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Richie’s lying down in bed, today was a horrible day. His parents kept suggesting that he goes to Ruth’s birthday in “something nice”, and by nice, they mean feminine. His parents never acknowledged the fact that their son was trans, they just lived their lives like he never told them. This, however, was only the beginning.
Richie has somewhat long hair due to sensory issues. Anytime he’s stressed, one hand will be playing with some of his hair. However, after what his parents said, he started despising his hair. Every time he’d stim with his hair, he’d get mad at himself and would try to focus without using that to calm him down. This inevitably led him to failing his essay.
There was one thing that he hated most about himself out of everything, Richie hated his thighs. He hated how squishy they were, he hated how every time he sat down they’d squish. It’d make him feel more feminine and he absolutely despised it, every time he’d sit down he’d feel horrible about everything.
His friends, Ruth and Peter noticed and tried to help. Richie insisted that he was fine, he kept doing that until they eventually stopped asking. Then he felt horrible because he really did want to talk about it, he just didn’t want to be a burden.
When he got to his uncles house, it seemed he noticed as well. Paul would immediately know what was going on and asked him if he was okay, but just like he did with his friends, Richie denied the help. Paul knew Richie all too well, especially since he’s been in the same situation Richie had when he was Richie’s age. So he’d check in on him every once in a while.
Now, it was currently 2:27 AM. Richie was still lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, crying silently. “I’ll never be a real guy..-“ He whispered to himself, his tears falling on his pillow. He sat up a bit and looked down, his thighs were practically taunting him.
He sat up all the way and reached towards his nightstand, he grabbed a small magnetic photo holder that he got from his eighth grade dance. The photo was of him and his two friends, they looked super happy, they thought Highschool was going to at least be somewhat better back then.
Richie flipped the photo over and squeezed the sides, letting a razor blade fall out. He grabbed it and looked at it with a hopeful gleam in his eyes, he hoped that this would make him feel better, even just a bit. He would press down one corner of the blade on his thigh and drag the blade across his flesh, watching the crimson liquid slowly seep out of the wound.
He would do this process repeatedly, corner of blade on thigh, drag, and watch the blood seep out. He felt satisfaction, he wanted to take all his anger out on his body for being this way, for not being the way he wanted it to be, for being born the way he didn’t want to be. After he’d think those thoughts, he’d make more incisions on his thighs.
Once he was done, he realized he forgot toilet paper again. “God fucking dammit…” he cursed under his breath as he put his razor blade away. He definitely didn’t want to be caught by his uncle or get any of his clothes stained with blood, so he sucked it up and lied down on his stomach, letting the sheets below him absorb the blood. His legs were stinging but Richie couldn’t care less, he felt better than he did earlier. He felt his eyes get droopy as he slowly fell asleep.