TRIGGER WANING: IMAGERY MAY INDUCE THE IMPULSE TO SELF HARM.
People don't understand.
They don't get what it's like to feel numb, to feel dead.
Kurt's head feels cold but his hands are boiling and all the while his mind is flowing.
Dripping.
Every last drop.
Kurt forgets what it's like sometimes, to feel alive.
That's why he has to do this. No one would understand so he doesn't tell them.
They don't notice when Kurt's fingernails dig in so deep that blood escapes through the tiny scratches, so they definitely don't notice when Kurt kicks it up a notch.
The first time Kurt held a razor in his hands he stared at it questionably. His mind was a mess, he just really wanted out and that's why he did it.
That's why he took the razor to his inner thigh.
Soon blood was pooling, sliding down his leg, and for the first time in months Kurt felt something.
He felt liberated and strong, but all his hands trembled and the razor fell to the floor, tiny droplets of blood lingering on the sharp, silver blade.
When the blood finally stopped Kurt carefully picked up the razor and put it in the bin, covering it with tissues. He stood in the shower and let the hot water bat against his tense back.
Kurt thought about how it looked to see his own blood trickle down his porcelain skin, he thought it was beautiful – breathtaking even.
He looked down into the open cut and squeezed. His eyes glistened in mirth as the engaging blood slithered down his leg and down the drain.
Watching it disappear down the plug, Kurt knew that he'd do it again.
He wanted to do it again.
He felt addicted but he felt oh-so alive and that was better than feeling numb.
When Kurt moved to Dalton things became harder. He found he never had enough time to himself and he was getting edgy.
He hadn't cut in a week, he felt guilty for neglecting his body in such a way.
Finally, when Kurt was alone he fished around for another razor. He cut his finger in the process and Kurt almost moaned. He was alive again.
He quickly sucked in the blood and pulled up his sleeve, the razor poised neatly on his bed. His hands moved fast and he sliced the sharp metal into his upper arm; he didn't want people to see of course.
Once he did it once he found himself doing it again and again, and again. He smiled slightly as more and more of the red liquid poured out. A bit dropped onto his bed spread and he laughed.
"Kurt-" A strangled voice came from the inner doorway.
Kurt's gaze snapped up and his mouth opened agape. He put more pressure on the blade as he tensed and felt it cut harder, deeper than before. He gasped.
"Kurt, you-" The voice said, panicked and he invaded the dorm, invaded Kurt's space as the blood began to pool on his skin. The boy darted towards Kurt's bedside table and wrenched a few tissues from the box desperately and as the countertenor focused his gaze, he found the boy next to him, pressing the wad of paper cautiously onto his arm.
Kurt froze. He let the bloodied razor slip between his fingers and onto the bed sheets.
"Kurt... What were you thinking?" The voice said from beside him. It sounded teary. Good.
Kurt looked up, head high and ready to close them out from his thoughts. He locked eyes and inhaled sharply, head suddenly turning cold.
He watched Blaine dab at his arm, tears in his eyes. No one was meant to see him like this. Not Blaine.
His defences were down. He felt ashamed.
Vulnerable.
Yet the stinging in his arm made him feel better and Blaine was slowly anesthetising that.
He ripped his arm out of the older boy's tender grip and hissed, "Go away."
"Kurt," The older boy sounded pained. He looked briefly down to the blood stained tissue and back up towards the countertenor, "How could you do this to yourself? I don't understand..."
Kurt audibly swallowed and ignored the pumping noise in his ears. He didn't understand either, he never did. He just knew he had to do it, it practically called at him.
"Get out, j-just get out," He said, eyes wide and clutching his wet arm. Blaine reached towards him, concern clouding his eyes.
"Get out!" Kurt all but shrieked as he saw the tissue and Blaine come closer. Blaine who would never want a broken pathetic person like Kurt.
Blaine swallowed heavily as Kurt jumped backwards, off the bed and over to the side of his room. He slowly leant down, taking the razor and putting it in his pocket. Kurt watched him as he dragged the movements out, fear in his gaze.
There was another pause before Blaine took two large strides forwards and, blood and all, wrapped Kurt as tightly as possible in his arms. Kurt, arms held to his chest, tensed again before he felt his lip tremble and he let out a small whimper. Blaine tightened his hug and Kurt began to sob, slowly uncurling his arms and softly placing them around Blaine.
"Tell me whenever you're ready, okay?" Blaine whispered quietly, his own eyes squeezed shut. Kurt simply nodded into his shoulder.
And if it was any conciliation he felt alive. In Blaine's arms, with metal cutting in his arms he felt alive.
And that's what he craved that more than anything.
AN: I have never self harrmed so i have no idea if i even wrote this right. I have however felt the need to hurt myself so i do get that feeling. I had a very bad day today and i've really wanted to write a cutting fic so here we go.. Also getmeoutofthistie wrote a bit of this and checked it for me, so Kudos to her.
Reviews are welcomed.