It was an ugly scene, the razor's face sparkling with life and the boy holding it void of such thing. There were no tear tracks on his face; nothing to show any suffering, just a few little lines across his wrist. Neat, deep cuts that would heal in good time.
"You said you wouldn't." The voice in the dark whispered, head held in hands and rocking back and forth on his arse. It was as if all of the pale boy's pain left to the tan lover's body.
"I tried."
As if a gun had gone off, the tan man jumped up with self-hatred and confusion thick in his cracking voice. Arms waving, he spat in the face of the fallen.
"Oh, really, did you now!?" The tan boy's head whipped toward the raven haired companion. "Merlin… God Damnit! You. Promised!"
"You don't know how it feels, Arthur! It doesn't hurt, not that you would care…"
"You think I don't care!? You don't think I stay up at night wondering if you've finally killed yourself?!" Arthur screamed, and Merlin cowered against the wall with tears finally coming forth in waves.
"It's not that bad!" Merlin argued weakly, and let out a scream of agony as Arthur grabbed his wrist and re-opened his cuts. Blood flowed down the porcelain expanse of his arm, gathering at his fingertips before bidding him farewell and landing on the toe of the assailant's boot.
"You called me because you thought it was too deep! You think that isn't 'bad'?! WHAT IF YOU HAD GONE TOO DEEP?!"
Merlin turned away, ashamed, and did not tell Arthur that he was the sole reason why his wounds were weeping again. It would break him, and the boy would lash out the only way he knew how.
"I'm careful." Merlin said meekly, carefully avoiding Arthur's wolf-like stare.
"What the FUCK is wrong with you?!" Arthur roared, and Merlin hiccupped as tears seemed to catch on the back of his throat. The smell of iron made him want to puke; he was so used to it but still…
"NOTHING IS WRONG WITH ME!" Merlin screamed back, jerking his arm back and gasping as the skin tore even wider. The black, dark blood that bubbled up didn't run, just gathered on the rim leaving a gaping wound on his wrist. So deep that the fat seemed to turn black from the lack of light.
"YOU FUCKING TRIED TO KILL YOURSELF!"
"NO- I didn't!" Merlin cried to him, hand clasped over the wound as blood hardened and made his fingers stick together with gore. It was slippery and wet and felt like maple syrup across his arm.
Arthur made a move to grab his arm again, but Merlin jolted out of the way. The flame in the athlete's eyes flared, and the skinny boy shuddered. Whether it was from the lack of blood, the shock, or the cold seeping in through his threadbare clothing- he would never know.
The room started to spin, and the little voice in Merlin's head garbled gibberish about doctors, stitches and 'too deep, too deep, veins, too deep'.
"I never wanted to hurt you." Merlin whispered, but Arthur just pulled at his own blonde locks and turned away from the boy.
"I… I give up."
Arthur, Merlin's lover and friend for years, slammed the door without another look back.
"Oh brothers let's go down, let's go down, come on down,
Down in the river to pray,
As I went down into the river to pray,
Good Lord show me the way.
Oh sinners let's go down, let's go down,
Down in the river to pray…"
-Down To The River To Pray by Alison Krauss
A/N: This story was written for a girl I knew, and if you know me in real life, you know exactly who she is.