Mirror, Mirror
Summary: Merton relieves some tension.
Warning: Technically it's a "dark" theme, short, bad, and has the F word a few times. Please go easy on me, this is my first real attempt at a BWOC fanfic.
Disclaimer: I don't own them and this is fiction.
On with the ficcy.
Merton angrily tore the long sleeved black shirt from his scrawny frame and threw it to the floor. He regarded the various stark white indents littering the flesh of his arm, narrowing his eyes in a considering glare, with disgust. I'll never be normal with these he spat mentally. Just a stupid little fuck up. But still he reached for the kitchen knife he stashed. He walked to the bathroom adjacent to his lair and studied his pale features in the mirror. Fucking disappointment to everyone.
"Your own sister despises you," he told the reflection glowering back at him. Stupid worthless fuck.
He slanted the knife so the edge traced the pale blue line that signaled a vein. I should press down and take everyone out of their misery. Trickles of blood spotted the path of the blade where he'd reopened scabbed incisions from previous such musings.
"But no," the reflections lips moved. He could feel the words coming from his mouth also but the voice sounded so alien to his ears, "that would be letting them win. They don't fucking deserve to win."
He turned his arm so the side was next to the blade and pressed down, reveling in the feel and sight of the steel embedding into his already scared flesh. He felt no pain, not the bad kind anyways. It reminded him he was alive. Dragging it along with a surgeon's precision, he watched in morbid fascination as blood seeped from his skin before removing the blade altogether.
"Freakenstein!" Becky hollered from the steps to his lair. "Dinner. Hurry up."
"Coming," he called back, not that he thought she'd care.
He wetted a washcloth from the laundry pile and, with one last almost forlorn look at the blood now dripping off his arm and into the sink, cleaned up his mess. He took a roll of gauze from the medicine cabinet and folded it up so it thickly covered the cut before taping it thoroughly. He went to his dresser drawer and pulled out one of the few baggy long sleeved shirts he owned and put it on, satisfied it didn't reveal his bandaging and walked up the steps to sit through one of the few family meals his parents bothered to leave work for.