Title: Sobriety
Rating: M (see warnings)
Characters: Nick, Sebastian
Summary: Sobriety doesn't agree with Sebastian and he's beginning to wonder if it's worth it at all when all it does is make him miserable. VERY GRAPHIC. MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING. Other warnings inside. Nickbastian.
Warnings: Gore, violence, self-harm, abuse
Disclaimer: I do not own any recognisable characters.
A/N: Just for the record, I do not condone relapse or self-harm of any kind. While that stands, sobriety is not an easy path and I wanted to explore that. If you're trying to get clean and are struggling, please talk to someone – a friend, a family member, a teacher, a counsellor, whoever you feel comfortable talking to. But stay safe and take care of yourself.
Seb's POV
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SOBRIETY
I could feel it rising and writhing within me. I could feel the pounding of my heart as I sat on the kitchen floor, shattered glass scattered around me. The knuckles of my left hand were white but my fingers and palm were red with blood as I squeezed the shard of glass ever-tighter. My lower lip tasted metallic, my teeth having sunk enough into the tender flesh to allow blood to well up from the small cuts. I knew I had tears on my face but all of me was numb except for where the anger reached.
As I forced myself to my feet, the tingling of urges returned to my wrists and the sensation burned with the unexplainable fire of my anger. My trembling hand released the shard of glass that hit the floor with a wet thump and I felt blood splatter against my bare feet before I shuffled towards the bathroom. Even with the door open, the small room felt like a cage and I began to shake more violently as I turned on the tap and held my bleeding hand under the running water. The stinging didn't reach me as I stared at my hollow green eyes in the mirror of the medicine cabinet.
There were bags under my dead eyes and my hair was slick with three days of oil build-up. I was pale and gaunt and knew Nick would force me to eat when I got home. Why couldn't he just let me go? I didn't need to be here anymore. He'd be happier without me. And I'd be better off dead.
My hand curled into a fist and I thrust it at my reflection, a cry of anguish tearing at my throat and echoing off the tiled walls and floor. More shattered glass showered around my feet but I continued to bang my fist against the protesting cabinet. The faint groan of wood was not enough to pull me from my reverie however and I didn't see myself wrench open the door and grab the razorblades. But I felt it.
God, I felt it.
Sobs wracked my throat raw and tears stung at my eyes as I drew the blades over the tender flesh of my wrists. Over and over and over again. There was barely any flesh to be distinguished amongst the fresh cuts that oozed blood as fast as my heart pounded in my head. Abandoning the blade in the pile of towels that had fallen off the rack when I slid to the floor, I tried to flex my hands, only producing claw-like shapes. I gently touched my fingers to my left wrist before without thinking; I dug my fingernails in and dragged them down the length of my arm towards the crease of my elbow.
I screamed as I grappled for something to throw, to punch, to hurt. I heard background noise but I saw nothing through my tears as I moved to crawl from the bathroom, the cool tiles soothing the cut in my hand but the weight of my body making my arms scream for relief.
When I reached the kitchen counter, I dragged myself up and could faintly hear someone swear and scream my name. Reaching out blindly, my fingers found hair and I pulled, hearing another yell. I shook whatever I had hold of before I thrust them backwards into the refrigerator. With a yelp and a thud, the fog of anger began to clear and the tears fell away to reveal Nick lying on the floor in front of me, blood splattered on the dent in the fridge door.
A sob closed my throat and I fell to my knees beside him, reaching out to lay a hand across his chest but I could barely feel the beat of his heart through the fear that washed over me. I lay my head on his shoulder, whispering his name over and over until it no longer sounded like a word.
"Seb…"
I shivered and looked to Nick, snapping back to reality. "Hmm?"
"You okay? You zoned out for a while there," Nick said. He was sitting across the kitchen table from me, a pen in his hand as he pulled a textbook closer to him.
"I'm fine," I said with a slight smile.
"You look exhausted. Why don't you go to bed? I've only got two questions left. I'll be right behind you."
I nodded, rubbing at my eyes and yawning. "Yeah, okay." I got up and shuffled into our room where I sat down on the bed, gripping the mattress as I stared at my reflection in the mirror on the closet door. I looked as sickly and horrid as I had in my daydream. My daydream that had been more violent than any of the others. Looking down at my scarred wrists, I could still see the array of red marks I had imagined leaving.
With a sigh I reached into the middle drawer of my nightstand, retrieving the blade I kept hidden in there. Sparing a quick glance to the closed door, I drew the blade across my wrist three times before bandaging the small wounds and grabbing a sweater from the floor. Once it was on and the sleeve was securely covering the bandage, I turned off the light and crawled into bed, holding my arm firmly against my stomach.
If my subconscious thought I was going to hurt Nick, sobriety wasn't worth the risk.
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A/N: So there's that. Not sure where that came from. First thing I've written in forever (not just for fanfiction either :s). I hope you liked it though and thanks for reading. Sorry it was so graphic. Have a good day :) –Em xoxo