i'M FiNE | Starrison [✖️]

Chapter nine

I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm fine.

"Fuck," Ringo breathed. "F-Fuck..."

Brother. He called you brother. No big fucking deal, okay? I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm fine. He called you brother because he's your completely straight friend. He doesn't think of you that way. But you, you think of him that way. You fucking fag.

He slid down the bathroom wall. A choked sound came out of his throat. He bit on his fist, trying not to make a sound.

I'm gay. Holy motherfucking shit I'm gay. I'm a fag. I'm attracted to George I never asked for this I never

The blade. Oh fuck him the blade was right there, all in it's sharp glory. The itch blazed.

I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm most definitely not gay for George. Oh god please

His nails dug into his skin, breaking the surface. He cried, low, quiet, but mournful.

I'm sorry George I'msofuckingsorry

He got up and grabbed the safety blade. He would cut where George, John, or even Paul couldn't see.

He bit his lip as he slid the blade across the skin of his thigh, just below his waist. His lip cracked and bled. Ringo could taste the blood on his tongue.

Seven days. A week. I didn't cut for a week.

Ringo slashed his thighs in long, angry red lines again. The old ones opened up too, bleeding profusely like the rest. After that, pain seared through both of his thighs. He felt the high he always felt after cutting. As if the adrenaline that shot through him was a drug. The cutting itself didn't hurt, but the aftermath did.

I broke the streak.

Ringo found himself crying again as he wiped the floor clean of his blood. He poured disinfectant on the wounds, gritting his teeth as he did so. After that he went out of the room, acting like he just didn't have a mental breakdown that made him slice away his own thighs.

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