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One, Asriel's deserted side of the room.
Two, the sun peeking through the closed curtains, halfway down.
Three, their unkempt bangs in their face, messy from going so long without touching a hairbrush.
One, the sound of their breathing. Quiet, awfully shaky. Annoying.
Two, Toriel downstairs. Probably washing the dishes or something.
Three, the tapping of their fingernails against the side of the knife.
One, they closed their eyes for just a second. Blinked.
Two, the tapping of their fingers.
Three, they tilted their head to look down at that knife, sharp, begging to be used.
And that was what Toriel liked to practice. The 3-3-3 rule, yet it hardly did anything for Kris. It never worked like their mom said it would.
Of course, they had people they could talk to. Susie probably isn't busy, Noelle would be done with her homework by now, Ralsei was always happy to meet them in castle town.
But why bother?
It had been far too long by now. Just sitting around, craving that feeling, the cold feeling of wet tissues against their arm, the bittersweet feeling of hopelessness.
They weren't supposed to like it, let alone miss it more than anything.
But who had to know?
Susie cleaned that old blood stain out of the carpet some time ago. It's a shame that it would all be for nothing. Kris would just go and make another one, just like they always did.
Their left sleeve was already rolled down, because they knew that stupid method wouldn't do anything. It never did anything. It never quiets down those thoughts. It never makes them stop shaking, it's useless.
Why?
Well, why not?
Sometimes bad days just hit you head on, and there's nothing to do besides give into those thoughts that pull at your hair and make your head spin.
It's not like they were ever busy. It's not like they ever did anything with themself outside of school and the dark worlds they'd enter.
Summer was a cruel season, anyway. Even if they did have things to be doing outside, why bother? It's hot as fuck and it just feels miserable. Why bother at all?
After taking a deep breath, Kris held their arm up and prepared for the sting. They craved the sting. They needed the sting. There was nothing else that would fill the void.
The sound of metal meeting skin was pretty. It was satisfying, it was like music to their ears.
Initially white. They spread the small pathetic sliver apart and watched as it began to spot with red, eventually growing until they couldn't see the dermis at all anymore, a pool of crimson covering it.
The first one was always a little disappointing. Next one will be better.
For the second swipe, they pressed a little harder. Better results.
It wasn't that much different, though. A little wider, maybe a little deeper, but not that much different.
They repeated the process.
Over, over, and over again, until they lost track of just how many times they ripped their skin open.
For some reason, none of them were really looking like they should. None of them were satisfying enough. None of the cuts could fulfill their insatiable expectations.
But even so, would anything?
They could probably cut their arm off and still find themself craving more. This is just a pathetic addiction, and there's no real way to accomplish what you think you're getting out of it.
But that's the best part. You don't ever have to stop; you can try over and over again. Some are better than others.
Sure, they're not all perfect, but they're pretty, and they take the edge off.
The stinging was supposed to hurt, and maybe it did, but some part of Kris enjoyed that. They enjoyed the pain, enjoyed how it hurt to do anything with the limb they'd chosen to mutilate for the day.
Blood was overflowing from those wounds, and it came to their attention how mortifyingly small all of them were.
Not enough.
Would it ever be enough?
Of course not.
Silently, they set the knife back down onto their bed and reached for the box of tissues, pressing the paper onto the cuts for a minute or two before tossing it and forgetting all about it.
Band-Aids would help soothe the pain and soak up the blood, but that's too much of a hassle. They would be fine just laying here, feeling the fibers of the cloth against the open wounds, or letting them breathe in the surrounding air if they chose to keep their sleeve rolled up. Both options hurt. That was what made them enjoyable.
It would never be enough, and another part of them almost regret it, but that wouldn't turn the clock back.
This was what helped. Not Toriel's stupid grounding techniques, not calling their friends, not doing something to distract themself. This was the only method that ever felt good enough. It was the only thing that worked.
They threw the knife onto the floor along with the bloodied tissue and opted to just flop on their bed.
It was warm. It was excruciatingly warm always having to cover every part of your body.
The only reason Kris had to do that was because of themself. They were the one that chose to inflict that pain on themself, and if they really didn't want to have to do that anymore, they could just quit.
A quiet chuckle escaped their mouth.
Yeah, quit. Like that'll ever work.
It never did. They could keep themself in check for at best a week or two, and that was about it. The urge always came back. No amount of fighting it would make it go away. It never permanently left. It was always there.
Kris let the silence consume them, the only noises being sound of their own breathing and the faint chirping of the birds from outside. Whatever Toriel was doing, she had stopped and was onto something else.
The sun was setting; the sky tinted a bright orange with subtle hints of blue and pink.
Noelle probably thought this was pretty. Susie probably thought it was pretty too. If Ralsei could see it, he'd definitely think so as well.
Kris didn't care for it.
They didn't have it in themself to care about much of anything anymore.
Things would always be this way, and that was okay.
Things would never get better, and that was just fine. They could deal with that.
Kris closed their eyes and curled up on their bed.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.