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“Oh god, I smell like alcohol and vomit now.” Killer sighed. Cross laid down on the couch.
“Well then take a shower. And make it quick. I gotta take one too.”
“Why don’t we take one together?” Killer flirted. Cross glared at him. Killer laughed and pulled his jacket off. “Alright. My offer still stands by the way.”
Killer’s jacket and shirt fall to the floor with a muted thud. But he thankfully kept his pants on until he got into the bathroom. Cross was about to retort when he spotted something. Cross had never seen Killer without a shirt before. Besides being generally covered in scars, one in particular caught his eye. More specifically, one group of scars. Located on his wrists were uniform lines. Some were pinkish and healed but others were bloody and red. Cross stopped breathing for a moment.
“I’ll keep it short. See ya, pretty boy.” Killer said, disappearing into the hallway.
Cross just sat there for a moment. What could’ve done that to him? The cuts were very straight, seven or eight straight lines going vertically up his wrists then four or five going across. It was far too deliberate to be an accident. Or maybe it was? Perhaps an object did it to him, like some kind of sharp grate thing. Or maybe an enemy caught him and tortured him or something.
But deep down, Cross knew what he’d just seen.
He didn’t want to believe it, but there was only one thing it could be. Cross sat there, fitfully pondering it. His wrists started to feel weird, causing him to sit there rubbing them.
“Alright, your turn, Crossy,” Killer said, throwing a fresh towel at him.
“Yeah, uh… ok.”
Cross got up, making his way to the bathroom. He took off his clothes and hopped into the shower, just wanting to get the smell off him. It was no secret that everyone in this castle had issues. And Cross was in the same boat. But how desperate did you have to be to start hurting yourself?
How desperate for relief, for an answer, do you have to get to drive you to that point? His soul ached. Cross didn’t want to think about someone he cared about getting pushed to such a dark place.
Sure, Killer could be annoying and rude, but he was Cross’s friend. They were partners who got sent out on most missions together. Pretty much his whole day revolved around Killer because Horror, Dust, and Nightmare were very reclusive. Horror spent most of his time alone outside, Dust hardly ever left his room, and no one knew what Nightmare did all day but it wasn’t uncommon to go for weeks without seeing him. But Killer was always there. He’d train with Cross, go on missions with him, they’d do chores together, Killer would play video games with him and watch things with him, pretty much his whole day was spent with Killer.
And of course, he’d seen Killer have his bad days. Some days, he missed opportunities to tell jokes and his insults lack the proper punch. On those days, he seemed more quiet and thoughtful, things seemed to bother him more and he talked more about death. It was an open secret that everyone in the gang struggled mentally, but the thought of hurting yourself to avoid the emotional pain was never something he’d seriously considered.
Now, it was all he could think about. Did it work? It seemed to work for Killer. Or maybe it didn’t? Should he ask?
“All clean?” Killer asked as Cross came back into the living room. Cross subtly nodded.
He sat down on the couch, looking at the wall. Killer threw his legs over Cross’s lap, reclining against the arm of the sofa. He yawned and arched his spine.
Black liquid was already beginning to fall from his eyes despite just being cleaned off. After their mission, they were both magically drained and ready to just relax. Killer, without moving from his reclined position, felt around the couch until his hand bumped into the remote.
“Do you want to watch something?”
“Sure.”
Killer turned on the TV, looking for something to watch. As he did that, Cross thought about a way to phrase his question. He stared down hard at his hands, his leg bouncing.
“Um… Killer?”
“Yes?”
“I was just thinking um… Why do you think some people… hurt themselves?” He asked.
It was quiet for a moment. Killer sighed, sitting properly on the couch. His hand found his arm, gently rubbing it with his thumb.
“Well… It’s an emotional release. Well, n-not… not really. It’s like… um…” Killer paused, thinking for a moment. He took another breath before starting, eyes closed as he thought about his words. “When all those terrible feelings are starting to get overwhelming… The adrenaline and the blood and the pain- it… It brings you back to reality. It helps a little. And afterwards, you feel drained and tired and light. It makes it easier to sleep.”
“That… doesn’t make much sense…” Cross mumbled.
“Because it’s not a rational thing. It’s stupid, it’s very, very stupid. Don’t ever cut yourself.” Killer warned. “It feels incredible the first few times, but the high fades away. You need to cut more and more to get the same feeling. And that’s when you start risking bleeding out or nerve damage or infection.”
“Like a drug?”
“Yeah. You get a high and it helps you forget for a while, but it gets more and more dangerous and more harmful as time goes on.” Killer said. Dread filled Cross’s soul and weighed it down. “Besides… It doesn’t actually fix anything.”
“Oh… Ok, I see. I was just wondering.”
More dangerous? He didn’t like that idea. The idea that one day his friend could end up cutting too deeply and bleeding out. Or that it could get infected and he’d lose his arm, or that he’d get permanent nerve damage.
It was on his mind the whole day. Even when Killer fell asleep watching TV, sleep just wouldn’t come to Cross. He was left unsettled, a chill constantly prickling down his spine.
Which, because of Cross’s terrible luck, that fear manifested itself in a nightmare.
In his nightmare, he was sitting at the kitchen table with Dust. The other skeleton was staring blandly at his phone, scrolling through his for you page on some site. Cross looked around, seeing Horror leave the kitchen and even seeing Nightmare walk past the doorway. But someone was missing.
“Hey, Dust, where is-…” Cross started, but for some reason, he couldn’t say Killer’s name.
“Hmm?” Dust hummed, glancing at him before looking at his phone again.
“Sorry, I meant to ask if you’d seen-…” It was a strange feeling, like his mouth couldn’t form the words.
Dust gave him a side-eyed glance. “You good? Are you sick or high or something?”
“No, I am fine,” Cross said, shaking his head hard. “I meant… Where’s-… Fuck! Where is th-the… other skeleton? With the dripping eye sockets.”
Now Dust was giving him a concerned and confused stare. Cross should feel frustrated, and he did feel a bit frustrated, but mostly he felt an overwhelming feeling of dread. It sat like a sickness in the pit of his stomach and dripped down his spine like cold water.
“Um… Error?” Dust asked.
“No! Not Error where is-…” Cross struggled with his body for a while. When he finally formed the word, it was a strained and forced sound. “Killer?!”
And then Dust said something that made the dread get worse. “Who?” It was a single word, but it felt like the word itself was heavier than stone. “Are you sure you’re ok, Cross?”
Cross stood up suddenly. He made his way down the hallway. It felt like he merely blinked and suddenly he was in front of Killer’s door.
He opened it up, revealing darkness inside the room. Darkness so thick he couldn’t see very far inside. But despite his limited visibility, he could see blood splattered across the ground.
And then Cross woke up.
The dream left him on the verge of a panic attack. He didn’t like that at all, the implications left him colder than death itself. Cross quickly got up and hurriedly left the room.
Killer’s room was empty. That didn’t stop the fear from building up inside of him. It caused his hands to start shaking as he quickly began thinking about where Killer could be.
Eventually, he found the other standing in the kitchen. Killer had massive bags under his eyes, seeming exhausted in every sense of the word. He had an energy drink in his hand, taking sips from it as he stared blankly into the sink.
Without saying a word, he walked over to the other skeleton and hugged him. Killer jumped a little, making sure he didn’t spill his drink, and gave Cross a very confused look. “Whoa. Kind of cuddly, don’t you think, Crossy?”
He wrapped his arm around Cross’s shoulders in a one-armed hug. Cross was glad that Killer didn’t push him off or anything. Hugging Killer made Cross feel infinitely better.
“Sorry, I just, uh…” Cross hesitated. “I had a bad dream.”
“Mm.” Killer hummed, taking another sip of his energy drink. The two pulled away from each other. “I know how that goes. Do you wanna talk about it? I am a pretty shitty therapist, but I can at least listen.”
Cross thought for a moment longer. “I had a dream that you died.” He said. That made Killer’s eyes widen slightly.
“Oh shit. That explains the sudden hug.” Killer said. Cross nodded. “Don’t worry, Cross. I don’t plan on going anywhere.”
He didn’t plan on it. But sometimes things happen. That thought made Cross shift uncomfortably.
“Can I ask you to do something? It’s uh… a bit personal.” Cross asked. Killer’s jovial attitude slowly crumbled as he nodded. “I want to ask you if you could, uh… if you could stop hurting yourself.”
“Um… I don’t know.” Killer said very quietly. “I don’t think I could just… stop.”
“I thought as much,” Cross said. “Well then, could you at least come to me anytime you do?”
Killer was quiet for a moment. “Um… Ok.” He agreed. “But I mean… It’s not exactly a pretty sight. Besides, it usually happens very late at night.”
“I don’t care about any of that,” Cross said.
The shorter skeleton huffed a laugh. “Ok, damn. If you feel so strongly about it then fine.”
“Thank you,” Cross said. It did make him feel a lot better. “Uh, I was also wondering if you wanted to train with me.”
Killer’s mood lifted. “Of course. Just let me finish my drink first.” He said.
Cross nodded and sat down at the table. Killer joined him, taking another sip of his Monster Energy. With Dust and Killer here, they burned through energy drinks so fast it was startling.
“Mm.” Killer hummed in satisfaction. “The drink of femboys.” He said, a joking note to his voice.
“… What?”
“White Monster Energy,” Killer said, holding it up. “You always see femboys drinking it in TikToks and stuff.”
“Uh, I don’t see any femboys drinking anything on any site,” Cross said. Killer huffed and rolled his eyes.
“That’s because you hardly even use your phone,” Killer said. “I could send you a couple of femboy TikToks.”
“I’d rather if you didn’t.”
“What? You don’t like femboys?”
“Can we change the subject?”
“No! I need to know; does the stoic soldier, Cross, like femboys?”
“What answer do you want to hear?”
Killer didn’t respond with anything more than a little laugh. Cross was glad to end the conversation there, it was far too early in the morning for those kinds of conversations. It was quiet until Killer finished his drink and popped the tab off.
“You seem like the kind of man who’d like femboys,” Killer said.
“Uh, thanks? I guess.”
“Anyways, stop talking about femboys, Cross. We should go train together before it gets too hot outside.” Killer said, dropping the can into the trash.
Cross rolled his eyes, getting up and following Killer out of the room. This is pretty much how all their interactions went. Killer was blunt and the exact opposite of prudish, he’d tease Cross and try to embarrass him. He knew exactly what buttons to press and when so he could get the reaction he wanted from Cross. It could get very annoying.
And Cross wouldn’t trade it for the world.