Chapter Text
A quiet night, alone, spent once more where you wished it wasn't, indulging into your sick fantasies. The only source of light in the room came from your palmhusk, opened to websites which contained varying porn recommendations on the home page, most of which were based on your previous searches.
This was routine for you, it had been for years: Masturbate, cry about it, and finally just go to sleep. Every part of you wanted it to stop, you hated it, there was nothing good in it for you, and yet, same place, same time, and same hand trailing down your boxers.
Things all felt the same, the stickiness on your thighs that made your skin crawl, the discomfort of hating your body during this, and the lingering guilt of wanting to do it all over again. It felt crushing to deal with, it was one of your biggest issues, and also the one you mentioned the least. No one else understood it, if you tried to open up about it you would most likely just get called a pervert and no one would take it seriously.
You stared at the pair of trolls on your screen, pailing into a metallic bucket, while your hand continuously moved back and forth beneath your pants.
The video contained a seadweller highblood, much like yourself, in a kismesis with a landdweller of a lower caste, with the highblood continuously degrading them whilst also touching them.
You couldn't help but let your body enjoy it, there was no point in trying to stop it. So you just rubbed yourself more and more, imagining that you were the one in the film, or maybe both of them...
Occasionally, you'd stick a finger up your nook, or maybe a marker, or a bottle, but it never really made you feel good for some reason. It ended up being better to just touch yourself rather than try to do that, and besides, you got pretty scared one time after your nook began to bleed from fucking yourself with the end of a toothbrush.
After a brutal ten minutes of trying to make yourself just finish already, you finally did, with the video still playing in the background. You collapsed onto your bed with a whine, gushing out sticky violet fluids which you would clean up later.
This wasn't worth it, you thought. This feeling of disgust that settled in your stomach every single time, it was an overwhelming emotion. You couldn't stop doing it no matter how hard you tried, you always fell back into the cycle of watching, 'just one more,' and one turned to two, two into five, five into twelve...
You were filthy.
You always had been.
You couldn't remember a time when you were free of it all, only more guilt, and shame, that would never go away. It was ingrained into your thinkpan at this point, all of those nights, when you were younger, when you were with her.
You didn't want to think about her right now, but, she had completely ruined your idea of a healthy relationship, or even just flushing for someone in general.
Hell, over the past half-sweep you had been crushing on your friend's goddamn ancestor, touching yourself to the fantasy of them liking you back. You felt like you needed the praise of an older troll, that would fix you right now.
Who were you kidding? No one fucking wanted you, not anymore. You needed to feel loved so badly, it hurt. The feeling of being held, pet on the head, being told that you were so perfect, so good. You would do anything to make that fantasy real.
You whined into your pillow, you had to get away from your thoughts. Which meant you were most likely going to hurt yourself in some shape or form.
One of your friends had given you a lighter recently, and it was a total game changer. Burning your skin hurt more in the moment, but didn't sting as much afterwards, it was absolutely perfect. You had been testing it out all day, mostly on your left arm. The one downside was how it made your bathroom smell very smokey.
You brought out said lighter from your bag, rolling your sleeves up and flicking it on. The flame was close to your skin, but not quite touching. Just the heat radiating from it felt pretty hot, but as you brought it closer, it began to char the hairs on your arm.
You flinched, still getting used to it, but it was so good, and felt way more discreet than cutting. You turned the flame off, pressing the hot metal to your arm, you bit the inside of your cheek to try and focus the pain elsewhere.
Seeing how the one spot of flesh was now darker made you happy. Burn scars always looked pretty cool in your opinion. You wanted to try and do it more to get yourself to stop flinching.
You did feel a little bit bad, though. When your friend offered you the lighter, they told you that this was the one thing you weren't allowed to do with it, and yet here you were. You were not a good friend at all, but it was okay, as long as you got your selfish pleasure out of it.
You were always selfish. That's how it always ended up being your fault. You were to blame for it all. You knew you were, you could feel it. Nothing ever went right, and you had no one to blame but yourself. If you hadn't started becoming mentally fucked, you would've never met her, and that meant she would've never put her goddamn hands on you.
It was your fault. All of it. You let it happen. You took it like a defenseless grub. You could've cried out, told somebody, pushed her away. No, you did this to yourself. You couldn't point fingers, or say it was her fault, because in the end, you loved her, and it was easier to blame the things you hate.