Work Text:
As Fonzie stood in the middle of the empty auditorium with his leather jacket thrown over his left shoulder, he held his right arm out in front of him and stared at the faint white lines that ran from about his wrist to the middle. They were harder to see now, but still visible. He then threw his leather jacket over his other shoulder and held out his left arm, it looked almost identical to the left.
For about 4 years of Fonzie’s life, he couldn’t escape the urge of inflicting pain of himself. It was first thing he thought of when the sadness started to creep in. He did the first time when his dad left, with one of his mom’s sewing needles. He was good about hiding them. No one ever noticed. He started out just wearing nothing but long sleeves, then after he got his leather jacket he wore that everyday. People always asked him why he would wear sleeves and a jacket in the hot weather, he just said it’s what he liked. So no one ever found out, and he was able to keep up his cool image.
To the world, Fonzie seemed like he didn’t care about anything, when in reality, his feelings were bottled up inside of him. That day was the first day he ever let any of them out. He never told Ritchie about his father leaving, and he never told anyone out his thoughts of suicide. That was the first time he ever was that vulnerable with anyone. He felt almost embarrassed afterwards but he was glad to get that off his chest. Because Fonzie never wanted to die, he just wanted someone to care. The thoughts started to go away when he met Ritchie when he was 16, and that’s the age he stopped hurting himself. Not that the thoughts stopped, but he realized that there were now people who could notice, and he couldn’t let that happen.
He thought about being on stage that night, knowing everyone’s parents were in the audience but his. No one was there to see him. Sure, Ritchie’s parents supported him, but they probably wouldn’t have come if their son wasn’t in the play. Ritchie’s parents were the only “family” he had, but he knows that sometimes they wish he wasn’t around.
All he ever really wanted was someone to care. All the meaningless hookups he had with girls to try to fill the void never seemed to help. He wanted someone to love him for him. To love the emotions he never expressed, not just the cool act.
Fonzie thought about how cutting himself in the past was silly. It never helped, it just created more problems. But it was an addiction he couldn’t seem to escape until he found a true friend. He hated the scars on his arm so much, wishing they would go away but knowing the white lines would be there forever. He was only 12 when he started. 12 and stupid. Then he remembered Joanie was 12, and the thought of her doing to same thing he did at that age made him sick to his stomach. That sweet girl, a girl almost like his own kid sister. Even though he knows cutting isn’t the answer, he still thinks about doing it again. Now that he told someone about his suicidal thoughts, maybe he’ll be able to tell someone about his self harm, and he can get help that will truly make the thoughts go away.
Fonzie took his eyes away from his scars and put his leather jacket back on. He hoped that one he’ll stop being depressed like he has been for 6 years. Telling Ritchie about it for the first time was a step closer to that. Maybe he shouldn’t be so embarrassed about his feelings.