"Saying to yourself every night: This will be the last time."
Dave's POV
He thought that way too.
It had already been months, years, too long to keep track off ever since he started that dreadful war with pain. Even as he dragged that serrated weapon-like penknife across his skin, the pain never ceased to make him cringe. Dragging the obnoxious blade across his skin with the same practised strokes, it wasn't long before 3 new long lines of ugly red welts covered your skin, overlapping the old cuts that you've had for nearly a year. But you'd dealt with them for so long, successfully managing to hide them from your friends, even your own brother. The bandaged cuts safe from anyone's sight, concealed under long red sleeves, he strode out somewhat calmly from the bathroom, his little deed done, the penknife hidden deep in his pocket. Pulling the door shut, he gave a vague sigh, running his fingers through his messy blonde hair.
Careful to avoid tripping on what he called "puppets from hell", or also known as his brother's smuppet toys, he made a quick dash to his room, pulling the door shut. As he did so, a wave of guilt suddenly washed over him, and he slumped heavily onto the floor, his back leaning against the doorframe. His rigid body convulsed into a sudden state of wracking sobs, his vision obscured by the tears welling up in his eyes. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he buried his head in his hands.
Striders don't cry. Striders don't fucking cry…. Striders don't…. Cry.
Your name is DAVE STRIDER. And as of today, you are 15 YEARS OLD. You're FUCKED UP. Nothing more to say here. Not that it mattered now. You were fucked up enough. And still are.
You attend SCHOOL every day like a "good" student, although you always SLEEP the time away instead or just SLACK away like that badass you totally are. Yeah right.
You have a SIDE you don't like and don't want people to see. Your ISSUES are more than tough for you to deal with, and shit didn't need to become worst or complicated for you.
13 years old
"hey its strider with his stupid shades and 'cool' personality oh wow guys should we just bow to him because he thinks hes boss or whatever?"
"whats with the shades anyway? some fucked up trend we totally didn't notice?"
"I bet hes just arrogant as hell or just gay as fuck."
Even as these cutting remarks sliced through your heart, you had no choice but to comply. Behind your shades lurked a dark secret, one that you were determined not to show. The fear that you contained deep in your heart scared you. From the time that you started in this new school at the age of 13, you were full of dread at meeting new schoolmates. True enough, the shades brought more than enough attention and within a week in hell, you were always the main topic of discussion. Even while walking in the hallways, on the way to class, you could hear your name being whispered, students shooting glares or glances at you. Though no emotion ever crossed your face, you never wanted to show them how you really felt anyway.
You remember clearly the day you started cutting, even though you obviously didn't want to be reminded. It haunted you to this very day, never left you alone like Bro's goddamn 'favourite' puppet Lil Cal. It had been any normal day, just strolling down the hallways, ignoring all the looks directed at you. Just as you turned a corner into an empty corridor, a sudden force hit you, causing you to slam backwards into the lockers behind, as your backpack fell onto the floor, the impact causing the zipper to split open, the contents, mainly books and papers, strewned all over the concrete flooring as you stared hazardly at the person pinning you to the wall. You should've known. Vriska Serket, the notorious school bully's face smirked back preposterously at you, while you struggled futilely against her iron tight death grip.
"Going somewhere, Strider? I'll think not 8a8e. You shouldn't even try fighting, it's no use at all."
You couldn't even get a single word in before she pulled you in towards her, your faces only mere inches away from each other, before a sickening crack was heard as her fist made contact with your cheek, the surprising impact of the force causing you to slam you against the locker without so much as a warning. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she punched you in your cheek. You could barely even see the next attack coming with the pain that you were desperately trying to ignore. But even as you glared as her, gritting your teeth, you couldn't fight back like that pathetic boy you were. It was a losing battle. You couldn't win no matter how much you tried. At the same moment, all you could feel were your lungs constricting, tightening, and you found yourself gasping for air, before the whole place started spinning and all you could only see were stars. And they were
Spin ning..
Sp in ni ng. .
. .