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It hurt. It all hust hurt so fucking much. His knuckles bled, sparks of pain jolting through his entire hand.
Shrimpo just grimaced and curled up on his bed more. Shrimpo fucking hated this. He hated his hands hurting, and he hated that he put himself into this situation.
Knew he should’ve listen to what every other fucking toon has told him. Told him that he needed to have proper technique, to wrap his hands or wear punching gloves. To not beat up his punching bag mercilessly for an hour straight just because it was the only thing breaking everything within five feet of anywhere he went.
Every time he clenched his fist it hurt, tears stung in his eyes. Shrimpo deserved this. All the pain pulsing though his hands any time he moved them. For not being able to be a normal fucking toon and deal with his emtions normally. All he could do was destroy everything around him, now he couldn't.
Shrimpo wouldn't have stopped if a small nagging voice didn’t remind him that blood on his punching bag would probably make the only two toons he left in his room concerned. He was still mad and pissed, mind swirling with so many emotions it made his arms shake.
He was getting desperate. He needed them out, every emotion needed to be gone or else he was going to fucking explode. Shrimpo dug and searched into his night stand draws. Ignoring the pain in his hands, ignoring all the blood he was probably getting on his stuff, He didn’t care, Shrimpo needed it to stop/
It took nearly dumping the entire drawer out till Shrimpo found he wanted, what he needed desperately. A small little Altoid mints tin, which had long since held mints. Shrimpo distinctly remembered how he got what he had hid in the tin.
The tin itself was just left over from when Gardenview sold candy alongside merch, the razors inside it though were something he had to find. Collected from pencil sharpeners left in lost-and-found or from their art supplies closet.
He just sat on his bed and stared at the tin for a moment, his hand shook just enough so he could hear the jingle of metal rattling around. Shrimpo opened it quickly, he didn’t want to think anymore. Most of the razors still looked new, making it easier to find a clean one.
For a second he just held it in his hands. Bending the thin sheet of metal out of slight fascination that something so breakable could cause so much damage.
Shrimpo's hand shook as he moved it to his skin. Tactfully he chose his inner thigh, as close to his hips as possible, the most least likely place where it could be seen. A few very old scars littered there, it had been a while since he used this method of coping.
Placing the metal against his skin made him shiver. Anxiety started to pool in his stomach, made his hands shake. He knew this would hurt, wanted it to hurt, needed it to hurt.
For some reason there was a small part of him that couldn’t push through with it. Anxiety was becoming so much, he felt like he was going to throw up. Shrimpo squeezed his eyes shut and shoved the razor in the tin before closing it. Then threw it across the room to get it as far away from him as possible.
Shrimpo felt sick, and a coward. He couldn't keep the tears back any more and just curled up in his bed again and cried as quietly as he could. Of course he couldn’t do it now, he was stupid and a coward now. Couldn't even take control of his own pain. He hated himself even more now and he couldn't even figure out why.
He hated it here.