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This was not his ideal idea of how the night would go.
He and Ilya would go, they’d socialize a bit (Ilya more than Shane, as per usual), then leave. It wasn’t gonna be a big thing.
Until it was.
Shane has trouble saying no. Which is a known issue between him and the people he loves. He doesn’t wanna be rude, okay? It seems impolite. He was raised to be polite.
So when he was offered dessert at this nice event, he couldn’t say no. He couldn’t!
And now he was paying for it.
Him and Ilya got home and he immediately went to the bathroom and shut himself in there. His mind was racing. He shouldn’t have eaten the cookie. There's so much sugar, fat, and calories. He is so fucking stupid.
Sitting against the door, knees to his chest, he felt the buzzing in his chest. The adrenaline rushed through his veins.
If you were to ask him to recall this moment, he swears he tried his coping skills. He really did. Box breathing, shocking his system, he even resorted to scratching his thighs.
But something inside him, something sinister and enticing, told him nothing will hurt as good as cutting will.
Nothing.
This thought scares him. He will never get used to it. He’s two weeks clean. He promised himself this time he would actually stop. Tell Ilya. Throw out the razor blades.
But that dark part of his brain told him It’s impossible to stop. Just do it one more time. It’ll feel so good.
He closes his eyes and breathes. He tries to think of anything else. Literally anything but this. But he is so worked up the thought of cutting himself takes over his thoughts. He’s drowning in it.
His heart is racing, but he gets up to turn on the shower. So Ilya won’t bother him.
Bother me? That seems harsh. He shakes his head at the idea that Ilya could ever bother him. He hates when he gets like this. When he gives into the thoughts.
He has a razor in his phone case. He has one on hand all the time. In his nightstand, in his wallet, in his practice bag, it’s his safety net. It helps him breathe properly.
He takes his phone out of the case to put the cool metal between his fingers.
He stares at it for a few seconds. His mouth waters. Waters. He gets surprised at his physical reaction to a razor blade. That’s insane. Am I crazy? Who’s mouth waters at the thought of seeing themselves bleed?
In his buzzing headspace, it’s not hard to get back to the task at hand. He quickly remembers what he’s about to do.
He sits on the toilet and turns to his left, holding the blade up to his shoulder.
He hesitates. The rational part of his brain reminds him how stupid this is. How he definitely shouldn’t do this. But the irrational part, the sinister part, tells him this will make his brain quiet. This will stop the buzzing.
He gives in within milliseconds and swipes at his shoulder slowly and hard. He watches with wide eyes as the blood bubbles up to the surface. It’s pretty, somehow. He knows thats fucked up to think, but it is.
It’s not as deep as he had hoped. Truthfully, he’s scared to go deep. He’s seen what people do. It’s terrifying to him. He’ll stick to this. What they call “cat scratches”. He silently prays this will leave a noticeable scar. That people will see and know that he has been through a lot. See that he is strong. He also wants proof for himself. Physical evidence that he isn’t weak. He can do hard things. (Ironic, seeing as now he’s cutting himself over something as small as a treat.) He just wants to see that.
He goes again, a little faster this time, watching how the blood from the first cut blends into the blood from the new one. He doesn’t want to wipe it yet, he wants to see it drip down his arm.
He does it a third time, faster while keeping the same amount of pressure. This one starts bleeding faster.
Seeing the blood and feeling the sting calms his brain down a bit. He’s definitely not buzzing as much. He exhales loudly as if he’s been holding his breath for the past 5 minutes. (Subconsciously, he probably has been)
Going in for another cut, he hears the door knob turn. He jumps and drops the blade. Ilya comes in.
“Hey, I was just grabbing my-” He stops and stares at the blood on Shane’s arm. After a second, he rushes to his husband’s side.
Out of instinct, Shane covers the cuts and turns away from Ilya. But he can’t. Ilya grabs his chin as if he was made of glass, and turns his face to look at him. Ilya definitely sees the tears forming in Shane’s eyes. Shane then realizes there’s no getting out of this. That this is over. He fucked it up. Like he does with everything. He just can’t stop fucking things up.
“What happened?” Ilya asks with a gentleness Shane hears every now and then.
Shane couldn’t get the words out. It feels like someone is choking him. He just shrugs. Where does he even start? Yeah I just hurt myself when I get sad. I’m fucking crazy and I like seeing myself bleed.
“Did you do this to yourself?” Ilya asks. It’s very obviously self-inflicted, but he needs to be sure.
Shane just nods and whispers, “Yeah.”. He quickly glances at Ilya. Is he disgusted? Is he breaking up with him? Does he think he’s crazy?
But Ilya just looks… sad. There’s tears forming in his eyes.
“Shane…” he takes a breath. “Why?”
And now that Shane thinks about it, what a stupid reason to cut. Over a cookie? He doesn’t wanna admit it out loud. He just shrugs again. Ilya asked the hardest question. Shane himself doesn’t even fully know why he does this. All he knows is it feels good.
Ilya drops the topic, pulling Shane’s hand away from his arm. He then goes under the sink to grab the first aid kit.
They sit in silence as Ilya cleans up and wraps his arm. Shane is so embarrassed. He’s embarrassed, he’s guilty, he’s mad, he’s relieved all at the same time. He hates this part. The part where his feelings contradict themselves. It’s definitely one of the worst parts of giving in.
Ilya cares for Shane’s cuts so gently. Shane often thinks about how something like this would go. How the people he loves would react if they knew he cuts himself. His mom, his dad, Hayden, but especially Ilya. He knows how odd that is, imagining being comforted. But it’s nice to think about.
As usual, he can’t read Ilya’s mood. He still looks sad. Shane stares at Ilya very noticeably, desperately reading his face for a hint of how he’s feeling.
Since they know everything about each other, Ilya feels Shane staring. He quickly goes to comfort him. “Oh sweetheart I’m not mad, I promise. Very worried, but not mad.” Ilya cups Shane’s cheek and wipes away the tear from his cheek with his thumb. He kisses Shane’s forehead and looks at Shane for confirmation he heard him. Shane just nods. Ilya goes back to tending to his cuts.
Shane’s brain is so foggy he can’t tell you how long that took. Could’ve been a minute or an hour, he was just too in his own head to remember. But eventually they were done. Ilya pressed a light kiss to the bandage, and got up. He extended his hand out to Shane.
“Let’s go to bed. We can talk more in the morning. Okay?”
Shane nodded. “Okay.” He whispered.
They got up and made it to the bed. Ilya took his medicine and laid down, motioning for Shane to move closer. Shane put his head on Ilya’s chest. Ilya held Shane like this was his last time holding him ever.
After a few beats of silence, Shane asked, “Are you sure you’re not mad?” He looked up at his husband.
Ilya just held Shane closer to him. He shook his head. “I’m not mad at all. I promise.”
Shane broke eye contact so Ilya couldn’t see him tear up again. This was unsuccessful, naturally. “Still, I’m sorry for worrying you.” He said while playing with Ilya's left hand.
“No, there’s nothing to apologize for.” Ilya said while rubbing Shane’s back.
He just nodded, even though he didn’t fully believe Ilya (anxiety is such a bitch), Shane knew from previous experience that there was no winning here.
“I love you, ребенок.”
“I love you.”