Vince rubbed at his swollen red eyes with the back of his hand and took a deep, wavering breath, hiccupping at the end of it. He looked down at his naked thighs and watched as the crimson blood flowed freely from the open wounds, pooling in the empty bath, slowly making its way to the plug hole like a river of stagnant water. That's what he saw, stagnant, old, filthy blood pouring from his body. He was hideous, no one would ever love him, not how he was. He needed to better himself, louder clothes, a wider smile. He was sure that Howard noticed him frowning the other day. He was lost in his own hollow mind thinking empty thoughts, a solemn look on his face when Howard had asked him what was wrong. Thinking rather fast, a miracle in itself for Vince, he'd come up with a story about panda's and chocolate mousse. Howard seemed to buy it anyway, and that's all that mattered. If Howard knew about half the things that go through his mind, let alone what he did to himself, what others had done to him, he didn't even want to imagine Howard's reaction. Sympathy? Anger? Indifference? He could deal with these, but what if he hated him for it, for being weak, for being pathetic and a waste of flesh? That's what would break Vince's heart the most; Howard's disgust.
Vince turned the shower on and quietly continued to cry to himself as the hot water burned at his cuts, old and new, scars turning purple. His legs were a battle scene, making it impossible to wear anything but tight trousers if he wanted them to go unnoticed. He'd even taken the blade to his wrist that night. He had no intention of killing himself, not then anyway, he just needed more release than cutting his legs could give him. When he was clean and the blood had stopped flowing down his legs he dried the wounds with some toilet roll so he could flush the evidence and got himself wrapped in a towel, shivering slightly. He walked up to the mirror and wiped the steam from its surface. The man looking back at him was far from the Vince everyone was used to seeing. His eyes were dark and sallow, his cheek bones were more defined than usual, his hair, though just washed, had lost its life and his eyes were no longer the joyful pools of crystal blue light that seemed to brighten a room, now they were dull, lifeless, unfamiliar. This was the true Vince, a tormented, lost soul in a wide world where all that mattered was how popular you are and how up to date with fashion you were. He couldn't leave the house without spending at least 3 hours doing himself up. He knew he'd have no one left if he didn't try and please them. Well, maybe one person. There was someone who didn't care what he looked like in the morning, didn't care about the days when Vince's hair didn't do what he wanted it to do and refused to leave the house. Vince had one true friend in the whole world, but even Howard hadn't seen the true him and it killed him a little more everyday to keep such a secret from him. But he was a disgusting person and if Howard ever did find out who Vince truly was he'd have no one left at all. As his grip on reality loosened so did his grip on the towel that circled him and it silently fell to the floor. He couldn't see the wounds on his legs, he couldn't see anything as he lost himself in his mind. Almost as a reaction to his being naked in the bathroom his hand went for the razor that was already wet with his blood and he once again began to slice at his thighs with the blade, unaware that he was doing it, caught in a daze between asleep and awake. A warmth crept down Vince's cheeks and as his eyes slowly focused on the mirror in front of him he noticed he'd started crying again. He was loosing all control.
Howard was fully aware that the young man he shared a flat, and his life with took half the day to have a shower, and somewhere in the back of his mind in a forgotten place he found this one of the man's cutest aspects, but enough was enough and Vince really had to learn some self control. So deciding to finally do something about the ridiculous amount of time he was banned from using his own toilet he rose from the sofa and walked over to the bathroom door. He opened his mouth but he couldn't find the words he wanted to say. He wanted to get angry with him, tell him enough was enough, to stop being such a selfish twat, but they'd barely argued recently and as odd as it was it was nice not to be nagging at him all the time. They laughed more and played more and Howard had never felt so close to his secret love in all the time he'd known him. Besides what if he was naked in there? Again that forgotten place echoed at the back of his mind to open the door immediately and finally tell Vince how he really felt. His hand moved to the door handle. But what would he say, why would be burst in knowing full well Vince was using the shower. His hand lowered from the handle and he just stared at it, watching the light from the keyhole dance across his cloud print shirt. One little peek? An odd sort of thought, but it couldn't hurt.
Howard lowered his head and brought a beady eye to the keyhole, looking in expecting to see a figure of wonder but being met with a violent vision of horror and suffering. He went to call out the smaller man's name, but his voice caught in his throat . He lunged himself at the door and threw it open, his face contorted in a range of emotions as he realised the scene he'd witnessed wasn't a dream.
The bathroom door shot open and although it flew back with a bang it took Vince a couple of seconds before he realised he was being watched and that's all Howard needed. He grabbed for the towel that had dropped to the floor and frantically tried to cover his body. Usually he cut just his legs, an easy place to hide from friends, but he'd snapped that night, he felt so hollow it didn't matter what he did to himself, how much he bled, if he died. He'd cut and cut and cut until there was nowhere left to cut, and so he'd cried and punched himself causing bruises to form under the cuts almost immediately giving him a black eye and a possible broken nose, his knuckles bleeding from the force of connecting with his body.
It wasn't that Howard had seen him, in many ways he'd always wanted Howard to find out so he could be saved from this emptiness, but the look on Howard's face was enough to make him want to slit his throat on the spot. His face was fearful, frightened, confused, pained, angry, but most of all guilty. This had nothing to do with Howard, but the guilt was written all over his face and Vince could do nothing but pull a strained face as he fought back what tears he had left. What had he done? Out of all the scenario's he'd gone through in his mind Howard had never looked guilty. Neither had his heart ever looked so broken as when he flew in through the bathroom door and saw his best friend covered in his own blood. And that's all he is to Howard, a friend, and as much as he cherished that friendship above everything else in his life, the thing made him sink deeper into this darkness is knowing that that's all he'd ever be, a friend.
The tears he'd thought he'd finished shedding fell gracefully down his cheeks and onto his blood stained body. He began to tremble all over and his knee's gave way beneath him, his body falling helplessly to the floor, an arm stretched out in front of him slightly. As his palm connected with the wooden floor he let out a noise somewhere between a scream and moan and began sobbing uncontrollably, the fresh cuts on his body crying out in pain as they hit the floor. The world was slipping away from him, the light of the bathroom faded and total darkness engulfed him. He was no longer on the floor of his bathroom but floating silently through space, seeing nothing, feeling nothing, bleeding endlessly into the stars until there was nothing left but his pain and sorrow. He felt as though this feeling would last forever.
But amongst the emptiness and the cold a warm light began to glow and a whisper penetrated the ever lasting quiet. A name, a familiar voice, an old feeling. This warmth got closer, the sound growing louder. The silence and darkness of the space around him began to fade and he noticed the heavy but gentle feeling of a hand on his cheek, an arm round his back. He hurt all over but in that moment the pain was nothing compared to the joy he felt at such a simple touch. He leaned in to the caressing hand and the voice turned into a scream.
"Vince!" Howard had run at the fragile figure of his flat mate as he fell to the floor, his body vibrating with fear, pain, and a level of emotions Howard couldn't begin to dream of. He pulled the young man close to him and placed a rough hand on his cheek, screaming at the broken soul to wake up, hoping he did, but fearing the worst. As he looked down he saw that he was already covered in the young prince's blood, kneeling in a pool of the crimson sin. His lip began to tremble as he looked back at Vince's face, his vision blurred by the torrent of tears that now streamed down his face. He stroked some raven hair out of his blood stained friends face and rested his hand on his cheek, weeping quietly into his hair, kissing his forehead and whispering over and over, "I'm so sorry."