Battle Scars [BxB]

E I G H T

I wasn't sure, but I was pretty certain that Luca hadn't slept all night. I came to this conclusion from the amount of research he had done by the time I arrived at his house on Sunday morning. He spent the first hour rambling on about everything he'd found out - I almost expected a PowerPoint presentation.

Guilt. That nagging feeling again, crawling up my throat and infecting my whole body. I told Luca that after not seeing him for so long, I didn't want to spend his last day talking about slitting my wrists. His face clouded over with sorrow and he quickly apologised, stuffing his papers into a bag and kissing me fiercely.

We spent the remainder of the day chatting, laughing, touching, whispering. We barely strayed from each other's side, making sure we were always somehow touching, whether that be snuggled up together or holding hands under the blanket. We had sex twice more, and then I tried my hardest not to cry when I said goodbye. I wouldn't see him again until Christmas break - that was another month away. We hugged for eternity and it still wasn't long enough. Then we kissed and hugged some more. And said a final goodbye.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned and groaned in frustration. The fresh cuts I'd made after returning home from Luca's house were sore and throbbing, causing a lot of discomfort. I think I cut too deep. I eventually gave up, slipping out of bed, pulling on a jumper and heading downstairs for a glass of water.

I froze at the foot of the stairs. The kitchen door was ajar, leaking a warm glow of orange light. And there were voices. Soft, quiet murmurs. I took a careful step forward, peering through the crack into the room. My parents were sat at the kitchen table, steaming mugs of tea resting before them. My Mum was crying. My Dad was trying to comfort her.

"I just don't know what to do." My Mother sobbed, her voice choked with tears.

"You're doing everything you can, Eliza." My Father whispered, resting his hand over hers on the table.

"But it's not enough." Her voice cracked. "I'm an awful mother, I can't even help my own son."

"There's nothing you can-"

"Oh, that's bullshit, John." She snapped in irritation. "We brought someone into this world and he doesn't even want to be here!" She whispered bitterly.

"That's not true, Teddy never-"

"It is true." She cried, wiping her cheeks agitatedly. "Sometimes I wonder why we even had him."

"You don't mean that." He countered firmly.

"We only tried for a second because we wanted a girl." My Mum pointed out, making my heart clench painfully, my eyes prickling with tears. "We never asked for this."

"But this is what we got." My Dad shot back. "Teddy is our son. I don't know about you, but to me, that means I'll do whatever it takes to make him better."

"You don't get it, John." She snapped aggressively. "There is no getting better. This is it! He's always going to be like this!"

"You don't know that."

"Oh, come on, don't tell me this is how you saw your life! Constantly worrying about whether your son will ever smile again! He's broken, no therapy or drugs can help fix-"

"He's not broken." My Dad spat. "He just needs help, and that's what we're going to give him. And just because I never imagined my life turning out like this, it doesn't mean I would change a thing. Would you?" He challenged.

"Yeah. I wouldn't have had a second son." Her words were cold and dark as she pushed herself away from the table, leaving her tea untouched in the kitchen. I told myself to run or hide, but I didn't have the strength. When my Mum swung the door open, she froze, taking in the sight of my tear stained cheeks and trembling body. "Shit." She muttered. "Teddy, honey-"

I didn't listen to another word. I spun on my heels, racing up the stairs and into my bedroom. I slammed the door shut, locking it behind me before falling to the floor. I picked at the loose floorboard beneath my bed, prying it open as I reached down for my blade. I didn't waste a second before tugging my sleeve up and slicing into my arm.

"Teddy? Teddy, open this door!" My parents were banging on the wood, my Dad calling through the walls.

I sat still on my floor, my back pressed up against the bed, watching the thick, sticky substance ooze from my arm, staining my pale skin as it fell to the floor in droplets. I'd cut too deep. It was coming out quickly and continuously, blossoming as pretty crimson flowers on my skin. But I couldn't stop.

"Teddy, you weren't meant to hear any of that!" My Mum called from the hallway. "I don't know how much you heard but it was out of context. Just open the door and we can talk."

I brought the knife up to my arm again, dragging it along my skin, hissing in pain as I dug deeper and deeper, drawing more and more blood each time.

I heard Milo's bedroom door creak open down the hall, followed by his muffled footsteps, "What's going on?" He asked sleepily, yawning in the process.

I couldn't hear what my Dad was telling him; the explanation was too quiet and muffled. I was crying and shaking and trembling. I was already starting to feel light headed, like I could pass out at any moment.

"What?" I heard Milo's unfiltered outrage, then another bang on the door, "Teddy, open the door!" He demanded. Then the banging got louder, I think he was trying to break it down. "Call an ambulance." He ordered my parents.

"What?" Both of them asked in unison.

"He's gonna do something stupid. Call a fucking ambulance!"

"Milo, that's ridiculous, he's not going to-"

"Call an ambulance." Milo repeated again.

"W-Why?" My Mum cried out, her voice fragile, her words trembling with fear.

"Oh, for fucks sake, I'll do it!" Milo exclaimed in annoyance, his footsteps fading as he rushed to his room, presumably for his phone.

Any form of logical thinking evaporated as I gripped the knife tighter, ignoring my parents' desperate pleas for me to open the door. I was drenched in blood by the time the ambulance arrived, my eyes falling shut, my body going completely limp. I heard the sirens growing louder and clearer down the road, then the quick patter of footsteps up the stairs. I was nearly unconscious by the time the door was thrown open and two paramedics rushed in.