I'm baaaaaaaaack :) Hello my dear friends, it's good to see you again.
Disclaimer: may contain triggers. Involves depression and self-harm as well as dark thoughts. Also involves boy love. Just to warn you.
Logan stands at the edge of the bathroom sink, unaware of why he's doing this. The mirror cabinet is popped open because he can't look at himself. His logical mind tells him that society says this is really fucked up, but his emotional mind keeps pushing him to the next step in the process. He has a disposable razor in his left hand and a tweezer in the right. Methodically, he rips and pries at the plastic encapsulating the blade. This is the first time he's had this urge since they've come to L.A, this is the first time his subconcious need overuled his logical minds warnings. It warned that his friends were always there, that they might notice. Either way, here he stood with the items in his hands.
He didn't exactly know what set this off, but he was pretty sure it had to do with the subtle comment from Mrs Knight about having to carry off loads of laundry. His mind dwelt on that little sentence, running over it a billion times. He knew it was stupid, that she probably didn't mean anything by it, but his mind didn't stop running over it. That stupid voice in his head kept telling him about how he should be doing his own laundry, his friend's mother shouldn't be doing it. He was a horrible person for doing that, putting responsibility of his own worthless body onto that of someone who wasn't even related to him.
The blade finally popped out of the plastic. Logan picked it up carefully with his fingers and rolled up his sleeve. He smirked at the nearly flawless, pale skin. One little scar remained from his Minnesota days, only an inch long and white.
Thoughts and that little voice clouded over his mind and told him over and over how horrible he was, how he didn't deserve anything that he received. He sucked at singing, he sucked at life. He just plain sucked and kept dragging his friends down. With those thoughts in his mind, Logan put the blade against the skin under his upper arms, where they'd be covered by cardigans and most t-shirts, and pressed down harshly. It stung, it hurt like a bitch. He hated the feeling, and yet as he watched the thin bubble of blood well up on it, he felt compelled to do it again.
It wasn't enough. He couldn't even cut right. If he ever did tell anyone, they'd laugh and tell him to stop seeking attention. He didn't deserve they're help, it was his own fault. The blade bit down on his skin again, sharper this time, and he had to look away as he dragged it fiercely against his skin.
After several more cuts, enough to keep his skin oiled with blood, Logan pocketed the tiny blade and wrapped up the pieces of plastic to bury in the trash. Three bandaids covered up the cuts and he was ready to go about his day again.
He didn't really know why he cut, no that's not the word. He didn't know why he scratched himself. He knew people with much worse problems than he had. Hell, he had it made. Millions of people dreamed to be part of what he was. However, this horrible wrenching guilt that forever swarmed his stomach and his mind dragged him down.
Logan pushed the issue out of his mind and left the bathroom. A blur rushed past and slammed the door. By the plaid-colored tone of the blur, it had been Kendall. James and Carlos sat on the couch, playing video games excitedly. James looked up.
"Dude, c'mon, we were waiting for you," James said and waved another controller. A stab of guilt rippled beneath his skin, but Logan kept it from showing as he grabbed the controller and began eagerly button jamming.
Basing this off of previous experience. Thanks for reading, stay tuned for more.