So What If It's Us?

Relapse

TW: Self-harm and abuse. Please do not read this chapter if you are sensitive on these topics.

Connor's POV

I.didn't.throw.that.printer: Good luck! I gotta go too

Gotta do what Connor? Oh right! Do nothing. Because you're a sad, pathetic excuse for a human being. The voices in my head screamed at me. They hurled insults that cut deeper than any knife. They told me the truth.

I clicked my phone off. Left it on my bed as I got up. I did a quick stretch and walked into my bathroom. I remembered years and years past as I looked in my medicine cabinet.

On the pristine rows were all of my medications. One for depression. Another to help me sleep. A bottle for panic attacks. The medications that kept me functioning. That kept me from falling apart.

I scowled as I shut the cabinet. I looked under my sink for the tiny box. It was full of razors. Some bloody and used. Others clean and untouched. Except, there was nothing. Only a few rolls of toilet paper and bottles of shampoo. 

Cynthia. I thought to myself. She must be going through my stuff. Lucky for me, I had an old pocket knife. It was given to me for my 13th birthday.

"Connor, I trust you. Your mother and I decided we would let you walk home by yourself if you wanted to. Just, take this. For protection. To keep yourself safe." Larry told me. I smiled. A pocket knife. Nobody else I knew had one of those. Well, I didn't know a lot of people.

"Thanks dad." I said as I took the pocket knife from his outstretched hands. I couldn't believe he would trust me. In a way, this present was the best. He trusted me to walk home by myself. To be responsible.

I let out a sigh as the memory passed. 

"So much for protecting yourself." I muttered silently. I exited my bathroom and looked through my drawers. After a minute of rummaging around, I found it.

I went through a mental checklist.

Do you have bandages? Check

Are you sure no one will bother you? Yes

Do you really want to do this? No turning back now.

I re-entered my bathroom. Locking the door behind me, I turned to face my mirror. All I saw was a druggie. An abuser. A waste of space.

The first cut always hurt the worst. I hissed as blood welled up on the previously unmarked skin. I was running out of room. I would move to my stomach next. Or maybe my thighs. I pushed all of my thoughts away as I focused on the pain.

I cut again. And again. And again. Each cut deeper than the last. The voices in my head kept hurling their insults on repeat.

Druggie. Abuser. Waste of space. No one cares about you. No one loves you. Everyone hates you. Just give up like you always do. Run away from your problems.

I grimaced as my tears fell onto my new scars. I saw the pink blood dripping off my arms and down the drain. I bled until the cuts stopped. I cried until my eyes ran dry. 

I stood there. For minutes, seconds, hours maybe, and stared at myself. I stared at the purple smudges beneath my swollen and bloodshot eyes. I saw the coldness in them. Memories came flooding back as I stared.

"Zoe!" I yelled through her door. "I'm gonna fucking kill you!" I pounded on the wood, making the door rattle and shake. I heard muffled sobs coming from the other side. I continued to yell and scream. 

I punched the door, making a hole. Zoe shrieked and ran into her bathroom.

"You can't hide from me you bitch!" I yelled as I unlocked the door. Slamming it open, I moved to work on the next one. Why were theses doors so damn thick!

.....

"Connor Mike Murphy! Get your ass back down here right now!"

"Why should I Larry? Just so you can yell at me again!" I shouted down the stairs. His face practically turned purple as he stormed over to me. He raised his hand and I flinched. 

I felt no slap or sting. Prying open my eyes, I saw a horrified look on his face. Larry all but ran away from me, leaving me standing there in the middle of the hallway.

I snapped out of my thoughts. Looking down at my wounded arms, I sighed and started the cleaning process.

I held a paper towel drenched in carbon peroxide over my new scars. I hissed as it stung my arms. Next, I covered them with plain bandages. Just like every time before then, I washed the blood off my hands and off the bowl of the sink. 

"Until we meet again." I whispered to the pocket knife as I slipped it back into one of my drawers.

It was getting late. I slipped on my hoodie and tried to go to sleep. I tried. Not wanting to risk taking sleeping pills, I grabbed my phone.

1:05

The bright screen was blinding compared to the darkness of my room. I turned down my brightness and logged onto tumblr. I would be getting no sleep tonight.

Hi readers! I managed to do all of my hw, practice my clarinet, read some fanfics, and write this chapter for you! I hope you enjoyed it. It was really angsty. I'm going to try to write at least a little fluff in this fic. Keyword, try. It's impossible for me to write something that's  not depressing. I just want to say thank you and I love you to everyone reading. Seriously, I never expected any votes or comments. At all. But look at me now! I currently have 256 views and 22 votes. I'm thinking about writing another fan fiction soon. Or maybe an original story. I just want to get a little more done with this one! Comment if you think I should write about something specific. Like another musical or issues going on today. Maybe something about my own experiences? Just tell me what you think. Thanks again!

-Cronch