A/N: Blarrgh. No, sir, I don't cut anymore! I just make Canada cut for me! *slams face into desk* It's official; this kind of writing is what happens when I'm on the depression part of manic depression, and The Seven Days' War is what happens on the manic part. I need my meds changed...
The only warning I have for this oneshot is that if you cut, it could be triggering—I'm not sure to what extent, but I figured I should just give everyone a due warning. Just in case.
Anyway! AmeCan without too much squinting, but if you're not in a yaoi-ish mood, it can be easily passed as some very close brotherly love. Enjoy! I wish I had a brother like Alfred.
Stupid, dorky, ugly, gay.
Matthew Williams sat on his bed, knees pulled up to his chest, bitter, desperate tears streaming silently down his face. He was shaking, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, nails digging bloody marks into his palms. He knew what all the kids at school said about him.
Worthless; anorexic; creepy; fucking fag.
He wanted to scream. To scream at the world, that he did exist, and he was something more than a pathetic excuse for a human being. Somewhere, deep down, he'd always told himself he mattered—but now, he knew it had never been true.
Boring; useless; a failure.
Matthew's fists grabbed at his clothes, rage building inside him, blazing, an uncontrollable monster roaring to life, tearing at his hoodie. He just couldn't take it anymore. It was only a matter of time before he snapped.
Invisible.
Screaming was against the rules. Throwing things was against the rules. Kicking the walls was against the rules.
He felt the fabric of his hoodie rip beneath his hands, tearing a gash in the front—but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
Slowly, deliberately, Matthew stood from the bed, choking on angry tears, picked up the scissors from his brother's desk, and pulled up his sleeve.
He hacked at his arm as hard as he could. He could hear the ripping noise of the blade slicing into his skin, sickening, making him dizzy—but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. He slashed another gash into his arm, this one deeper, but it didn't even hurt. It had to hurt. He had to make it hurt. He ripped the knife across his skin harder, carving another slash in his skin. Another one. Deeper. Blood spurted from the gash, and Matthew gouged the knife into his arm one last time, ripping it out in a shower of red droplets, falling to the carpet.
Staring numbly at his arm, Matthew was sure he could see his bone through the blood bubbling to the surface.
And then it hit him.
He'd lost it, again.
Broken his promise to Alfred.
He'd done it again.
Matthew sank to his knees, blood from his mutilated arm splattering across his jeans and torn hoodie and the carpet. Hot tears streamed silently down his face, as he scratched the scissors blade across his wrists again and again.
He was such a failure.
When Alfred came bouncing up to their room fifteen minutes later, the smile vanished from his face, and the sparkle from his brilliant blue eyes at the sight of his twin brother collapsed on the carpet, blood splattered around him and dried on his hands and arms.
Matthew looked at him hopelessly, and Alfred only took a moment to throw his backpack on his bed before rushing to him with a close hug. He didn't care that Matthew was covered in blood, but about the tears streaming down his face. His own voice cracked slightly as he stroked his brother's soft blond hair, hanging in tangled waves to frame his face. "Matt... why didn't you tell me?" he whispered, swallowing hard.
Matthew broke down in his arms.
He buried his face in Alfred's shoulder, tears soaking his shirt as he sobbed hysterical apologies, muffled by the warmth of his shoulder. Alfred shut his eyes, fighting tears, holding his brother tight.
He hated being so powerless, to save Matthew from himself.
He was sobbing so hard he was almost choking now, and Alfred kissed the top of his head softly, tears escaping to stream down his face as well, as he rubbed Matthew's back gently, hugging him tight.
"I love you so much, Mattie," he whispered, trying to swallow the huge lump in his throat.
Matthew shook his head, a fresh wave of tears trickling down his cheeks.
"You s-shouldn't," he choked out, and Alfred squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the tears, holding Matthew even tighter.
"Don't say that," he pleaded quietly.
Matthew was shaking now, choking on his words. "But y-you deserve b-better."
Alfred shook his head. "You're the best there is," he murmured.
Matthew's breath was coming in gasps, and Alfred slowed his circles into his back. Matthew clung to him like he was dying. "I hate myself," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..."
Alfred smiled sadly, pulling away to meet Matthew's violet eyes, shining with tears.
"Please don't," he whispered, leaning in to kiss his twin's forehead. The pain in his eyes was nearly drowned in the love. "But until you feel better, I think I have enough love for the both of us."