mentally unstable ~ shigadabi

seven

He likes me. He likes me? What could he have meant by that? Like he likes likes me? Or he likes me as a friend? Damn it, I think I took a wrong turn. Where's the lunch room again? Shit. Wait, does he like me? He never really said what he meant by that. He just went silent after he had said that.

Because I like you.

Maybe he just feels comfortable with me. But that's good it means I'm getting somewhere. He doesn't seem like the type of person to understand those kind of feelings. If he did feel that way about me, he'd probably try to come out and say it. But I don't think he'd know how.

I unlock his door and let myself in. I slowly close the door trying not to make that much noise. He was laying on his side this time. I kneel down next to the bed admiring his face. I understand what I'm doing is very weird and very creepy. But can you blame me. He is fucking perfect. I just feel bad. How can someone so beautiful dislike themselves to the disagree?

I stroke his thigh softly. I slowly move my hand up his back and to his hair. I love his hair so much. I finger comb his hair. My hand goes through it so easily. I grip his hair and tug harshly. He groans in response. Oh what a dream it would be to have his under me. I notice he's sweating. I lift up his shirt reveling his torso. He's probably really hot. I roll his sleeves up to his elbows. His arms-

I lightly hold his wrist staring at his forearm. It was covered in scars. Self infected scars. He was hurting himself...? Why would he do that? I run my fingers over the bumpy and uneven scars. I grab his other arm and do the same. How could he do something like that to himself? Why would he do something like that? I set his arm down and stroke his face.

"Why do you hate yourself?"