Every tear's a waterfall, every scar's a vile reminder

Chapter 3

stiles sat for hours contemplating the deadly ideas that condemned his thoughts as they flitted between his brain. He knew he deserved the pain and knew that his time was approaching rather rapidly. The sun had begun to set outside; this meant stiles had lived through another agonising, pointless day and that made stiles' stomach churn. He thought of the only thing he knew how to do properly and decided he needed to cut.

His arms still ached from the other day when he had sat at the beautiful cliff edge and tore up his arm. He didnt care. Infact, that ache made him feel more human. He willed the tears to well to his eyes, to spill over his cheeks and fall over his chin onto the rug beneath him, yet they never came. He stood from the side of his bed and made his way to his bookshelf, pulling away an old book he hadn't picked up to read a day in his life that was something to do with male circumcision? like how the hell did that end up in his room but it was a perfect hiding spot, not only was the book absolutely disgusting, it also had a tiny groove behind it, allowing him to just slip the small silky bag between the shelf and its backboard.

Walking back over to his bed, he emptied the contents of the bag onto his boring, white sheets (which he'd somehow managed to keep blood and stain free) and looked at the contrast between the white and the shiny metal which was covered in speckles of dry, dark blood. The realisation of just how fucked up he was struck him hard and them tears he had been willing forward earlier decided to make an appearance. Slowly he sat on the bed, wiping the tears as dangerous thoughts made their way into his head.

No wonder his dad hated him, he was a disgrace. He put shame into the Stilinski name by just being himself and he further shamed his father as sheriff with all the shit he had put his dad through with the authorities as a young, rebellious teen. Not only that, but he knew his father wished it had been him instead of his mother. He wished that also. He knew his father blamed him. Not only had his father made that perfectly clear in many drunken, teary episodes he could also see it in his fathers eyes. whenever he looked at him he could see the pain, the disappointment, the regret. so he took the decision upon himself that he would end that pain he caused his father, would end the pain and annoyance he caused Scott. he would end his annoying, unlovable self he caused anyone he had ever met. He just needed the right time.

So he sat on his bed and took the biggest blade of them all. He wasn't going to end it right now if that is what you were thinking, but he could feel the right time approaching and the rational side of him found it disgusting that he really didn't mind all that much.

Placing the blade against the cool skin of this thighs that were clad in loose, rolled up pajama bottoms this time, he gave a strong yet quick flick of the wrist and watched in fascination as thick bubbles of blood appeared from his skin and seeped from the wound, down his partially slanted legs. He repeated the action over and over again, digging deeper and deeper with quicker movements as more blood flowed down his pale skin. He only stopped when he began to feel dizzy. Blood from the earlier cuts had already began to coagulate and harden, leaving him puffing his chest with pride; he knew he was capable of doing one thing correctly.

Shuffling off to the bathroom, he didn't bother to clean the cuts, just give them a quick swill in the shower to get rid of the excess blood then the wrapped a gauze and bandage around both thighs, seeing the blood quickly seep through the bandages and to the surface. Deciding it would do he made his way to his room to suffer another sleepless night.

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The next morning he made his way to his first lesson the the scruinisingly painful day. He had decided to go to school today as he knew his thoughts would just linger on terrible things if he stayed in bed. Although he had virtually no enery or desire to learn, he had successfully managed to arrive ontime for morning registration for the firdt time in weeks. his tutor didnt mention anything but just gave him a direct look of sympathy. He hated it. As the first bell rang, he had been the first out the door.