4

He was scared. So, very terrified of doing it. Even though his body ached for it, and every part of him was pulled towards the blade, he couldn't make the first cut. He kept bringing the blade down, pushing it against his skin, but was too scared to slice his skin open. He wanted, no, he needed to. But he just couldn't. And he hated himself for that. How else could he feel free? He was... trapped, within himself. Not having the energy to get out of bed in the morning, and crawling into bed the second he got home. He had no energy. He felt nothing but all the pain and the sadness and the... the emptiness. So, so numb. His heart was heavy. Just one cut... just one and he'd be happy. A part of him knew that one wouldn't cut it, that he'd get addicted, but he brushed it aside. The pain was bordering on unbearable and he needed an outlet. Anything, just please. He couldn't cry, nothing came out. His breathing became ragged as he brought the blade down once more, and let it hover over his skin. Tendrils of darkness crept into his mind, wrapping themselves around him, suffocating him and stabbing themselves into him again and again. It hurt, it hurt so much, yet he couldn't cry. No matter how much he wanted to. Dark thoughts spread across his mind and he tried to stop them, tried to think of happier stuff, but he was incapable of it at this point. He fought against the thoughts, battling them, but they kept rising up. His heart felt unnaturally heavy. Some thoughts crept past his barriers, and flooded themselves across his mind, none of them good. Bruises covered him but he tried, and tried, and tried again to keep the thoughts at bay. But how could he win against his own demons?

And then he cut.

Relief.