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Buck watched as the blood started beading up where he had cut. The crimson red a stark contrast to the pale skin of his thigh.
He didn't feel sad, or happy. Media often depicts cutting like this big, emotional, crazy thing, when really it didn't feel like a big deal to him at all.
He watched with fascination as the beads of red grew, and grew in size. As the blood travelled its way through the crevasse of the shallow cuts he had placed. He took a wad of tissues and folded it once, twice, three times, before pressing down on the four cuts. The blood was just enough for it to seep through the tissue, red blotches staining the thin paper all throughout.
He didn't cut as much as he used to, only cutting once every few weeks now. There had once been a time in his life that he would cut almost daily. October 2019, during the lawsuit.
He never really quit since then, just taking long breaks. The longest he had gone without cutting was 4 months—which isn't a lot in the grand scheme of things—but for him, it was too long. That was after Eddie had told him about the will. He had tried to keep clean. He even threw out all his blades, but the temptation crept up on him again, as it always does.
He took the tissue away from his skin, and was pleased to see that the bleeding had stopped just enough, that the rest of the blood would clot up, and turn into a scab. He liked to pick at the scabs cutting left. He wanted them to scar. Like a physical evidence of the pain he's been through—a map of his life, of his anguish.
He felt the pull of the blade growing, the urge starting to light up again. He reached for the discarded blade, laying against the cool tile of Eddie’s bathroom floor, and lined it up on his thigh. Over the years, he had run out of clean places to make new cuts on his right thigh, so he had to overlap his cuts with the old ones of the past.
He never cut on his left thigh. That was his rule. Not the arms, not the calves, and not the left thigh. The reason? He had none. Maybe it was just about control. Maybe it was so he could tell himself he had this under control. Whatever it was, he wasn't sure of. But he knew that the day he cuts his left thigh is going to be the day that he needs serious help.
He pressed down, and slowly dragged the blade right. The sting made him wince, but he kept going. He never liked to go fast and slash. He needed to be in control . He couldn't risk going too deep and ending up in hospital.
He watched as the skin around the blade parted, leaving a thin, shallow line in its wake. The blood started beading almost immediately, and it held him in a trance, he moved to cut again, and he didn't even hear the door to the house open, then thud shut.
————————
Eddie had texted, and then called Buck at least 10 times by now, and he still wasn't answering. He had been worried about him lately—I mean, who wouldn't?—Bobby had died no less than a couple of months ago, and Buck was coping the worst out of all of them (yes, even Athena).
So when he wasn't answering his phone, he knew something was up.
He pulled into the driveway to his house. Seeing Buck's jeep parked in his spot didn't help ease the feeling in his gut at all—it just made it worse.
Stepping inside the house, he felt a chill rush over him. The house was dark, and empty. The light from the streetlamp outside the house didn't make it feel any brighter. He switched on the light and made his way through the house.
Chris was at a sleepover. He had been so excited to hangout with all his friends again after coming back from el-paso.
Buck wasn't in the lounge, but his phone was discarded haphazardly on the couch.
“Buck? You home?” He called out. He paused, and waited for a reply, a sound— anything , but nothing came of it.
He walked down the hallway slowly, and saw light spilling out from behind the closed bathroom door.
He knocked on the door. “Buck? Is that you?” ‘ Who else could it be?’ he thought. He knocked again, more urgent this time. “Buck, come on.”
He heard noises from behind the door—scrambling. “Uh—uhm, j- just a second!” Buck squeaked.
“Are you okay?” Eddie asked, his concern growing ten-fold.
“Fine! Just— ah shit— uhm, just gimme a minute Eds!” Buck whined. Eddie could easily hear the distress in his voice.
He reached for the door handle, and turned it, realising that it was unlocked. “Buck, I'm coming in.” He didn't wait for a reply before pushing the door open.
“No—Eddie wait—”
The image Eddie saw before him will continue to haunt him for the rest of his life. Buck was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled out in front of him. Red angry lines coated his thigh, and beneath that, old brown and white scars were littered all over. He had a blade in his hand, and bloodied tissues lay forgotten on the tile.
“ Buck .” He breathed.
“Eddie—”
“No— Jus— I need to…” He stepped forward before his brain could really catch up. “Can I check them?”
“Eddie please…” Buck's voice broke. A terrible distressing look had taken over Buck's face, and it tore at Eddie's heart.
“Buck, I have to check that you— you didn't go too deep.” He hesitantly took another step forward, not wanting to spook or scare Buck. He didn't know why he was acting like this. Like Buck was some wounded, wild, feral animal that needed to be handled with caution, but he couldn't help it.
When Buck made no move to stop him, he crouched forward, kneeling down next to buck.
“I didn't go deep. Don't worry Ed’s.” Buck’s voice sounded desolate, and heavy. Eddie almost scoffed.
“Don't worry? Evan, how can I not?” He looked Buck in the eyes, but he wasn't looking back. Buck's eyes were fixed on the blade still in his hands. Eddie’s stomach churned.
He wanted to snatch it out of his hands, throw it out the door, and out the window—out of the country . But he knew it would only make things worse.
He slowly reached for Buck’s hand, holding it in his. Without looking away from Buck, he took the blade out of his hand and pocketed it.
“Hey.” His voice was soft, and low. “Can you look at me?”
The lack of reply was as good as an answer.
He pushed up from the floor, and reached for the first-aid bag in the bathroom cabinet, before re-taking his spot on the floor next to Buck, who hadn't moved an inch since Eddie had walked in.
He hadn’t lied. The cuts were shallow—not cat scratches, but not gashes either. He took a moment to look at the scars. Some of them looked decades old—which scared him, because Buck was only in his thirties—and some, only weeks.
“Buck, I'm just gonna clean these a little, and put some gauze on it, okay?”
He received a nod in reply. His face crumpled a little as he watched the blankness on Buck’s face.
————
After cleaning, and patching, and then getting Buck’s pants on again (which, admittedly, was a bit uncomfortable to do), he helped Buck to his feet, and led him out to the lounge.
Buck dropped down onto the couch, immediately sinking into the cushions. He looked exhausted, dark bags under his eyes, pale skin, and clothes that Eddie could’ve sworn Buck was wearing before he left for his shift 48 hours ago. Buck hadn’t come back to work since the funeral, and nobody blamed him. But Eddie always hated leaving Buck alone in the house, especially before Chris came home. And now he knows he had a pretty good reason for hating it.
He took a seat next to Buck, and let the silence sit between them for a while.
“I'm sorry.” Buck whispered.
Buck's face wasn't tear-stricken, or distraught, or any of the things he thought it would be. He just looked nervous.
“Sorry?—No, you have nothing to be sorry for, Buck. I promise.”
“O-kay.” His voice cracked. He anxiously bit his lip and looked away from Eddie. His knee was bouncing up and down, and up and down, and up-and-down, and up-and- down, and updown, updown, updown, updownupdownupdownupdown—
“Buck.”
He hadn't noticed his breathing getting faster, each breath coming too fast—too shallow.
“Breathe, baby. Nice and slow, okay? Follow my lead.” If Eddie had noticed the pet-name slip, he didn't mention it.
Eddie dramatically took a deep breath in through his nose, and pushed it out through his mouth, his hands following along with it. He tried his best to follow along, and eventually his breathing some-what returned to normal.
“M’ sorry.” He mumbled.
“No, it doesn't matter. Don't worry about that, Evan. I'm just— I'm really worried.”
‘What's new?’ he thought.
“Talk to me. Please? I just want to help.” Eddie pleaded. It hurt Buck how much pain he caused Eddie.
“What do you wanna know?” He asked resignedly.
He must've taken Eddie by surprise, because it took him a minute or two before he asked.
“How long?” Eddie’s eyes bore into his, almost as if he would find the answer to his question in there.
“Uh, on and off since childhood.”
Eddie’s breath hitched.
“I was—I was ten when I started. But uh, the tendencies had actually started before I ever—y’know.” He vaguely gestured at his thigh.
“And… your parents never noticed?” Eddie asked hesitantly, like he didn't really want the answer to that.
“I don't know for certain if they ever realised. I kind of feel like they did, but they never cared enough to do anything. Maddie knew though. She helped me get through it. But uh… She thinks I've been clean since I was 18, so she doesn't really know.”
“Evan I—” Eddie’s voice broke as he fought back tears. “I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that was your childhood. You—you deserved so much better.”
“It's okay. Eddie—please don't cry.” He nearly begged.
“I'm sorry, it's just… No child should have to hurt so much to resort to cutting .” He said, tears slipping down his face now.
“Eddie, it wasn't like that.” He stammered.
“What was it like then? I don't get it, Evan.” Eddie said, disbelief and hurt plastered all over his face. He just wanted to understand.
Buck took a minute to collect his thoughts, and to string his words together, hoping it would make enough sense.
“It's like—everyone makes cutting a big deal, y’know? Like, people who cut are active suicide risks, or they need to be put in a mental hospital or—”
“Hey, no. You aren't crazy.” He asserted.
“Yes, I know . That's my point, Eddie. I—” He sighed. “When I cut, I don't do it as a punishment. And, I don't feel like I deserve the pain or anything. I know and I believe that I don't deserve the pain. But, it's like… to me, it's not a big deal. I—I don't know how to explain it but, it's just cutting.”
Bucks carelessness about it hurt something deep inside of him. How could he be so casual about it?
“So why do you cut?”
What a question.
Why does he cut? Why did he even start cutting in the first place?
He can remember the first time he cut. He didn't have blades, so he tried using kitchen scissors. He can remember how the dull edge scraped along the skin of his thigh, only scratching at the first layer of skin. But he also remembers how good it felt. How much relief it brought him.
And yet, no matter how hard he tried to remember, he couldn't think of why he decided cutting into his skin would be a good idea. Maybe he had picked it up from a movie, or from people at school. Whatever it was, it felt confusing.
“I—The first time that I ever cut, I was really upset. Like I was a sobbing mess. I don't remember very much about it though, It's kinda blurred in my memory, if you know what I mean.”
Eddie hummed in reply. His PTSD breakdown had been a blur to him.
“But, I remember using a pair of scissors. And I remember feeling calm afterwards. Like, my brain went from chaos to just… stillness.”
Eddie nodded and took a second to process. He wished that he could understand why pain of all things could bring calmness to Buck, but the thought made him feel a little sick.
And then he thought of a little ten-year-old Evan, sitting alone in his room, scissors in hand. He thought of Chris at ten, and if he had found him alone in his room, holding a blade to his thigh.
And just when he thought the Buckley parents couldn't get worse— they get horrible.
“But then overtime, I guess it kinda went from cutting when I was overwhelmed, to just cutting when I need comfort. I don't know. I mean—sometimes I cut for no reason. I could've just had an amazing day, but then I think about it and… yeah.” He sighed, his shoulders dropping.
“So… you weren't cutting because Bobby’s… dead?” The word sat sour in his mouth.
“Well, its— fuck —this is really hard to explain.” He huffed a nervous laugh. “Yes, and no? I wasn't cutting because Bobby's dead, not exactly. It's more like I was cutting because I needed comfort, because Bobby’s dead. Did that even make sense?”
Eddie shook his head. “Yeah that—that makes complete sense.”
After that, Buck didn't know what else to say. Eddie didn't seem to know either, so they just sat in silence.
Time seemed to stretch on, and on, and on, and it felt like it was stretching his skin with it. Pulling and tugging and trying to make him as uncomfortable as he's ever been. He had to say something to alleviate this horrible sensation.
“I know I'm not the most self aware person,” Eddie huffed a tiny laugh. “But, when it comes to this, I feel like I know everything about it.”
Eddie’s brows furrowed. “I'm not sure I follow…”
Buck huffed a quick sigh. “Like, I know what this is. I know that this is an addiction, otherwise I would've quit by now. I've been doing this for two decades. I know that it's unhealthy. I know why I cut, and how it makes me feel. I just know a lot about it.”
Eddie sucked in a deep breath, before going all in. “But—you know you have to quit, right?”
Buck leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, with his head in his hands. “Eddie. You don't—”
“ Buck , you’re not seriously about to say ‘I don't get it’, are you? You can't not quit, Buck. You said it yourself, it's unhealthy!”
“No, but you don't get it, Eddie! I just—” He took a deep breath, calming himself down. “Eddie, please don't make me quit. I don't want to. And—and there are so many articles that say that you shouldn't stop self-harm if you aren't ready.” He stuttered, his voice wobbling.
Eddie said it before he could stop himself. “Yeah, I doubt it.”
Buck stared at him, devastation written all over his face. It had been going so well, and he thought maybe, just maybe Eddie would understand. Maybe finally he could just open up, and someone could get it. But no. Because the universe hates Evan Buckley.
“If Bobby were here, he would understand.” He near-spat at him, before getting up and storming out of the house, grabbing his keys on the way.
Distantly, he could hear Eddie calling his name, but he didn't care. He just wanted Bobby.
————————
The drive was a blur, he didn't know where he was going until he pulled into Bobby & Athena’s driveway.
What was he doing here? Bobby is dead, not at home. Bobby is in Minnesota, five states away. Buried next to his children and late wife. So why was he here?
He didn't want to leave, but he made no move to get out of the Jeep.
The sky outside had gotten dark now. He checked the time on his car's clock, it read: 9:58 PM. He couldn't remember what time he had left Eddie’s at, but he could've sworn it hadn't been this late.
He zoned out into oblivion, completely unaware of his engine & headlights still running until a sharp knock sounded on his window.
“Buck? What are you doing here?” Athena asked. He must've woken her up, she looked like she had just gotten out of bed. Cool night air whipped against the grey robe wrapped around her.
“I don't know…” He answered semi-honestly. He did know why he was here. He wanted Bobby. But he knew Bobby wasn't here, so, did he know why he was here?
Athena sighed before opening the car door. “C’mon Buckaroo, let's go inside.”
When Buck showed no signs of moving, Athena took his hand in hers and carefully helped him out of the car, turning off the ignition behind him. She led him inside and sat him down in her makeshift lounge.
It felt like Athena was examining him. He could feel her worried eyes all over him and he hated it. He hated how much comfort it brought. He hated how much she loved him. He didn't deserve her love, not after the lab. Not when he didn't do anything but watch as Bobby slowly died.
“I'm sorry for waking you up.” He rasped. His throat felt like he had been crying. Had he been crying?
“No baby, it's okay. I was awake anyway.” Athena assured. She scooted across the couch to be sitting next to him.
He could feel the warmth radiating off of her, and he wanted nothing more than to just cuddle up and cry into Athena’s arms. But he knew he couldn't.
“Is there… something you want to talk about? You know I'm here for you, Buck.”
Buck swallowed. “No, uh. I don't know why I'm here. I mean, obviously I drove, I'm not that far gone.” He tried to joke, but missed the landing.
Athena hummed. “You missing Bobby?” Buck's breath hitched, and he stared down at his hands. “Yeah, me too. We can talk about him if you want.”
“No—no thanks, ‘Thena. I just—I want to talk to Bobby about something. Nobody else would get it like he would.” He sighed. “This isn't fair.”
“No, it isn't. I'm no Bobby, but you can talk to me if you’d like?”
He felt hesitant. Should he really be venting about his life when Athena’s husband just died right in front of her? He was being so dramatic. He cut his own skin open for seemingly no reason at all, while Athena was grieving her third lover, and seemed to be coping excellently. But how on earth could he say no to her warm, sympathetic smile.
“I, uh. I have an addiction. And I don't want to quit. And before you go worrying—its not drugs, or alcohol. But it's not healthy.” He confessed.
Athena seemed taken aback. He wondered what she thought he was going to say.
“Oh, Buck. What are we going to do with you?” She opened up her arms, and he immediately— selfishly —sunk into her motherly embrace.
Athena raked her fingers through his wild curls. He hadn't cut his hair since before the lab, so it was growing a bit long.
“Buck, can I ask—and you don't have to tell me, I just want to make sure you’re safe—can you tell me what it is?”
He took a deep breath in, and out. And in, and out again before responding. “Its, uh… its—” He choked, tears blurring his sight. It had been so much easier to tell Eddie—at least before he stormed out. He didn't want to disappoint Athena. Didn't want her to see him as weak.
It was like she read his mind. “It's okay, baby. You can tell me. I promise I won't be mad at you.” Athena cooed.
“It's self-harm, ‘Thena…” Buck heard her breath hitch, before playing it off. “I told Eddie. Told him just before I came here, actually. It didn't go well—it was going so well, and then I- I told him that I didn't want to quit, and he got mad at me.”
Buck couldn't see her, but he could tell her brows were furrowed tightly. He could feel the protectiveness radiating off of her.
“I wanted to tell Bobby because… because then maybe he could talk to Eddie for me, help him understand. And there are articles saying that you shouldn't pressure someone to quit self-harm if they aren't ready—I told him that, but he didn't believe me.” He whimpered.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Buck could tell Athena meant it when she promised she wouldn't get mad. He felt safe here, home .
“And—did you—did you do this because of Bobby?” She stammered, her voice cracking on his name.
Buck sighed. The weight of the night finally catching up to him. “I'm too tired to explain, ‘Thena.” He rested his head on her chest, the rhythmic thumping of her heart a soothing balm on his wounds.
“Okay.” She paused. “Do you want to stay here, or go home?”
“Here.” He answered almost immediately. “I'm not ready to talk to Eddie yet.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“No…” Buck admitted. “I just kinda… left. Sorry.” He shrunk into himself.
“No, baby, don't be sorry. It's entirely understandable. I'll just give him a call so he doesn't worry, okay?” She whispered.
Athena stood up, and he instantly missed the warmth of her embrace, the cool air hitting him like a slap in the face. He settled himself onto the couch, and fell asleep to the sound of Athena on the phone in the other room.
————
Eddie’s heart almost lurched out of his chest when Athena called him. His thoughts raced with possibilities as he answered the phone with shaking hands.
“Athena?” His voice wobbled.
“He's here, Eddie. Don't worry. He’s going to sleep here tonight, and then tomorrow… then we’ll see.” She took a deep breath. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I'm okay. I just got really worried when he left. I think I messed up.” He sighed.
“Yeah, I think you messed up too. Be better tomorrow. You get some sleep now, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you Athena.” He moved to hang up, but Athena interrupted him.
“And Eddie?”
“Yeah…?”
“That boy loves you. So be nice to him. He’s already hurt enough for a lifetime.” She hung up just as she finished, leaving Eddie to re-consider all his life choices.
Did Buck really love him?
Was that even an option?
————————
Buck stayed at Athena’s all day the next day, only asking to go home in the late afternoon.
“Okay, Buckaroo. Do you want me to drop you off, or do you want Eddie to come get you?”
Buck recoiled. “Athena, I'm not a baby. I can drive myself.”
“Buck…” She stepped forward and took his hands in hers. “I know you aren't a baby, but you’re my baby, whether you like it or not.” She pet his cheek lovingly.
She let go of him, and strode over to the coat hanger on the wall, shrugging on her jacket. “So, what's it gonna be? Me, or Eddie?”
He groaned, dragging his hands over his face. “Fine. You, please.”
He grabbed his things, and headed outside to her car, Athena following closely behind.
“You and Eddie can come by tomorrow to get your car, okay? I promise it's gonna be fine.”
———
When Eddie opened the door, all he wanted to do was give Buck the biggest, longest, tightest, warmest—the list goes on—hug ever. But he stopped himself before he could do that. He didn't want to overwhelm Buck, and he could tell that there were still some residual emotions from the previous night.
“Hey.” He breathed, relief forming at the sight of a small smile creeping its way onto Buck's face.
“Hi…” He side-stepped inside, giving Athena a tense nod, and walking down the hall to his room.
“How is he?” He asked quietly, bracing himself for the answer.
“He’s tired. But I think he’s going to be okay. Just support and love him. That's all he needs.” Athena gave him a tight, sympathetic smile.
“Okay, okay, thank you. Thanks for having him over last night, I hope it wasn't too much of an issue.”
“No, no issue at all. Buck is family, and family is always welcome. And Eddie—it wouldn't hurt for you to do a little researching, okay?”
And that's exactly what he did.
————
Late at night after Buck and Chris had gone to bed, Eddie stayed up researching. He read through every single website he could find, most of them saying the same thing.
- Acknowledge your feelings
- Try to stay calm
- Don't judge
- Let them know you're there for them
- Relate to them as a whole person
- Avoid stigmatising language
- Offer to help them find support
- Create a support plan with them
- Be patient
- Validate them
- Take care of yourself
It all made sense to him, and he felt like he had been doing most of them well, except for one.
- Let them control their own decisions.
The article under it read: ‘ Asking them to stop self-harming for you, or for any other reason, can make them feel guilty. This often makes things worse. It’s important that they seek help in their own time, even if this might feel difficult for you.
If they relapse with their self-harm, remember it’s possible to go a while without self-harming before having a setback.
This can feel distressing and frustrating. But they may feel confused and distressed too. Try to remind them that relapses and setbacks are a normal part of managing self-harm. And encourage them that they can cope.’
Guilt churned in Eddie’s chest. He really had fucked up. Tears silently slipped down his face, landing on his keyboard.
He was brought out of the thought spiral that was inevitably about to begin, when he heard soft footsteps up behind him.
“Hey, why are you still awake?” Buck yawned, rubbing at his eyes.
“Sorry. Couldn't sleep.” He slapped his laptop shut, surrounding them in darkness. “I could ask you the same question?”
“Nightmare.” Buck deadpanned. “C’mon, let's go.” He casually gestured over his shoulder towards the hallway.
“What do you mean?” His brows scrunched up.
“Eds, I know you hate sleeping on the couch. Come on, you need sleep. Let's go.” Buck reached out for Eddie's hand, and he accepted it reluctantly.
As he was dragged down the hallway, he wondered why Buck had switched up suddenly. He thought Buck was still mad at him for their argument. He wiped the drying tears off his face as they entered his room.
It felt weird to see the room look so… Buck. For 7 long years, this had been Eddie's bedroom. Bland, boring, devoid of anything that brings joy. But Buck had decorated it. It changed everything about the room. He never knew it could look so cozy in there.
They climbed into bed, Eddie taking his side on the right, Buck taking his on the left. A small smile crept onto his face, the familiarity of this routine coming back to him. It all reminded him of the covid lockdowns when he and Buck had to share the bed in the loft.
They settled in, backs facing each other. The steady breathing coming from Bucks side a soothing reminder. And he thought maybe it could be an option. Maybe . Maybe if he was a girl. Or maybe that didn't matter.
“Hey Buck?” He whispered, his voice sounding loud in the stillness of the night.
“Yeah?” Buck whispered back, shifting his body to be facing Eddie's back.
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have expected you to quit. And you were right, pretty much every article says to not pressure you into quitting. I'm sorry.” He sniffled.
“Eds, it's okay. You were worried, it makes sense.”
“Yeah, but still. You were right, and I called bullshit. I shouldn't have done that.” He crossed his arms, bunching his knees up closer to his chest.
“It's okay. I'm sorry for scaring you, and also—thanks for the apology. It means a lot.”
There was a beat of silence, before Eddie joked.
“Look at us, actually communicating for once. Wild.” He huffed a laugh.
Buck snorted beside him. “Who would've guessed.”
And then he realised. It had always been an option. He had been so stupid to not realise. It didn't matter that Buck wasn't a girl, it never had.
Grass is green, the sky is blue, and Edmundo Diaz loves Evan Buckley.
Shit.