SKIN BOUND (DROPPED/UNFINISHED)

1

Keith started cutting himself when he was 14.

He made this decision, and it was one hell of a dumbass decision. He regretted it the moment he set his blade aside.

Curiosity could only take him so far, now he sat still on the edge of his makeshift bed with cuts all over his forearm. What took him here, he didn't know.

All of it was unnecessary; unnecessary lines that came with unnecessary pain that ultimately made him rethink his unnecessary life choices.

Maybe if he stared long enough he could find something. Something, like a life changing moment or some sort of new realization.

But he discovered nothing new. He'd end up with no answers no matter how much time he took to meaningfully stare at each cut with full concentration.

Maybe if he prayed to a god -he didn't know which to pray to so he prayed to every- they would answer his questions, they might even guide him in his journey of self discovery.

But he knew how far that would take him. They never answered his prayers anyways. Maybe prayers weren't meant for orphan children like him.

Keith winced at the sudden rush of pain from his forearm. Damn, if he knew cutting would sting so much he wouldn't've done it at all. He gently rubbed the cuts in hopes of nudging some of the pain away. Another dumb decision on his part, now his cuts were bleeding.

Thanks god, he thought quietly to himself.

He looked back at the cuts. His arm was a chaos of messy cuts, smudged blood, and purple?

Keith blinked and looked at it again.

Was he imagining things? I've got to be imagining things.

He needed a damp towel or something to wash the blood off with, but he couldn't let anyone else see his arm. So he bolted to the nearest restroom. He turned on the sink and dampened a thick roll of tissue paper on his hand. A quick swipe of the tissue revealed a hideous purple.

He brought his arm closer to his face. No way in hell was that purple real.

"The fuck," he whispered to himself.

"No fucking way," Keith scooped a handful of water and splashed it onto his arm. He kneaded his skin, rubbed it with soap bearing the pain that came with it. It had to be dye, or something. It couldn't be his skin.

And by a certain point he felt tired, of all the weird and incoherent shit that passed during his life, all of it starting from the disappearance of his shit show of a father.

At this point what could he do? Things went by and this, this was something he could just force himself to forget--like the many years he's been beaten to the ground then picked right back up to meet the ground again.

That purple skin on his arm was his. No doubting it now, especially after all the pain he went through just to try and wash it off.

Keith twisted his arm to get a better view of the growing purple. The color looked foreign on his skin, but somehow made itself look like it belonged.

Purple skin, he had to repeat to himself.

Certainly, it was a new concept for him. Never had he witnessed his skin change color. Sure, there were times where he got bruises that turned to more purplish, dark patches of skin, but that's to be expected from bruises.

Cuts, on the other hand, doesn't change the skin into a specific pigment of purple. Either he was severely abnormal, or he was an alien--an explanation he didn't mind as much.

But still, something was wrong and he didn't like it.

There was something wrong with him.

Keith threw up in the toilet.

He decided not to cut again.

Keith turned 16 when he started to cut again.

Again, out of curiosity.

And again, curiosity could only take him this far.

He stared at the blade, it was sharp and clean. A shiver rolled down his spine, something whispered "regret" into his mind.

But he needed answers now, he could regret another time.

It took a bit of courage to let his blade sink into his skin, further than he'd done the last time. Blood came spilling at the edges and soon a light purple followed as well.

It took some time, but the purple came and took over his entire forearm soon enough. He stared at his arm in disbelief.

Okay, so that time wasn't some lucid dream he had in the middle of the night. It was real.

Keith's arm started to sting as the wound bled in the open air.

What did he expect. He knew very well what happened last time, the purple skin was inevitable.

Why did he cut himself when he could have easily went along with his life forgetting about it. About his hideous abnormality.

There was no curiosity behind his actions. It was just foolishness, stupidity, idiocy. What was he doing.

He went to school with a bandaged arm for two months. He tried his best to cover his bandage by wearing as many long sleeves as he could, but sooner or later people noticed his arm.

Some people question it, most never bothered, but his foster parents voiced their concerns. Keith would reply with a smile and an excuse, desperate to avoid the topic.

Keith wondered if he should have told them, maybe ask them to get it checked at a hospital or by some doctor.

In the end he stayed quiet. Never told a soul, it was a secret between him and his skin.

Keith wondered if he made the right choice.

Keith was in space around the age of 18.

They're fighting some asshole aliens called the Galra.

Apparently they were ferocious furries with claws and technologically advanced fleets. Somehow their ragtag team of teens were capable of defeating the aliens.

And somehow, no matter how many times Keith looked at it, their purple fur looked awfully familiar.

It made his stomach clench in anxiety.

No way, he thought, no fucking way.

Keith knew his father was human, his mother was surely human too.

But then again, he had no description from his father and no photo of his mother. Nothing but an otherworldly blade with a bandaged symbol.

Could she be?

No, out of the millions of different alien species, how convenient would it be for his mother to be Galran. There must be other purple-skinned humanoid aliens. (but then again, what other humanoid, purple alien managed to travel as far as the Galra?)

There were chances, none of which he wanted to take or even consider.

The night after the team defeated Sendak and took control over the castle ship, he took his blade in hand and let it rip into his skin. The ugly purple soon followed while his arm dripped with blood. The purple skin that was inexplicably his.

It was the Galra's skin, his skin, though Keith desperately wanted to deny it.

He looked away. He knew the answer already.

---

Hey, thank you for reading my fanfic. I kind of just vent all of my emotions here. I don't update very often and I probably won't for a couple of weeks, maybe months. I'm in and out of writing, but I do edit quite a bit. Don't mind commenting or messaging me, just keep in mind that I don't check my wattpad very often so you might not get a response for a while after addressing me.