Trigger Warning: suicidal thoughts, self-harm, child abuse, heavy mentions of cancer (you all know what's coming)
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"Y/N..." Vince began to say but seemed to be in too much shock to finish the sentence.
Fuck. Fuck. Fucking, fuck.
Vince was never meant to see the cuts. Not again. Not while his daughter was dying in hospital.
"I-I gotta go. Sorry."
You were on your feet and out the room before Vince could say or do anything.
It was late at night, the only people walking around the floor were a few nurses with clipboards who didn't look twice in your direction. The hospital was quiet which you were grateful of because it didn't take long for the elevator door to open. However, just as you stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor, Vince slipped in between the closing doors.
Damnit.
"Show me." He ordered, his voice forcefully stern as he slammed the 'stop' button on the control panel forcing the lift to come to a stop between floors.
There was no getting out of this. It was too late to lie, and it was too late to escape the elevator. And Vince knew it too.
"No." You simply responded folding your arms across your chest defensively. "There's nothing to show."
Vince's expression hardened, his jaw clenched and unclenched as he stared at you with an unreadable look in his eye. For a few tense seconds, neither of you moved or said anything. The silence in the enclosed elevator was deafening. You could practically hear your heart thumping in your chest while your hands trembled a little by your sides in anticipation for what was to come.
Your brother never yelled or got angry when you were kids, but right now, he looked on the verge of snapping.
He didn't need to worry about this. His daughter was in hospital with cancer. He shouldn't have to worry about his little sister too. You didn't want him to worry or know about this in the first place, but now he did.
Suddenly, Vince stepped forward and grabbed your hand before forcefully yanking your sleeve up exposing the cuts on your inner arm. He stared down at your skin taking in the fresh angry red cuts mixed between the still healing scars. Tears were beginning to rise in your eyes, but you forced them back.
Vince let out a frustrated sigh dropping your hand and rubbed his face before his brown eyes met yours. And he did not look happy.
"Why?" He questioned.
You shook your head, "it doesn't matter."
"You're cutting yourself and you don't think it matters?!" Vince shouted, his voice raising an octave as he stared at you in utter disbelief. "At least tell me why?"
"I don't know."
"Bullshit!"
"I don't know!" You shouted back.
"Do you want to fucking die? Is that it?" Vince questioned bluntly, his voice rising along with his anger. "Is your life really that bad? My daughter has fucking cancer! And you're slitting your wrists, for what? Attention? Or are you trying to kill yourself?"
You averted your eyes and stared down at the ground. Vince could always read you like a book, and you did not want him to know how close to the mark those last few words actually were.
"Answer me!" Vince screamed taking a step closer causing you to flinch back on instinct.
Memories of your father's anger and wrath washed over you. Vince wasn't anything like your father. Sure, he had a bit of his bad temper, but Vince would never hurt you, not like your father used to.
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The Dirt (Your Version)
أدب الهواةMeeting Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee was a coincidence. Being friends was a choice. But falling in love with them both was beyond your control. Or A rewrite of The Dirt with all the highs and lows of Mötley Crüe from your perspective.
