Angsty vent fic (from 4 days ago that never published) for my own personal devices. Ignore if you want.
Tw: Slicey Slice
word count: not important
idefk when in the timeline of life this is supposed to be is. LET ME VENT THROUGH CHARACTERS BITCH-
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Michael stood in the bathroom looking at his own reflection in the mirror. He was over being yelled at by his parents who quote-unquote "thought the whole freak out over the Coronavirus was due to fear-mongering".
He needed relief.
Not relief in a necessarily healthy way but what can you do?
He didn't want to sit there sawing away at his arm with the bristle of a hairbrush for literally nothing to happen. The thought popped into his head to try his luck with a razor.
He looked at the razor for a second. He tried to pull the longing for pain out of his head. It didn't really work. He grabbed the razor. He lightly dragged it across his arm with a little pressure.
Noting happened.
He tried again. Putting more pressure while applying a little bit of said pressure upwards. He felt a prick of pain and stopped. There was no mark.
This went on for a little bit.
He pressed the razor onto his skin. He felt a cut begin to form. He was going to pull the razor away. He decided against it and reapplied the pressure lengthening the cut. When he pulled the razor away he watched the blood.
Why Is this my life? Why can't someone just help me out?
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Again more for me than anyone else but I kinda hate this. This is like the first oneshot I've written on Wattpad that isn't going on AO3 in a while.
-Em
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