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How long had he been wearing long sleeves?
How long had he been nauseous at the sight of food?
Tommy didn't want to die. Not really. It was sometimes a fleeting thought, something to fall back on. But he never acted on it. And he didn't really want to. He knew how much it would break the people that cared about him. And he didn't want to be painted as some weak angsty teenager, lost and forgotten.
And, honestly, Tommy didn't know why he cut. But it was comforting, to hurt himself. He found safety in the pain. He cut when he was overwhelmed. He cut when he needed to talk to someone and no one was there. He cut when it had been a long day. He cut when he couldn't sleep. He cut just to see the blood blossom and trickle down his leg. He cut to feel some messed up form of validation when he saw the scars. It hurt, and that was why he loved it.
It was easier now than it had been before. He had moved temporarily back to Brighton, just to get a change of scenery and hang out with Wilbur more. Plus he got his own place. He loved Rue like a sister, but he constantly had to worry when he was on dish duty, or when he was changing. It was nice to breathe, to be able to reach for something on a high shelf or wear short sleeves inside his house without being nervous.
He turned to his computer as it dinged. He opened up Discord.
wilby
hey man! ready for stream?
Tommy inhaled sharply. He completely forgot about George's stream. He was testing out a new PVP mod that proposed a solution to battle hacks and problems, allowing people to spam click manually with a sword but not with a hacker. It had taken him forever, and when he invited Tommy, he couldn't say no.
big man
yea excited
wilby
ok join VC 3!
He ran a hand through his hair and frowned as it tangled against his fingers. He would have to brush it. Tommy wasn't technically supposed to have his face-cam on, but chat always insisted, and he wanted to be prepared.
He headed into his bathroom and shut the door.
He rolled up his sleeves and turned on the sink. He reached for the soap and saw a glint of silver underneath the dish. Suddenly his arms itched, an itch he knew only cutting could fix. Tommy closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. He couldn't. Not right now.
He opened them again and finished washing his hands. Then he brushed his hair, put a fresh piece of gum in his mouth, and walked back into his room towards his dresser. He pulled out his red Are you Alright? sweatshirt and slipped it over his head. It was a little too big for him, big enough that it didn't hurt or press against his scars when he moved.
He slid into his chair, put his headphones on, and joined the VC. "Hey, guys!"
"Hi!" Karl and Wilbur greeted him.
"Took you long enough," Dream muttered.
George gave a slight nod.
Everyone turned on their face cams once Tommy did. He curled his fingers around his sleeve, tugging it upwards. Just in case.
"Aren't you gonna get your signature Coke?" Karl asked playfully.
Tommy smiled but shook his head. It would make him feel sick, especially because he was running on an empty stomach. He could already imagine the burning in his chest.
"Let's start," George said matter-of-factly. He hit go live and started reading off donations, calling names, and thanking people. He gave a few life updates before logging onto the game. Everyone joined his server.
Half an hour through, George announced his chat was going wild and spamming face cam. "Can I just put them on my screen?" He asked, confused.
Wilbur walked him through the process, and soon they were in a row at the bottom of his screen. He grinned. "Wait, I can move you guys wherever." He played with the feature a bit before going back to Minecraft. Tommy made a few faces that the chat went crazy over.
He could sense the subtle change in the environment and realized no donations were coming through like the mods were blocking all of them. Confused, he opened George's stream on his second monitor. He scrolled to the chat, his eyes flickering. He only read a few messages, but he got the gist pretty fast.
can we talk about why tommy only wears long sleeves
ARM REVEAL AT THE SUB-GOAL!??!?
anyone else thinking what im thinking...?
He inhaled sharply and tried to put them at the back of his mind. He moved his character around, testing out the skills in the rooms George had set up.
Then a text-to-speech voice filled his headset.
its like tommy cuts himself or something, why else would he always wear a hoodie? also george can u say hi bella, its my cats bday today. btw i dont mean to offend!
Tommy froze, stunned, his fingers hovering above his keyboard. He replayed the words in his mind. How could someone be so nonchalant? The first person who noticed was a random person on George's stream. Just great.
Tommy took a deep, shaky breath as George clicked off Minecraft. He quickly reprimanded the donation and blocked the user, but it wasn't enough. The next ten minutes or so were tense. Everyone's expressions were guarded, more than before.
Finally, George cracked and ended the stream. Everyone sat in the Discord call, silent.
"This puts us in a pretty bad position," Dream started. "I mean, do we have to say something? On Twitter?"
"That's what you're concerned about?" Wilbur shot back. "Your reputation? Tommy, man, are you okay? Those donations always suck."
"I'm fine," Tommy said through his teeth, managing a smile for his friends. His legs and arms itched. He wished he could be out of the call already. He took a deep breath. "Thanks for streaming with me, George. I'm gonna go."
"Already?" Karl put in. "Stay. We can play Jackbox or something."
"I don't feel like it," He muttered.
"Come on, please?" Wilbur's voice with an edge of teasing. "I'll totally destroy you at the rap thing."
"Oh, you suck at the rap thing!" Dream added, laughing.
"Or every Jackbox game," George added, laughing along with him.
Tommy blinked back the tears that rose in his eyes. No one seemed to notice; the call filled with laughter as they noted his insecurities, saying anything and everything they could. He didn't feel much like himself. He was taking every joking jab to the heart.
Karl added, "Maybe the donation was right!"
"Wouldn't it be better?" George supplied.
Dream started wheezing as Wilbur burst into laughter. None of them noticed a tear fall down Tommy's cheek.
He disconnected the call, breathing heavily. He let his headphones slide off his ears as he stood up and stumbled to his bathroom. He reached for his blades and collapsed on the tile floor. He lifted up the sweatshirt, his breathing becoming more controlled as he sliced into his skin. He didn't feel the rush when he saw no blood, so he moved to his legs, carving deeper and deeper. One turned into five. When his legs were covered in blood, he moved to his arms. The minutes blurred together as the blade pushed again and again.
Finally, it dropped from his hand. He felt dizzy as he pressed his cheek into the cold floor. He drew in a deep, ragged breath.
He couldn't say how long he lay there, but soon he stood. He washed off the blood and wrapped some of the worse cuts. Then he slid back into his chair, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain that overtook his cuts.
He opened Discord and saw a bunch of messages from his friends. He scanned them.
wilby
hey, tommy. we took it way too far. pls respond
tommy?
tommy
tommy im worried
i get that u need space but just let me know youre okay
tommy im a second away from coming over
green blob
dude we suck, we never should have made fun of you. im so sorry i didnt notice u were uncomfortable. get back to me when you can, i wanna talk.
gogy
tommy?
i swear i didnt mean any harm, call me when ur avail
karl jacobs
YO TOMMY! are you ok man?
His head fell into his hands, and he winced as pain shot through his arm. He quickly texted everyone back, saying they'd talk soon. Wilbur was the one exception.
big man
no dont come over, im fine.
we'll talk more later
wilby
you know you can tell me anything right?
He sucked in a sharp breath as panic encased him. Did Wilbur know? How could he know? It seemed like he knew. Anyone would know. How could Tommy be so stupid, so reckless? He should've taken it. Why didn't he tell the truth? Why did he do anything? Why did he even try? What was wrong with him?
big man
of course
___________________ (time skip cuz im gonna lose my mind)
It was late one night, and Tommy had just eaten a granola bar. He felt more accomplished than ever. Excitement flooded through his veins. He just wanted to talk to someone. He never meant to mess everything up, really he didn't. He didn't even think of looking down and realizing that what he wore by himself couldn't be worn in front of others.
If only he hadn't been so hasty.
In his blind excitement, he called Wilbur, and of course, he picked up.
"Hey, what's up?" Wilbur couldn't hide the concern in his voice. "We haven't properly talked since George's stream."
"I know," Tommy answered. "I just wanted to talk. Um, about anything. I just finished dinner."
"Really? What did you make?"
His eyes widened. He hadn't expected the question. "Oh. Uh..." He searched his brain for a believable lie. "Just a frozen pizza," He answered. "Pepperoni and spinach."
Wilbur wrinkled his nose. "What? Pepperoni and spinach?"
"Yeah." Tommy shrugged. "It's what Americans eat. You need to stay more in the loop."
"I eat pizza, Toms."
Tommy shrugged again. "So what have you been up to?"
Wilbur thought for a minute. "Practice. The band and I are working on a new EP. This one is gonna be good, I can feel it. We spent the whole day playing, and my fingers hurt. But I only broke one string. They don't trust me with the good guitars anymore."
Tommy laughed, hearing it ring empty in his own ears.
"What about you, big man?"
He bit his lip. "Oh, a lot of nothing."
Wilbur raised an eyebrow. "Well, I know that's not true. Your normal response would be women or drugs. What's going on?"
"Nothing," Tommy insisted again.
"What's that in the background?" Wilbur squinted and grinned. "Is that my Youtooz?"
Tommy's eyes lit up. He had been meaning to tell Wilbur about it. "Yeah, it's great! I got it off Etsy for a really good price. I felt bad that my old one got lost in the move." He stood up. Like an idiot, he walked over to his bed and grabbed the dumb thing, and held it up. His brows fell in confusion at Wilbur's horrified expression.
"Tommy..." He whispered.
Tommy's stomach churned and his chest knotted. Like an idiot, he sat down and asked, "What's wrong? Wilbur? You look like you saw a ghost." He forced out a laugh.
"Tommy." Wilbur's hand flew to his mouth, his eyes swelling with tears.
He tilted his head in confusion.
Oh.
Oh.
He was wearing shorts, and the scars were littered all over his legs.
"Shoot, shoot..." He scrambled for the end call button as Wilbur let out a choking noise. He ended the call and ran into his bathroom. He grabbed the blades, sobbing as he pulled the sweatshirt away from his body for easier access.
He slashed at his thighs, the only part of his body he normally left alone. Once, twice, way deeper than he should've gone. Three, four times, lighter than the others but they still bled, looking like they'd leave scars.
He hugged his knees to his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Wilbur hates me. He hates me. I've messed everything up. He's gonna call the police and report me for being a maniac. I'm gonna be locked up, and sent to a mental hospital. What is wrong with me? He hates me. He hates me. He probably told everyone by now, because he hates me, he hates me.
He repeated the words over and over, and then he lifted the blade again, his hand shaking, but he couldn't quite bring himself to follow through.
He heard a knock on the door. Then it clicked open and Wilbur's footsteps pounded against the ground.
"Hey," He said weakly when the other burst into the bathroom.
"Oh, sunshine." Wilbur fell to his knees and tugged Tommy closer, his eyes pouring over the boy's scars. They were everywhere, scattered across his stomach in pink lines. The fresher ones on his legs still bled an ugly red. Some were dusted above his elbow, but most were on his legs. The cuts crisscrossed each other, some caked over with dried blood and others nothing but pink lines. They covered his arms like a disease, even some on his wrist.
Tommy braced himself for the lecture, and the yelling. Or maybe Wilbur would just get up and leave.
But he didn't. He stayed, and then he pulled Tommy into his chest and squeezed him as if he would never breathe again. Like the boy was a lifeline.
"Oh, Wilbur. I'm so sorry. I-I'm so..." Tommy cried into his chest. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think you'd find out. I was doing so well. I was doing so well and nobody knew and then that stupid donation and..." He sobbed harder.
Wilbur made soothing motions along his back. "There are so many," He whispered into the mass of blonde curls. "I missed it. I missed it all. We were making fun of you when you were taking blades to your skin, I..."
Tommy wiped his tears, but more came. He had opened the floodgates, and there was no going back now. He was drowning in a sea of his own creation.
"How long have you been doing this?" He whispered.
"I dunno. Maybe the first lore stream." The words sounded foreign to Tommy like he was doing everything in the third person; watching himself, spectating as his life fell apart because he was stupid and forgot he was wearing shorts.
"The first-?" Wilbur gasped. "My sunshine. I'm so, so sorry." He ran his fingers through Tommy's curls and rubbed the small of his back. "Why... why are you doing this to yourself, baby? Is it because of me?"
"No," Tommy said quickly. "I- I don't know. It makes me feel better, um, sometimes."
"My baby." Wilbur hugged him tighter, careful to avoid his scars. "My precious little sunshine."
He took a deep breath, and for the first time in ages, he really breathed.
"I'm so glad someone knows," He whispered. "I'm gonna get better. Really, I am."
"We don't have to tell anyone." Wilbur met his eyes. "Unless you want to."
Tommy shook his head and curled into Wilbur, tears still tracking down his face. "I'm so sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? I get it. I get it and I love you exactly the same." Wilbur carded through his hair. "I love you so much, Tommy. Okay? Now let's get you cleaned up. I think I know how to clean a cut."
Tommy nodded weakly and let Wilbur work, patching up his scars like he knew them.
Maybe he did.
"I'm gonna get better," Tommy whispered as Wilbur finished and sat against the wall, holding him. "I know," He murmured. "I know, sunshine."
Tommy closed his eyes.
He was safe, and he was okay.
He was okay.