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The blade tore his flesh, messy and too shallow, dragging across the first few layers of skin, but not to the depth Jesse has come accustomed to. Hands too shaky to manage.
The kid was struggling, that much anybody could see. The trauma temporarily swept away by a series of dubious coping mechanisms - each more concerning than the last - all pretty obvious to those who looked at him. Except for the cutting. But what was one more notch in his belt?
The pros outweighed the cons in his numb mind, dizzy from the cigarettes he'd been chain-smoking for over twenty hours. Pros: it grounded him, he was so drugged up half the time that the cuts didn't even really hurt, and any pain that did sting him was deserved - he was a disgusting, worthless junkie-murderer after all.
The only con he could think of was that the girls he'd bang would notice the obvious scars on his thighs and wrists (not that he was all that interested in sex at the moment, but he knew in the future it'd be an issue).
So here he was, content to cut lines into his skin, knelt in his disgusting bathroom, surrounded by cigarette butts, vomit, spray paint and smoke. He hated being alone, the silence left him isolated with his thoughts - and that was out of the question. However he couldn't help but need space occasionally, for a few minutes, to quickly punish himself, before going back out into the everlasting party that was his house.
In the lab Jesse was shaky, withdrawals kicking in after a mere couple of hours without using. Walter would never let him smoke up in the lab, and he seemed perfectly content leaving Jesse's relapse unspoken. Jesse knew not to cut anywhere other then inside of his own home, but he still brought a small razorblade with him everywhere in his coat pocket.
However the older man couldn't help but say something as he saw the boy getting changed out of the yellow hazmat suit. Jesse's back was to Walter, and his short sleeved t-shirt was revealed, or more importantly: his arms were revealed.
Walter couldn't help but gasp at the mess he saw.
Jesse's arms were slashed everywhere - cut open dozens of times, with day-old and healing cuts left unbandaged, and the newest ones wrapped with a few layers of gauze.
Jesse heard the gasp, which pulled him out of disassociation. He jerked around, his red-rimmed, dilated pupils realising what Walter was looking at. The younger man quickly grabbed his jacket from the locker and shrugged it on, facing away from Walter again, embarrassment flooding his body and turning his face red. Self harm was a pathetic thing that people who can't handle emotions fell to, Jesse thought to himself. And he hated himself for succumbing to it.
"Uh..." he began to blurt out, not sure how to argue his case, "I got... beat up?"
Maybe it was less awkward if he pretended it'd been the result of an actual fight instead of his own stupid doing.
Walter clearly didn't believe him, as he hummed under his breath in that condescending way that sent Jesse all the way back to junior year chemistry. That specific tone he'd always heard after Mr White didn't buy his shitty excuse as to why he was thirty minutes late to the class, stinking of marijuana.
"Jesse, I know you're hurting-"
"Oh my days, Mr White, I'm fine!" Jesse was twitching a little, unbeknownst to himself, his fingers nervously picking at each other, drawing blood from the irritated skin. Walter knew that his partner was using again, it was painfully obvious. But Jesse wasn't going to listen to another one of the "I'm here for you" talks - not if he could help it.
He tied his shoes quickly and hopped up the spiral stairs, as Walter, tone firm, spoke behind him, "If you cut too deep and bleed out, leaving me to continue cooking alone, it most certainly will not be "fine"."
Jesse leaned over the ledge for a second to give his response, "Oh give me a break, I'm not stupid."
And he left, slamming the door behind him. Jesse wasn't actually angry at Walter, a small - miniscule really - voice deep inside of him was pleased to know that somebody cared. Somebody didn't want him to bleed out (maybe the bare minimum, sure, but it's not like Jesse had that many people close to him).
And a few days later Walter had left the lab slightly earlier than usual, leaving Jesse behind to finish the batch. After fifteen minutes Jesse decided that the silence was overwhelming, the isolation surrounding him, his head imploding with nasty memories - and the urge to do something stupid. He needed a distraction, some easy relief.
He didn't want the security camera watching him, but if he sat in the smaller adjoined room he would have privacy to sit and cut.
So Jesse rummaged for the razor that he always kept in his jacket - only to not find it. Panicking, he frantically searched each pocket. Until he realised.
Maybe Walter didn't intervene with Jesse's addictions as much as he should - but he'd taken the blade away from him. He was trying to keep him alive. And that both angered Jesse... and made him feel warm inside.