Myct oneshots (ON HIATUS FOR NOW)

Vulnerable [Dnf]

Tw: self harm, blood, blade/razor mention, swearing (not a lot)

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I stared at my hands, the tiny razor blade resting upon my pale skin.

I was shaking, and my vision was blurry. Tears were streaming down my face, refusing to stop.

I couldn't breathe properly. And everything around me just stopped when I picked up the razor, and put it against my skin.

I dug my razor into my right arm, I felt the feeling I was longing for. I could see and feel the blood slowly drip onto my sleeves.

One cut turned into two, and two cuts turned into five, and then five cuts turned into ten, and now everything felt like it was covered in blood.

My heart pounded, realizing what I had just done, in disbelief, my razor slipped out of my hands.

My arms were covered in blood, and I was still shaking.

I heard loud knocking, and inaudible yelling. I couldn't bring myself to open the door. I couldn't open the door.

My arms were in far too much pain to move, let alone open a door.

And then I heard a loud crash.

The one who was knocking broke the door down.

I looked up, I was still crying. And at the sight of him, I sobbed even harder.

He stared at me with so much guilt, anger, and just complete sorrow.

His eyes were bloodshot, meaning he was probably also crying. Why? No idea.

He walked up to me, opening his mouth, Clay spoke in a comforting tone— "George, please come here..." He closed his mouth. Sounding sympathetic, I stared him dead in the eyes. Not blinking, or breaking our eye contact.

I started hysterically laughing.

"I-I am just so fucking pathetic, aren't I?" I spoke breathlessly with a mix of hiccups, sobs and laughter. Holding out my arms, I stared at the ground.

His eyes widened, kneeling infront of me; he grabbed onto my hands, he put his head on my lap and sobbed.

We cried together. For what felt like hours was only a few minutes.

The pain in my right arm was becoming unbearable, but it's okay. I deserve it.

I deserve every stinging feeling, I deserve to be in pain.

I stared at my arm, I felt like throwing up at the sight of all my scars. The horribly healed ones, the ones that were almost infected, and the small scars from the first time I ever cut myself.

I looked at my left arm. When it looked like I was running out of room on my right, I made small barely noticeable ones on my wrist.

Clay rubbed circles on my palms. He lifted up his head, letting go of one of my hands to wipe off his own tears and mine.

"George?" Clay spoke softly, he lifted up my chin, making me look in his eyes. Wiping my tears again, he spoke—"We should get you cleaned up... alright?" I nodded and he gently pulled me to my feet.

Leading me to the sink, he washed off the blood. I gasped slightly. It stung, but the relief I'd feel afterwards was worth it.

He wet a cloth and laid it on my arms. Soaking up the blood, it felt good.

He let go of my arm, moving away for a second to grab cotton pads and rubbing alcohol

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I held my breath, awaiting the much worse stinging feeling of the disinfectants.

He took off the cloth, "You can squeeze my arm, I know it's going to sting a lot." He spoke, pouring the rubbing alcohol on the cotton pad.

Clay gently dabbed my right arm with the cotton pad. I bit my lip, quietly gasping at the feeling. I squeezed his arm, throwing my head back I breathed heavily.

It went by quick, it didn't take him long to disinfect the cuts. He grabbed bandages out of the cupboard under the sink.

He slowly wrapped them around my arm. From my elbow, to just before my wrist.

I felt pathetic. And vulnerable. I hate how that feels. I hate having people see me vulnerable.

Especially in the state I was just in. He saw my cuts. My fresh, raw cuts. He cleaned them, and wrapped them in bandages.

I hate how damn caring and sweet he is.

Clay tugged me out of the bathroom, I followed him into our shared bedroom.

I stopped, realizing I was still covered in blood. I looked down at my sleeves, and my shirt. He noticed what I was looking at and let go of my hand. Letting it fall to my side. A sharp pain ran up my arm, and I hitched my breath. Immediately biting my lip again.

I was still standing in the doorway. Not moving an inch, I blankly stared at the carpeted floors beneath me.

Clay walked back up to me with a pair of baggy shorts and big hoodie. He knew I wouldn't want to see my arms, whether or not they were bandaged.

I quickly changed, he looked away. I move on, walking over to our bed. Lifting up the covers, I looked at Clay. He knew why I was looking at him and walked over to me. He hugged me as I laid in our bed together.

I fell asleep to his hot breath against my neck. And his arms gripped tightly around my waist.

"I love you.." was the last thing I heard before falling asleep in his arms.

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Sorry that this one isnt that good, i didnt have much time to write it.

887 Words