Chapter Text
-James-
Art.
Art is is a source of breathing for me, i love to make art, we as humans are surrounded by art everyday from our Subway Sandwich to our hobbies to ourselves in the scheme of life. After having no more supplies or paper or anything i turned to a destructive sense of what i need to cope.
Sometimes I cut because I'm stressed, but mostly i do it as its the art i need to survive this. Stress was a leading cause though when it started, its hard cooking for six grown men. Sometimes its stressful not knowing if I can make them happy..or if I am even loved. You can say i love you to people and mean it different ways, what if at this point its just a habit and im just fucking worthless. Its stressful not knowing their every thought and feeling I hate it when these thoughts overwhelm me. They bully me to the bathroom where i rip up my cardigan’s baggy pale sleeve, painting away softly with a by now dulled razor carving my picture of muddled ideas and fear into a mess of damaged skin and welled up blood drops on my exterior. The one damn thing that keeps me from an overwhelmed state though is this razor blade, its my paint brush now. I’ve been cutting for a long time, hell maybe on and off for years with this one razor. Years of relief are plastered onto the once immaculate smooth metal surface with stains and memories dirtying it alike. I admit it is a bit of a unhealthy habit, I know i shouldnt pick up a blade at all but....relief feels so good. Its euphoric in a sense to not have fear weighing down my chest till i cant breathe. The fact that the guys don't know makes me nervous, Seth is the only one who knew I ever even did this in the past. I hate not telling him, i hate lying to him and the others in a way. What if one day they discover my horrible secret? What if they hate it to the point they leave? No. They wont leave. Where the fuck would they leave to, we are barricaded in MY house during a sinkhole where there’s monsters, and raccoons, and bandits after all. They love me too much, its idiotic to think such a thought. These thoughts plauge me all day clouding my head THIS is why i cut as deep as i can most days. I slowly lock the bathrooms door behind me and prop my body up against the locked door. I have at the most seven minutes before they start looking for me. Thank god it takes only a few seconds to achieve relief to chase away these fucking thoughts... I quickly pull out my razor and yank up my sleeve. I turn the razor slowly watching it glisten so beautifully. I look down at my pale perfect flesh, my canvas is in need of its dark crimson art. I stretch out my arm and set my gaze to the warpath of my wrist. I watch as in one steady movement i create a red river of destruction. Its beautiful in a slightly sickening way. I feel relief wash over me in a wave of purity as i make my newest masterpiece. Theres a sudden frantic knock at the door above my head scaring my hand to cut deeper causing me to cry out in sudden surprise and pain. "Whats up?" I yell wrenching the razor into its holder “James hurry up! I gotta piss now” Seth calls out I messily shove the razor into my back pocket "One sec!" I reply in panic while reaching over flushing the toilet as i pull down my sleeve. I unlock and open the door only for it to be shoved back slightly by Seth whose shouler bumps mine harder than expected. "You took forever!" He rushes past me unzipping his pants. I laugh and leave the room shutting the door behind me to give my boyfriend some privacy. Im glad i locked the door, if I hadn’t he could’ve seen what i do.