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Johnnie stared at his ceiling in silence.
He knew he was getting bad again. He could feel the depression sink heavy in his bones, cementing him down into his bed. He was doing so well these past few months. Of course having a few slip-ups here and there, but he was doing well enough. Something he was sort've proud of. He was decently happy.
But, per usual, mind eating thoughts plagued his brain. At first, they were tolerable. The usual 'all your friends hate you' type junk. He didn't really pay attention to that. But then again, he did. Because what if his friends really did hate him? What if they were all in on the same prank and he was just a big joke?
He changed his gaze from his ceiling to his top dresser drawer. He remembers, of course he does, what's in it. Some articles of clothing, other random junk, and of course his prized possession. He thought about it once or twice this past month, but never got the courage to get up and grab it.
A small blood-stained razor. Actually, he wasn't sure you'd even call it that. He had gotten it out of a pencil sharpener (classic) some number of months ago and had only used it but three times. He could remember exactly how it felt sliding and tearing open his delicate skin. It felt so nice. Distracting. Maybe.. maybe if he could get up and move. Maybe he could distract his brain from coming up with awful thoughts.
Johnnie slowly slid up, bones feeling heavy. Blood quickly rushed to his head. How long was he laying there? His mind and body felt woozy, blackness covering his eyes briefly before quickly fading away. He hated when that happened.
Moving to sit on edge of his bed, his hands clutched the blankets that were half falling off. God, this was fucked. He didn't really want to do this. He was fine sleeping the day away. He could handle his thoughts. He really shouldn't grab that small blade. He really shouldn't let his eyes stare and his mind wander.
It could all stop though.
All his thoughts of his friends leaving him behind. Kicking him to the side and letting the maggots eat at his flesh. He wanted it to stop, didn't he? He didn't want to think. He wanted to be numb again. The blade could— would— make him numb again. All he needed to do was get up and grab it. It seemed miles away, and his bones felt heavy like bricks, but he managed to stand up somehow.
Johnnie trekked slowly across his messy room, hands falling to his sides. They were oddly still as he reached the dresser and only shook slightly as he pulled it open. Fear clouded his mind for a brief moment, his hands hovering above the random items. Shaking his head, he dug around the small drawer in search of the object that would bring his mind comfort.
It only took but so much digging before he found the tiny metal blade. A sad sigh escaped his lips. No one really wanted to hurt themselves, he thought. At least he didn't. So why was he? Why was he moving to sit back down on his bed? Why didn't he put the blade back if he knew he should?
Depression was a complicated thing.
Johnnie pressed his index finger lightly against the blade, feeling how pathetically dull it was against his flesh. Humming, Johnnie tugged his sweatpants down. He wasn't desperate enough to slice his arms. It was too unusual for him to wear long sleeves around the house anyway. His thighs were a pretty good canvas. Scars littered the pale skin, starting from the beginning of his pelvis to midway down his thigh. Some deeper than others, and some just simple slashes that left a thin white line.
A lot overlapped. Struggling to find a good blank spot was hard, seeing as both thighs were pretty roughened up. Why'd he keep doing this if it never got better? A question he always asked. He never got an answer though, just another slash on the wrist or thigh. Another sigh left his lips. He was so tired.
The coldness of the metal almost brought sense to Johnnie, the tip of the blade hesitantly pressed against his pale thigh. While biting his lip, Johnnie slowly slid the blade a small distance across his thigh. It wasn't deep. No where close to where he wanted to be. The wound already beginning to form small clots of blood. A groan of pain escaped his lips. Fucking cat-scratches, he thought pitifully. Those were arguably the worst. Hurt the most, to him, at least.
It'd been so long (in his mind) since he'd done anything like this. His thigh twitched subconsciously. A few more delicately placed cuts made Johnnie almost think twice about going deeper. This already hurt so much, his thigh feeling hot with pain. All he could focus on was the small shake of his hand and the blood covering his pale thigh.
He should go a bit deeper, he thought. Cat-scratches wouldn't solve his problems. Wouldn't prove that he had enough problems to even cut. Styros would, maybe, thats probably as deep as he felt comfortable going. Tonight at least. Next week, hell even tomorrow, who knows? Maybe he'd kill himself and he wouldn't have to think again. God that'd be perfect, he hummed at the thought.
Johnnie pressed the tip of the blade deeper into his thigh, pulling afterwards. The skin gave away with mild resistance and blood quickly flowed to the top of the cut. Johnnie winced as the cold air hit the open wound. The blood slowly dripped down into his inner thigh, stopping once it had reached his bedsheets. Gross, he thought. The smell of the blood (along with the feel of it running down his thigh) was nasty. He never liked how it smelt, honestly questioning the people that genuinely liked it.
Plucking a dirty black t-shirt off the floor, Johnnie wiped the blood away so he could see his cuts so far. The shirt did little to actually wipe any blood away. Instead, it just smeared it and coated his pale thigh with a bright red. The blood quickly flowed from its wounds back to its original state, once again dripping down Johnnies thigh.
Two more. Two deep ones. He decided to himself. He already had enough small cuts, some accidentally deeper than others.
Mid through another deeper cut, Johnnies roommate, Jake, knocked on the door before opening it wide. Johnnie let out a noise of surprise before he quickly shoved his blanket over his bloody thighs, praying Jake hadn't seen anything. The blade was still in his hand so he reached under the cover and dropped it inbetween his thighs.
"Woah, hey Johnnie. Caught ya in the middle of slaying the dragon or what?" Jake joked, leaning against the doorframe. "Uh-" Johnnies voice came out with a hoarse croak, "what?"
Jake walked over to Johnnies bed, flipping over and landing back first against it. "Ya'know what I meant. Anyway, whatcha up to?"
Johnnie brought a fist to his mouth and coughed, shrugging afterward. "Um. Nothing, I guess." He waved his hand around in a dismissive manner. "So, um, did you need something?" Johnnie questioned and wrapped his arms loosely around his stomach. A flash of concern briefly flashed on Jake's face before it was quickly covered up by his usual expression.
"Oh yeah!" He leaned up to talk to Johnnie better. "I was wondering what you wanted to eat since I'm odering tonight. You didn't text me back any requests so I guessed your phone was turned off."
Johnnie winced inwardly, feeling like an awful friend. He had saw the text but couldn't find the motivation to respond back. Jake was probably annoyed at how often this had happened. Johnnie was thankful that Jake hadn't thought to leave Johnnie and find a new roommate (though he's sure Jake has), he wasn't sure what he'd do without the younger.
"Uh, I'm not sure." Johnnie shrugged, fidgeting with his hands. "Whatever you want, I guess. I'm not that hungry"
Jake stared at Johnnie for a moment, seeming as if he was examining the other. "Are you okay?" He asked in a sincere voice. A simple question that could unravel something bigger than Jake was even sure he could handle.
Everything seemed to pause, Johnnies breathing especially.
"Yeah, why?" Johnnie asked nervously, picking at his fingernails now.
"It's just, you seem off. Not to sound rude." Jake quickly added to reassure Johnnie, concern evidente in his voice. "I just got a feeling is all."
Johnnie shrugged noncomittedly, his heart rate picking up. "Oh well, um," he glanced around the room to avoid Jake's gaze, "I'm okay." He settled on looking at his dresser.
It was quiet for another minute. Johnnie staring at his dresser, Jake staring at Johnnie. Johnnie felt his face go hot, he wasn't too glad that Jake had taken up on staring at him. "Jake?" Johnnie questioned after he couldn't take the silence anymore.
"Is that blood?" Jake more of said than asked, his voice seemed to be void of emotion. Though Johnnie was sure he was concerned he felt like he was in trouble with a parent. "Um," Johnnie couldn't say anything. He couldn't lie. What else would it be other than blood? Paint? They don't even own paint.
Jake scooted closer, a questioning look on his face. "Can I pull the cover back?" He asked as if Johnnie was a baby deer that could get startled at any moment. That wasn't too far off in how he felt anyway. Johnnie shrugged. He was staring at cover in question. "Go ahead."
Johnnie shivered as the cover was pulled back by Jake, the air hitting his fresh cuts. Jake glanced down at Johnnies thighs before looking into his eyes. More at his face than anything as Johnnie was still avoiding eye contact. "I'm sorry." He whispered pathetically, itching for the cover to be drawn back over his legs.
Blood was still sliding down his thighs and drying up in an uncomfortable way. If Jake hadn't come into his room, Johnnie probably would have gone to sleep like that.
"It's okay." Jake said in a comforting whisper. "Can you stand?"
Johnnie nodded and Jake carefully helped both of them stand up, making the way to their shared bathroom. Jake had Johnnie sit on the toliet as he searched for stuff to wrap up the wounds. "I'm not.. exactly sure how to um, ya'know, take care of it." Jake said after a minute. "I dunno if we even have anything. But, like, I know we have bandaids?"
"I guess those could work." Johnnie shrugged, his voice cracking. Jake nodded and pulled out colorful Bluey themed bandaids. "Do you want Bluey or Bingo?"
"Mm, Bingo."
"Good choice." Jake grinned, getting a wet rag and gently swiping the blood off Johnnies thigh. "Why did we buy these?" He asked Johnnie with a laugh, taking a dry rag and making sure his thigh was completely dry.
Johnnie winced as the rag swept over the cuts and shrugged again. "I think it was a joke but you ended up buying them anyway."
Jake let out a small sorry before gently putting the Bingo bandaids on the more profound cuts. For the smaller ones, he put Bluey so she wouldn't get jealous. After the bandaids littered Johnnies thigh, Jake patted it gently and stood up.
"My room?" He questioned, offering Johnnie a hand. Johnnie nodded, though he knew Jake would force him to go anyway, and took his hand. Jake helped him up and wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding them out of the bathroom and toward his room.
Once they reached Jake's room, Jake let Johnnie sit on his bed before going and shutting the door. He didn't have a reason too, it was just them. It felt more safer to have it shut though. "We don't have to talk about it." Jake turned and looked at Johnnie. "I don't mind. Do you want pants, by the way?"
Johnnie shrugged. "I could go for pants right now."
Jake nodded and opened his top dresser drawer, pulling out a pair of Jack Skellington pajama pants after. "They're lose on me, so they're gonna like basically fall off of you. But they're pants so I hope you don't mind." He laughed and tossed Johnnie the pants. They were his favorite.
After Johnnie put on the pants, Jake flopped down onto the bed next to him. Johnnie glanced at Jake, a small smile fitting his lips. With a yawn, Jake stretched and pulled Johnnie more onto the bed than before. "Wanna bro-cuddle?"
"Dude, quit calling it that." Johnnie shook his head with a laugh and laid down. "You love it," Jake grinned and tossed an arm over Johnnies torso, "you so do."
Rolling his eyes, Johnnie scooted closer and held Jake. "Whatever."