tell me every if it's about last night"

"It's not it's just" I start.

Nick smiles nodding to say that he is listening.

"Well I feel like my ED has been getting worse and to be honest everything's getting worse and I'm sorry but I was worrying the whole time last night, I loved it but it just I don't know"

"Hey that's okay" Nick assures me. "It's okay to feel that way"

"Yeah your right"

"But you have to tell me if your anxious ok I can't help you if you don't tell me"

"Hey it's okay I'm not mad but I do need to go to work today they said it was an emergency will you be okay here or do you want me to stay home.

"Okay" I frown.

I get up when, Nick grabs my arm.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"This" he says.

He pulls me in towards him and starts to kiss me, obviously I joined in the kiss but for some reason it felt different this time. He pulls my waist in as we kiss, me on my tippy toes kissing the love of my life that for some reason seems weird.

"Ok I've got go" Nick says.

"Ok bye hunny" I wave.

"Bye." He says.

He leaves and my mind spins around for a few seconds before it stops and lands on the thought of the knife cabinet? No, no I'm getting better no. But this voice tells me that's I'm getting worse.

"I'm getting better"

"No you aren't, he's probably leaving you"

"NO" I scream trying to shut the voice out of my head but it keeps coming back.

"Cut, cut, cut cut cut cut cut cut cut. He's leaving you anyways" the voice eggs me on.

I get up and stumble towards the kitchen. I open the kitchen cabinet and grab the sharpest knife and with a tiny bit of force I glide it across my wrist. Blood flows from my arm, again and again I glide the knife across my arm until many cuts are visible. Shit. I've got to call someone not Nick but someone. I pull my phone out of my pocket and go to messages, Nick, Harry. I dial Harry.