Once again, here is your reminder that I am not a therapist and medical advice should NOT be acquired from any fanfiction I write.
Also, yesterday I finally finished writing this fic series. There's still a while to go after this point in the story, though, since I've only posted a little over half of the story so far.
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Later that day, Janus was sitting in the living room, watching whatever cartoon it was that Roman had playing on the television (surprisingly, not a Disney show). Whatever it was, Janus had no interest in it, but that was what was on.
Earlier, after his talk with Logan, Janus had been in his room, but that quickly revealed itself to be a mistake. Usually- assuming he was feeling relatively okay- he could stand to be in his room without picking his skin too much until he had to take his clothes off to shower, but today, his mind had started begging him to take his gloves off. The talk with Logan just made the thought of picking his skin remain at the forefront of Janus's mind, and the more he tried to not pick his skin, the harder it became not to because he couldn't stop thinking about it. On normal days, he was distracted from the thought of doing it for most of the day because he was doing something, and even if he did it without noticing sometimes, he didn't end up doing it for forty minutes straight like he sometimes did before showering. But he couldn't focus on doing anything else right now, so the thought of picking his skin was consuming his thoughts. Even now, he was struggling not to do it and only didn't because Roman was sitting in the same room as him. He didn't want Roman to see him like that.
Janus wasn't really sure how useful Logan's suggestions would be. After all, a lot of it just seemed to boil down to just don't do it, which he had tried, and look where he was now. He was at least trying one of Logan's techniques by sitting with Roman, though (Even though he really would prefer to hide away in his room and lock the door).
Though, if Janus was (ironically, yes) being honest, part of him wasn't so sure he wanted Logan's techniques to work. Of course, he was bothered by picking his skin. He was tired of the pain, tired of the blood, of the hiding from others, of the layers of clothing, of the time wasted, of his skin looking the way it did. He was tired of picking his skin and the way it made him feel about himself. But another part of him relied on it, and he wasn't sure how long he could handle not giving in. And even though Logan said he didn't have to stop immediately, he knew that Logan and the others expected him to stop eventually.
And that just made him feel trapped- by expectations, by his thoughts, by his 'habit', whatever- he just felt trapped. The idea of never being able to pick his skin again felt scary. It felt like his control was being taken away, even though he had agreed to try to stop.
… Which, perhaps, should be a sign that picking his skin wasn't as much of a form of control as he liked to think it was, but he couldn't help his thoughts.
"Hey, Snakes and Ladders, are you doing okay?" Roman asked suddenly.
Janus startled slightly, having been lost in thought.
"Hm? Oh, yes, I'm just utterly enthralled by this pinnacle of cinema we're watching."
"Really? Who's your favorite character? My favorite is…"
And as Roman began to passionately rant about the show Janus had negative passion for, the deceitful side's thoughts continued to swirl around.
XXX
Inevitably, Janus returned to his room. And inevitably, he had to take a shower. Maybe not tonight- it had only been a bit over a day since his last shower- but he would have to eventually. And if he didn't shower, he would only end up with pimples and things that just screamed to be picked at, and that wouldn't be helpful at all. Besides, his hair started to feel gross if he didn't wash it for more than a day or two, and it was a sensation he found to be particularly unpleasant.
And so, after stalling for a while (mostly by playing with Snakey), Janus finally convinced himself that he should go shower.
Before he knew it, he stood in his bathroom, clothes thrown into the hamper and trying not to look at his skin. But how could he not look?
His skin was covered in little dots- raised bumps, scabs, tiny bruises- and his mind immediately welled up with hate. He hated that his skin looked like this, with all the peeling skin and smears of blood and swollen redness. He hated that it was his own fault he looked like this. His eyes wandered to his patches of scales, and he silently wondered what it would be like if his entire body was covered in them. Would he be okay with the way his skin looked then? Would he still have the compulsion to pick and just switch to pulling off scales? Would he even be able to pick off his scales? He had hadn't really picked at his snake scales (not the way he did at his human skin, at least) because he didn't mind the way they looked. His scales didn't have the same imperfections that his human skin did. They looked right, and even when he looked at them closely, his mind didn't find little half-imaginary spots to pick at.
He had to force his hands to stay still so they wouldn't start searching his skin.
Janus looked at his nails and decided that he should maybe cut his nails first. It would be better to cut his nails before he showered, anyway- nails got soft in the shower, and you weren't supposed to cut them when they were like that, right?
And so, Janus put his clothes back on and took out his clippers from the bathroom cabinet, having successfully avoided picking at his skin for the time being.
See? He was trying at least, and he hadn't failed.
Yet.
XXX