Escape - Wilbur angst

Chapter 24 - It's okay to lie, but that won't fix it

He's so silly in this.

TWs

Selfharm, ED

As Techno entered the door Wilbur's mind panicked. He had to come up with a lie, he couldn't tell Techno. He might get mad.

The two sat down on the couch, Phil not yet home.

"So, what's on your mind?" Techno began.

Wilbur gulped. "I- I'm just... really worried about school..." The lie came easy, rolling off his tongue like it was the truth. Techno studied him closely, he knew something wasn't right.

"I totally get that, so was I. But the class is nice and so are the teachers. You'll fit right in, just be very forward with your boundaries and they'll get it." he explained. Wilbur nodded slightly.

"Are uh... are you sure it's only that?"

The silence hung thick in the air, and you could almost cut through the tension.

"Yeah."

Techno nodded before standing up, walking into the kitchen and preparing himself a cup of iced coffee.

"You know if it is something else you can tell us, right? We won't get mad." 

Wilbur's heart fluttered in anxiety. He should reach out, ask for help. He shouldn't let it become a problem.

But it helped.

"I know. I'm just going to go to the bathroom, okay?" there was an approving hum from Techno.

He walked upstairs and entered the bathroom, being extra careful with locking the door behind him. He sat down at the toilet, looking down at his non bandaged arm. It yearned for the red marks that would soon cover it.

Yet it still felt wrong.

The razor was brought up and placed on his arm, only this time on the inner part and not his upper. It was a lot scarier there, closer to veins and softer skin.

He slid it across himself, over and over again. The burning sensation and slight itch as the blood raced down his arm made a euphoric calmness rush through him. He took a deep breath as he looked down at his damaged arm.

As it began dropping onto the white porcelain beneath him he let out a curse, then he stood up and quickly placing his arm under running water. The cuts were a lot deeper this time and he whimpered at the pain.

He turned the faucet off and bandaged his arm once again, seeing the white turn red. 

It was satisfying, seeing it change colour. He quickly pulled down his sleeve before walking back to his room. Simone stood in the corner, glaring at him.

"Why the hell not?" he said to himself.

He picked it up, holding it tightly. His hands found their place easily and he began playing that song he had once created.

The intro played out softly, he had been smoothing it out these past days. He had also been building lyrics, first now testing them out.

"Wasting your time. You're wasting mine..." he sang. It sounded alright, though he didn't know what way it would sound best. That's something he had to work on.

He continued playing, still keeping his voice and the guitar low.

"There's a reason... they fail..."

He sucked in a deep breath, hugging his guitar closer. It felt good to finally be safe while playing, to not have to check if it was too loud or not. A smile formed across his face; he finally had his beloved guitar.

But what he wasn't aware of was that Phil was stood outside his door, a wide grin plastered on his face. 

A knock made Wilbur look up. "Yes?"

Phil entered, trying to hide his smile. He wasn't sure if the boy was comfortable with others listening to him, so he kept it hidden.

"How are you today, mate? What did you get for lunch?" he asked.

Wilbur quickly avoided his gaze. "I uh... I didn't eat any lunch..." his voice was thick with shame.

Phil sighed heavily. "Mate..." he began.

A big lump formed in Wilbur's throat. "I know."

"I don't mean to use it as a threat or something, but you do remember the deal, right? If you can't get better at home, you're going to rehab."

Wilbur's face went pale, and his eyes filled up with panic. "No, no please no! You- you can't send me away..!" his voice was weak, almost as if he was begging for his life.

Phil's eyebrows furrowed. "Why didn't you eat?"

The question brought silence upon them.

Wilbur looked up at the other with puppy eyes, praying that he would just forget.

But Phil shook his head, he needed an answer.

"I don't want to gain weight." he stated as if it was the most obvious thing ever. Which it was, but still.

It wasn't impossible to see that the eating had affected him, he wasn't exactly gaining weight, but he didn't look like skin and bones anymore.

"But you need to. In this scenario I couldn't care less about your opinion, because you need to get better." the words were harsh, but the truth. Sometimes the difficult truth is better than to just avoid it for comfort.

The two made eye contact, worried blue meeting pleading brown.

"Please..." he begged.

"No Wilbur, I can't. Now, you'll go downstairs with me and we're grabbing a snack." Phil said, and there was no space for discussion, that was final.

A muesli bar was placed in front of him. Its bottom was covered in chocolate, something he hadn't had in a very long time.

He glared at it, it was way too much sugar, too many calories.

"You're not doing anything else until you've eaten that, mate."

His fiery gaze landed on Phil instead. He wanted to say something back, to find a way out of the situation.

He picked up the bar, opening up the plastic wrapper with shaking hands.

It was brought up to his mouth, yet he made no attempt at letting it inside. Tears welled up in his eyes, it was a scary meal.

With a broken sob he placed it back down on the table. 

"I can't. I can't do it!" he cried.

Phil sat down next to him, opening up his arms as an invitation. But to his surprise Wilbur didn't react. He just continued crying, tears streaming down his face.

Poor Will, honestly. 

But not really. It's angst, he's supposed to suffer.

- Bread