Completely and obviously nothing more than a fanfiction.
"… What happened last night?" I ask my reflection as I stand in front of the mirror I'd placed in my office. I had woken up on the floor, covered in a dark red sticky substance. I am still hoping for the best, so I won't let my thoughts travel to something sinister like blood. I look for my shirt but I can't find it, I don't look hard because I'm not willing to look down at the mess on the floor. The logical path of reasoning would have me check and see if I have some kind of cut or something, but I ignore it.
In the shower, the substance appears to be blood. I sigh and shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut as I stand under the warm stream, my back screaming in pain. I wish this wouldn't happen at all, especially not as often as it has been. After the shower, I get dressed and move on to the tasks I'd allotted myself to do. After breakfast, I post my newest video. Tyler has done me a solid and has cleaned up the mess, even though I know he probably has a million questions.
As I leave the office, I catch Tyler coming in. He is one of the only people in the world who truly understand me and the things I've been through. He shakes his head and I brace myself.
"Mark…" I know what's next, so I stop him with my hand.
"I don't know Tyler." I refuse to look him in the eyes because I'm about to burst into tears. It's not even remotely fair that I get so emotional lately.
"This is the third time this month." He says as he leads me into the living room. I sit down on the couch as he hugs me. He must know something I don't, with the way he's looking at me.
"Tyler, just come out with it." I say, his eyes trained on me now.
"I think you need therapy." Those words break my heart. I don't want therapy, no matter how much I may actually need it, not that I would admit it to Tyler or anyone for that matter. Therapy for what, anyway? Some strange occurrences where I black out the previous night and wake up in compromising situations in which I can never recall what happened the night before?
"Therapy? Tyler… why?" I ask, and Tyler shakes his head.
"The things you do… well, I know you don't remember them. But I promise you, it's getting harder to contain."
Tyler and I have this pact. I help Tyler with something and he helps me by essentially babysitting me on the nights that I black out. Tyler doesn't necessarily like this job I've talked him into because from what I understand, I don't listen to him.
"What did I do last night?" I'm afraid to ask, but I feel like I should know.
"You don't want to know. Nothing illegal, but something self-destructive."
This news I can handle. I nod. I felt something on my back when I washed it that hurt a good bit, so I assume I definitely did something stupid.
"I'm sure it will be fine Tyler."
He accepts this as my word because he knows I'm shutting down now. Tyler shakes his head but leaves the room quietly, no objections. Sometimes I'm not sure even he knows how to handle me. Standing alone in the room, I feel my food wanting to come back up. With shaking hands, I lift my shirt up exposing my chest. I follow a slight trail of bruising and sigh. I've really done a number on myself this time. I move to face the mirror. Turning around slowly, I glance back at the mirror. There in plain sight on my back, is a hundred or so vertical lines that are in various shades of pink and red with black and purple bruising. With shaking hands, I reach behind myself and feel a few of the lines. They're slightly raised and they throb when I touch them. My hand comes away slightly bloody. It's no wonder there was so much blood on the floor.
The biggest question I have for myself is why in the world would I do this? Why would I hit myself this many times over and over? My second question for myself would be what did I use to create these marks? I decide to go see my room. I usually try to stay out of it the next day after one of my blackouts because it's usually in various states of upset. Upon entering, I see that I'm not wrong. I'd learned a long time ago not to bother putting nice things in my room. My sheets and blankets are thrown about the room, my curtains are on the floor with the curtain rod still in them, and everything on my desk is thrown on the floor all around the room. I see something from the corner of my eye and bend down, picking it up.
In my hand I hold a whip. Yes, a whip like someone would use if they were into BDSM. I shake my head, terrified at what I'd done. My friends and I had gotten it as a joke. Ignorance is bliss and I've had far too much of this. Putting the whip into a safe I keep for the things that I knew I would regret having out, I take the key and walk into the room Tyler currently inhabits. I'd asked him to temporarily move in with me, despite the fact that he'd recently moved into a really nice apartment. Once again, I am fucking something up for him.
In the room, I stumble as I see his back. Now I don't usually stare when Tyler has his shirt off because I'm quite used to it not being on and I don't like him that way, so it's no big deal for me. This time however, I knew something was horribly wrong. There were lots of marks and cuts on his back. The marks were different from the ones I had on his back, so I knew I hadn't used the whip on him.
"Ty..Tyler?" I say, now stumbling over my words. "D-d-did I do that t-t-to your back?' I ask, shaking. I am confused and desperate to be as far away from myself as possible.
Turning, Tyler faces me with his face downcast. "Kind of."
I move my hands to my face, pulling hard on the hair that is falling down into my eyes. Tyler puts his arm out towards me.
"If it makes you feel better, you didn't give me the cuts."
I struggle to understand what he's talking about. Looking him in the eyes, I realize he's still trying to protect me. He's such a good friend and I put him in such a hard place everytime something bad happens.
"You shoved me. I landed on the glass coffee table. I replaced it this morning, while you were making your video. I didn't want you to find out because I knew you'd take it too hard. I'm fine. Seriously."
He was too kind. I'd pushed him down and caused all those cuts and scratches. I'd hurt him…again. I decided to punish myself then. It made more sense to me to do something than for Tyler to keep sticking up for me. I lay in bed, curled up in a ball. Tears form and I try my best not to cry. I don't deserve to have an emotion. My phone beeps and I sigh. I figure it's probably Tyler. He was beating on my locked door in hopes that I would answer and forgive myself for this, but it's not happening. He's gone now. I check and it's Sean. My Jackaboy. I smile a little, allowing myself this indulgence. I'm so happy he's in my life, my best friend. The text is a bit mangled because I apparently dropped my phone or threw my phone last night and cracked the screen all over.
Jack: What's wrong mate?
I reply back quickly.
Mark: There's nothing wrong.
Jack: Are you feeling better? Last night you sounded pretty out of it.
Mark: What? Did I call you?
Jack: Yes, you told me you loved me but that I had to die and you were really sorry about it.
Mark: What?
Jack: I figured you must have been having some fun or having a stroke or something.
Mark: ?!
He didn't answer, maybe not knowing how to reply. I'd gotten several other text messages asking me if I was alright. I didn't even know I'd talked to any of them. And I'd told Jack he had to die? What kind of twisted shit was that?
