Newt X Reader One-Shots

Barely Holding On

This has very descriptive talks of self harm. If this is something you know will make you uncomfortable please do not read this one, and please make sure to look after yourself. You are loved and cared for, even if it doesn't seem that way right now <3

I don't feel normal. I don't feel like I can do as much as anyone else. I don't feel good enough. I just feel so empty, so absolutely worthless. It's as though I'm a ticking time bomb ready to explode and hurt everything around me at any moment.

I don't want to do that. I don't want to be frustrated all the time. I don't want to always wonder if there's something particular messed up in my head. I just want everything to finally feel alright. Not even good. Just normal. Just okay.

I never do. Sure. Sometimes I feel nonchalant or happy when something good happens, but it never lasts.

I didn't bother to try to get clean. Nobody even notices so it doesn't matter anyway. Not only that but when they heal they itch until all I can think about is the cuts littering my skin.

I was supposed to be hanging out with Chuck. I said I would spend Greenie night with him. I want to. I do. I do want to be out there with him, with the Gladers, with my few friends, having a carefree time. I thought I would be able to.

I wasn't. I barely got halfway through the evening before my head kept reminding me that there's a knife waiting for me back under my cot.

"I don't feel very good,"I told him. It isn't even a lie. If I don't cut in the next few minutes, I'm going to start hyperventilating. I need it. I just do. I don't want to, but if I don't get it everything will be ruined.

"But you said-"
"I'll see you tomorrow. Probably. I have to leave though,"I rushed out, standing up before he could actually question me. Resisting the urge to sprint, I kept my hands in my pockets as I walked to my hut. Even though every single foot feels like a million miles I can't be suspicious. I can't, I can't, I can't.

With my heart racing inside of my chest, I didn't dare let my body weigh itself down. My feet need to move. Every part of me needs to move. Every part of me is frozen while also being on autopilot. Absolutely none of it makes sense, but it also does. It does to me. To my messed up brain, all of this is logical.

Bursting into my hut, I was shaking as I slammed the door shut. Ignoring the way I could hardly see through the tears clouding my vision or maybe too messed up to actually notice, I forced my feet one after the other to my cot.

Leaning over, I didn't even have to look to know exactly where the knife was placed. Gripping the handle firmly, I pulled it out from its hidden in plain sight place. You can't really see it when you're in my room, but it's always there. Once you know it is, it takes up more space than any other object, even me.

As I held it the tears just seemed to stop. Everything inside of me stopped. Something in me went cold, almost dark. Numb. It was just numb.

Pulling up my sleeves, I revealed the rows of growing cuts and scars. It started monthly, but now it seems to grow daily. It's taken over my life. Sometimes I realize that, but when I'm doing it some part of me doesn't know anything at all.

Dragging it across one of the few areas that was untouched by darkness, I watched as the blood dripped down my skin. It's as though this is all happening in third person, as if it's not even me doing this anymore.

The sting takes longer to set in now. I think I'm adjusting to the pain or something. That means I either have to either cut longer or deeper. Not enough to die. I don't want to die. I just need my mind to calm down. That's all this is. This is my only hope left of actually holding on.