chris & matt sturniolo imagines

numb

this was requested <3
TW: self harm
Please be aware of your triggers and do not read if this is a sensitive topic for you
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Also, by writing these types of imagines I am NOT romanticizing self harm in any way, shape, or form. A lot of people, including myself, find reading and writing these struggles as a way of therapy. It makes us feel as though as are not alone and I promise that you are not. This is a safe space <3
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I was numb. From the top of my head to the tips of my toes, I had no emotion. I was nothing but an empty vessel. Every day I felt empty and everyday everyone around me did their best to earn a small smile or laugh, but it never worked.

I couldn't pinpoint exactly why I felt this way, but my doctor and therapist tell me it's depression. They prescribed me medicine after medicine and I have yet to find one that works. It's an uphill battle I'm getting sick of finding, my strength only coming from my boyfriend.

My love for him was as strong as a tsunami, but it was nearly impossible for me to show him. Whenever we hang out he showers me with affection and never gets angry when it isn't reciprocated, because he knew I physically couldn't. He told me I should start journalling my feelings so I can look back and pinpoint any types of triggers and riddle them from my life.

But that's the thing, my life was the trigger. I journaled, but not in the way he wanted. Instead of a pen on paper, it was razor on skin. Scars, old and new, scattered my thighs in a language only I understood. For the brief ten seconds of pain I could finally feel something, pain.

"I'm here!" His sweet voice made its way down the hall and into my room where I was changing into sweatpants. I knew he was coming over, so I always do my best to hide my cuts, since it's something I knew he would be upset about. Last month, I promised I was done, that I'd never do it again. That's ten lies I'll never forgive myself for.

"In my room!" I yelled back to him, crawling back into my bed, "I'm putting on The Walking Dead." It was our comfort show that we always watched when he was here.

"How was your day?" He dropped his bag, already in comfy clothes for the night, and slid under the covers next to me, "Want me to order food?"

"Good and if you want to." I scooted closer to him, "Can you get me a smoothie?"

"Usual?" I nodded my head yes and waited until he was done on his phone, knowing that he'd give me attention immediately after. I felt him move around a bit to get comfortable, then felt his arm snake around me, pulling my back right into his chest. He always did this thing where he traced from my shoulder to my mid thigh, kind of like a massage. Sometimes I don't even think he realizes he's doing it, a sweet habit he's formed over the past year.

Each time his hand would trace over my thigh, the material of my sweatpants would scrape against the day old cuts, causing my nose to scrunch in momentary pain. By the third time, I couldn't help but vocalize it, "Matt, don't."

"Sorry," He quickly apologized and stopped, placing his arm over my waist and keeping it there. I felt the fabric now sticking to my skin, meaning the scabs have cracked open. I felt a feeling of guilt wash over me and suddenly tears pooled in my eyes, "Hey.."

"I'm sorry." I said through the tears and covered my face.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." I felt even worse now that he thought this was his fault, "I won't do it anymore." He rested his chin gently on my arm as I hid my face, "Do you need some water?"

I nodded my head, not having the ability to speak without choking a sob. He pushed the covers off of us and when I heard him quietly gasp, I didn't even have to ask why. I sat up quickly and saw the blood soaking through my sweatpants, showing exactly where the fresh cut was.

"I'm sorry." I reached for his hand, as if he was going to bolt out of my room, begging for him to stay, "Matt, I'm sorry."

He didn't say anything. With his eyes now glossing over, he sat back down on the edge of the bed and pulled me into a tight hug.

"I'm here," He promised, "I love you." He's said it a million times, but this time was more of a plea, "I love you so much, okay?"

"I know." I gripped his arm, "I'm sorry." I couldn't stop apologizing, because I felt like I failed him. My sadness turned into frustration and I wasn't used to feeling all these emotions at once, "It's the only thing that helps. I can't fucking feel anything."

"Deep breaths." I pulled away from him and watched his lips as he spoke, "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to help you." He moved slowly when he let go of my hand and walked to my dresser. He grabbed a pair of shorts and motioned for me to swing my legs off the side of the bed. "Put these on."

I obliged and he disappeared into my bathroom, coming back with a wash cloth and a random assortment of bandages. I was embarrassed for him to see my damaged skin, I didn't want him to think I was broken. But the look in his eyes didn't show discomfort or disgust, instead they held love and care.

He was gentle with my leg as he cleaned the now drying blood, taking the time to apply everything properly and taping the gauze exactly where they needed to be.

"I don't mean to do it," I admitted as he threw away the wrappers and sat the washcloth on my night stand, "It's the only thing that distracts me from the painfully numb feeling."

"What do you mean by numb?" His question was snarky or rude, he genuinely wanted me to explain it to him, "If you tell me, I can help."

I laid back into my bed and covered my legs, "I don't feel happiness or joy or anything anymore. I know I love you, but I don't feel it anymore. I don't know how to explain it." It frustrated me that there was no string of words I could put together in order for him to understand, "I feel it in my heart, but my brain isn't working anymore."

"It's just having trouble right now, that's all." He said sweetly and I felt the corner of my lips turn into the smallest excuse of a smile, "The connection is bad." His joke made me exhale a laugh, which made his face light up, "I know something that could help."

"And what's that?" I raised a brow at him and the room went silent, only for him to roll onto the bed and attached his hands to my waist, tickling me, "Matthew!" I laughed.

"There it is!" He cheered. This went on for a bit longer until my ribs began to hurt from laughing so hard, "I'll do whatever I need to do to hear you laugh and see you smile." We slipped back into the serious moment, "Anything. You name it and I'll do it."

"Kiss me."

And just like that, I replaced the razor and my freeing feeling of pain to the sweet, loving feeling of his lips.

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I typed this kind of quickly so if it's not perfect and there's grammatical errors, I'm sorry!

Sometimes I have a hard time writing this types of imagines due to my own past, but I know reading these topics can help some people.