Chapter Text
Hunter Noceda Deamonne is a sad, lonely boy. At Least that's what he makes himself out to be. And it might just be true, those thoughts constantly nagging at him.
They only hang out with you because the pity you
You’re pathetic.
Fat.
Ugly
Useless.
Belos was trying to help
Why did you have to disobey him?
No, No. Belos was a bad person. He deserved what was coming for him, he deserved it, right?
Hunter was happy, living with Darius was the best decision he ever made! he was going to school, he had friends, he had a life, Unlike when he was in the coven.
So why was it, that every morning when he woke up. There was an aching, empty feeling in his chest? A feeling that made his mind go blank with self deprecating thoughts? It made him feel heavy, like his head weighed too much for his shoulders and the eight hours of sleep he had gotten meant nothing.
Hunter's eyes felt heavy as he stretched, or more like flopped out of bed. His limbs felt like jelly as he untangled himself from the sheets. Slipping on a pair of bright purple cat slippers luz had bought him. He trudged downstairs so he could at least get a bath in before school.
His body ached, and his muscles were sore from the awkward sleeping position he had taken through the night. And his stomach churned with each step, as if begging him to eat something. But his mind obliged to it.
He had a strict schedule. A meal every week. And if he managed to do good by the end of the month. A whole three meals.
He had just started this schedule last week, and he was trying to stick to it- especially after moving in with Darius. Darius never had to worry about feeding a second person until Hunter moved in, and now that he had Hunter latching onto him like a lost puppy, he had to work twice as hard. So hunter had been dieting himself as to not use up the food rations, plus, he needed it. Whenever he bent down his stomach had rolls and he had extra fat on his legs. He needed to lose weight, he had let himself go after he left the coven. but after Belos’s death. He realized that it would be better to eat less than to be a burden to Darius.
Since he often switched between households, it was easy enough to hide. When he went to Eda's house, he would tell Darius he was eating there. And when he was at Eda’s house he would lie and say he had eaten at Darius’s house. So it was a win win. He would get side glances from Eda every now and then, king included. But she never pushed to ask any further questions, about his eating habits or the fact he had never worn a short sleeve in his life. And it was for a good reason, he didn't want to disgust them with his body, his scars, himself. Every day when he looked in the mirror, he would tell himself that it was for his own good as he pressed a sharp, clean razor blade to his skin. He had learned easy first aid from having to tend to the many scars Belos had given him during his time as the golden guard.
But now that was simply just a title, because he didn't have that authority anymore, everyone just saw him as a sad, lonely kid. And Boscha certainly didn't help with her snide comments. Amity tried her best to get her to shut up and leave Hunter alone, but it never worked.
Plus,
Hunter had heard worse.
Hunter let out a sigh as he made his way downstairs. still in his red pajamas as he glanced around to make sure Darius wasn't awake yet before sneaking his way into the bathroom. Shutting and locking the door behind him and checking twice before bending down to rummage through the bathroom cabinets for the stash of razor blades he had bought at the night market. The seller did not ask what hunter’s intention with them was, pretty sure the dude just wanted money. Hunter lifted up a small, perfectly cut block of wood to reveal a small crack containing an even smaller black pouch with 3-5 razor blades.
He always threw one away once he was done using it, couldn't risk infection. He opened the pouch to carefully grab a clean blade and placed the pouch back where it was originally. It only stung for a moment. He closed his eyes, and very quickly pressed down as hard as he could then ran the blade across his skin. He furrowed his eyebrows as he unwrapped his left arm, he was running out of space. So he checked his right arm, barely any space. His left leg, then his right leg, but still nothing. He pondered for a moment, it's not like he hadn't just cut over other scars, he just didn't like to do it. So he let out a sigh as he rolled his left sleeve back up and squinted to look at any bare spots, quickly nicking them with the blade and getting it over with.
It's all in his head, pain is really a figment of our imagination, depending on your tolerance of course. The cuts wouldn't hurt until the next day, and then he would cry himself to sleep at 2 in the afternoon, and go downstairs to get a snack afterwards. And he would squint, squint and watch as pearly red dots formed from the fresh cut and ran down his arm. Squint, squint and watch as the blood dried on his skin and flaked up, leaving a trail of red tinted skin.
Sometimes it was hard to breathe, and it felt like the room was closing in on him, Luz told him they were panic attacks. panic attacks? Unc- belos . Had said they were simple myths that humans made up so they could pretend to be sick. But after all- belos did lie to him a lot. He didn't know who to trust, every light felt like it was driving him insane, making his brain stir with a pounding headache. It was hard to concentrate as he felt himself fade in and out, shit. Some of the old cuts had reopened, and blood was running down his arm in a thin river. He quickly stumbled over to the sink, holding his arm under the cool water and dabbing it lightly with a rag until the blood stopped enough for him to pull away and bandage up his arm again.
He hated it, he hated doing this. But it was for his own good. He froze when he heard a knock on the bathroom door, heart racing 1000 miles an hour as he scrambled to hide bloody tissue paper and razors.
A soft voice comes from outside of the door. a voice that makes hunters world seem so much more simple, a voice that makes him feel like he's standing on clouds. ad a voice that makes him want to break down and cry.
"hunter? its willow."