Broken

Family

"Dan! He's home!" My papa cried as he swung his warm arms around my cold and wet shoulders without letting me get inside.

I bit my lip and closed my eyes, trying not to let out any sign of pain as I hugged him back.

"He's home?" I heard my dad shout back from upstairs, followed by a cluster of footsteps.

I was glad that they missed me, although it only made me feel even more guilty about not coming home sooner. It had to have been well past midnight by the time I got the energy to walk my ass back home.

A second pair of arms tightened around my waist as my dad rushed to my side. We stood in silence for a few minutes, the rain dampening us slightly.

"I-I'm fine," I stuttered weakly.

The grip around me loosened as they pulled away from our embrace. My dad sighed and kissed my head before pulling me inside and shutting the door.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, looking at the puddle forming on the carpet from my dripping clothes.

"We're just glad you're safe," my dad cried and kissed my forehead, pulling me into another hug.

"Come on now, lets get you changed, you're going to get sick," my papa said warmly.

My dad pulled away from our embrace and turned to my papa, tears in his fragile brown eyes.

"It's okay babe. He's home safe now," my papa cooed and pulled him into a tight hug.

It wasn't like my dad to ever cry, he was always so secretive with his emotions. So to see him crying, really hit home for me. He must have been really hurt to see me disappear, especially after finding out that I wasn't the best mentally.

"I didn't mean to upset you," I apologized with a frown.

"We were just worried something happened to you," my papa explained and played with my dads hair as he let out some soft sobs. "Just glad you're home safe."

Tears began to sting my face once more and I dropped my bag on the floor by my feet, my lip quivering. I quickly fled up the stairs to my bedroom, shutting my door tightly behind me before dropping to the floor. Tears escaped from my eyes, falling as long heavy sobs shook my body.

Intrusive thoughts took over my brain as I cried alone on my bedroom floor. I really was a terrible son, wasn't I? Admitting to my dad that I self harmed and then taking off for the entire day, really wasn't a good combination.

After what felt like a lifetime of tears my crying settled, allowing me to finally change out of my damp clothes. I put on a pair of dry clothes I found on my floor, not caring if they matched or not. I wiped my dried tears from my cheeks and gathered up my wet clothes from the floor.

I tossed them over the edge of the bath tub to dry. On my way out I caught a glance of myself in the mirror that caused me to pause and stare. I looked terrible with my bloodshot eyes and messy dripping hair. Somehow my parents still loved me, despite the mess I was in. I glanced down at my left wrist, my wounds from earlier had already began to dry up. Damn, I did it good this time. 

My lip quivered as I walked back into the bathroom and turned on the sink. Bandaid's would hurt too much, so washing the dried blood stains from my arm was the only option. The soap stung terribly, but the last thing I needed was an infection. My dad's didn't deserve anything else to worry about.

I turned off the tap and dried my arm with a fresh hand towel, and threw it in the hamper before walking back to my room. I rummaged around my room to find a grey sweater that I had stolen from my dad. It was a little too big, which was perfect for hiding the evidence of pain. I pulled it over my head and made my way back downstairs.