CHAPTER 14
"...Is that what I think it is?" Bruce asked quietly and I nodded slightly. He swore in Portuguese, walking over and holding my arm up to the light, "Why didn't you tell us before?".
I looked down at my other hand, tears brimming my eyes, "... I was scared".
"Bruce... What's happening?" Steve asked slowly and the doctor turned back to them, "These scars... He's self harming. Cuts himself. On purpose. Most likely with a razor".
I didn't know which was worse, the fact they knew about the scars, or the fact I was slowly breaking down in front of them.
"When did you do this?" Bruce asked quietly, turning back to me and I frowned, "It started when I was 14".
"Started?" Bruce asked sharply, "You still do it?".
"Blades under the bathroom sink" I replied and he swore again, turning to Pepper, "Did you know about this?"
She shook her head, "Not before today... But there's more".
Bruce snapped his head back to me, his eyes softening, "You tried it before didn't you?".
"24 times" I whispered and he shook his head, falling onto his knees, "What are we going to do with you...".
The other four just looked plain confused. Well, the cat was out of the bag now. Might as well explain everything.
I looked up at them, swallowing back my fears, "I... I tried it before..." I took a deep breath,
"To kill myself. I tried to commit suicide 24 times before the other day. I hated my life. I still do. That's why I was I was going to jump. I had the whole thing planned out. I was gonna make it look like I fell. That it was an accident. Then I remembered ye, and... I just couldn't do it anymore. I just couldn't leave ye like that, accident or not. Well... Back then... Back when I was a kid... I didn't have ye. I didn't have anyone. So when I was 9 years old... I went to my room... And I got a rope... But I didn't do it. I couldn't kick the bucket. It's what my father wanted. And I'd be damned if I was actually going to do as I was told" I smiled slightly,
"So I didn't do it. And when my father found me the next morning, I was sitting by the window, reading a book. Alive and healthy. Well... That made him furious... And he tried to kill me himself. To drug me. Tried to give me an over dose on sleeping pills... And it worked... Sort of... He decided at the last minute that he wanted me still alive... That he NEEDED me still alive... After all, who else was there to take his anger out on? So once I had swallowed all the pills, he put the container in my hand, and called an ambulance... Made it look like I had done it myself... That I had tried to kill myself with medicine... It worked out perfectly for him of course, it always did. He got sympathy from people for having a suicidal son, he had made me absolutely terrified, and he still had something to hit when he got bored. That was the first time..." I trailed off, unable to continue. I couldn't. I just couldn't.
"I..." I tried again, "I can't...". My voice broke and I angrily wiped away the tears. I was breaking down. In fact, I was done breaking down. I was broken.
Pepper put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and I took a deep breath, swallowing back my fears before continuing, "The second and third time I was still 11. Both times I tried to hang myself. One time I almost succeeded. I was after kicking the bucket, and was left dangling my neck in the air. I had tied the knot wrong. So instead of a quick painless death, the rope cut into my skin. I managed to cut it before I strangled myself but my neck was scarred for weeks afterwards... When I was 10 it only happened once. That was the year it started getting better. My father was away a lot, on business trips. He didn't see me as much. But when he did... It was worse than ever... Much, much worse... " I flinched slightly at the memories,
"So I thought about jumping off a building... I'd sneak out in the middle of the night, accidentally trip, and somehow fall to my death... But I could never go through with it. Because I thought things were getting better. And they did... For a while. He wasn't home at all when I was 11. He'd just designed some new weapons... The Jericho Missile, Mark 1... And was traveling all over the world... That was a good year. Everything was ok then. Things were getting better... Then something happened... The missile got a fault... It malfunctioned... And by my 12th birthday, he was furious... Every single fucking day he was furious... I... He... Lets just say I almost died three times that year... When I was 13, I started wondering why I didn't say something. Why I didn't tell someone the truth. That's when he threats started getting serious. And one night... He got carried away... Stabbing me..." I glanced up at Bruce,
"Iv told you that story... Well, I woke up in hospital with 40-something stitches and severe blood loss... And tied onto some machine that was keeping me alive... So I pulled the plug. I took out all the needles. I dismantled the machine. I did everything possible to destroy the only thing keeping me breathing... But then, of course, the hearth monitor went crazy, set off some alarm... And they fixed the machine and tied my hands down... The next year, I starting... Cutting... Slashing my wrists... I was going to bleed to death... But then my mother came in and... Yea... Well... That didn't turn out too good..." I quickly pushed away the flashbacks threatening to expose themselves and continued,
"Then when I turned 15, my father had the bright idea that a tougher military school would fix everything... So he sent me there... And I decided to kill myself four times... And obviously, it never worked... Then I met Rhodey. And he was... A complete and utter bastard... But in some strange way, we managed to put up with each other. And we actually became friends. We were close, very close... Close enough that I told him about my father... And I found a reason to live again. I would do it for Rhodey. For the crazy son of a bitch who made my life a living hell... And then I turned 17. And I was 'summoned' home again. My father wanted me back. And as much as I never wanted to go home again, I couldn't actually refuse. That... That was a hard year... I... It was... Ok, deep breath, I'm almost done, "I let out a shaky breath, tightly shutting close my eyes before forcing myself to relax again,
"I attempted suicide eleven times. Eleven fucking times. All within 6 months of each other. Each time... I was either interrupted... Or I managed to talk myself out of it... The last time was the worst... It was the night I was supposed to be going back home. Rhodey stopped me at the last minute. I almost shot myself. I was so fucking close to pulling the trigger... But then he had to go and stop me... Son of a bitch... And then there was the roof" I said quietly,
"I thought I was over it... That I wouldn't try suicide again... But I just couldn't take anymore... The pain... You don't know what pain is... It's not a broken arm, or, cracked ribs... Pain is where every morning your staring at yourself in the mirror, with tears streaming down your face, just willing yourself to carry on, to keep it together, to just be strong enough to get through another single fucking day... That's was real pain is... And it's what I have to deal with... I lay in bed at night, for hours in the dark, thinking of all the things iv fucked up in my life... All the things I could have changed in the past... Telling someone bout my father for example... Maybe if I had, I wouldn't be as fucked up as I am now..." I trailed off, glancing up at the others.
Pepper was crying, and even Natasha looked slightly teary. The men were trying to keep it together but they weren't that strong. Steve had tears in his eyes, as did Thor. Clint was actually crying. And Bruce was angrily trying to wipe the waterworks away, not wanting to be seen all soft and weak. Well, now he knew how I felt. I took a deep breath, hugging my knees tightly. I had told them. I had actually told them. Wow.
A soft thud through me from my thoughts and I turned around, completely not expecting its cause.
"Son of a bitch huh? Last I remember, you were more creative than that Stark".