Chapter Text
Ludwig craves the feeling that comes with self mutilation. When he takes a blade to his skin, when he burns himself with lighters, when he bruises himself, he truly believes he’s never felt happier.
The label holds true, he’s mutilated. Gaping wounds, red burns, and dark bruises litter his pale body. He truly feels alive when he cuts into his neck, playing with life as a cat would with a fly. He hides the damage with the ruse of liking turtlenecks, the fabric just barely covering the marks that grow in number each day.
Part of his problem is that he’s gone unchecked for so long. When he still lived at home, his mom made sure he was keeping his hands out of the knife drawer. It didn’t escalate too much back then because it didn’t get the chance to. His sick curiosity finally has an outlet when he’s out from under his mother’s watchful eye. The freedom of your own home can be detrimental.
He’s permanently blemished with the scars from events others would deem horrifying. To Ludwig it’s just another Tuesday night. When he takes a knife from the block in the kitchen and cuts a gash in his arm, he doesn’t bat an eye. When he bleeds through his sweatshirt, it doesn’t bother him. He has no second thoughts when he breaks his hand with a hammer later that night. The hammer was a mistake only in the realm of being found out. Aiden forces him to go to the ER when he sees his “accidental” injury. His hand gets put in a cast, and Ludwig gets put in a bad mood.
This is what he means when he says his freedom is detrimental. He’s chipping away at himself day by day, pushing the boundaries of what his body can take without requiring major medical attention. The guise of long sleeves and pants is dwindling as yet another summer comes around. Inescapable questions begin to pile up.
“Hey, Lud, aren’t you hot?” Nick asks, over and over.
He never leaves him alone about this stuff. Always asking if he wants to put on a tshirt before they go out, if he’s too hot, if all he owns are long sleeves.
“No, I’m cold, actually,” he answers bluntly.
Under the armor of fabric lies his secrets. Each mark a different lie told to the people that care about him. He wants to give in to his conscience, to undo all the lies and beg for help. But a much bigger part of him wants to give in to his urges, wants to get even worse.