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Fic title and lyrics from: "I am Not a Robot" by Marina
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"It's okay to say you've got a weak spot;
You don't always have to be on top.
Better to be hated
Than loved,
Loved,
Loved
For what you're not."
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Logan arrived at his room, gently shutting the door behind him, though there was a nagging impulse in the back of his skull telling him to slam it as hard as he could. Of course, he wasn't going to do such a thing- it would be childish and pointless, and most likely, it would attract Patton or the others. It would bring attention to him, attention he neither wanted nor needed, and he definitely didn't need the others thinking he was trying to guilt them into taking his side or comforting him.
They'd had an argument, which wasn't an entirely uncommon occurrence. Really, this one wasn't even a particularly bad one, and he couldn't even tell if they were actually arguing during half of it, or if it was just 'joking around'. There was laughing, which should have been a sufficient hint that the others were joking, but there were also some jabs, some more subtle than others, as well as what appeared to be anger coming from the others at certain points. He couldn't quite tell- after all, emotions weren't exactly his area of expertise- but he couldn't exactly ask, either.
And even if it had all been joking, Logan couldn't help the bubbling anger building within himself. Really, it wasn't a terrible argument, but he couldn't help feeling like every comment was at his expense. Laughing at his contributions, quips about his hobbies and preferences, acting like he was stupid when he had to explain how things worked because they were factually wrong.
Had he done something? He couldn't quite remember anything he'd done lately that would put him at odds with the others. In fact, out of them all, he seemed to have the least amount of unresolved conflict with everyone else (conflict that was his fault, at least).
And yet, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like the others valued him less than they seemed to now. Everyone else kept pushing him aside and ignoring him, acting as though he had no business giving his input when he did. Logic never entirely left the table, and he could reasonably weigh in on many issues. That's what he was supposed to do. But instead of listening to him, even when he tried to make himself as unobtrusive as he could, he'd still been skipped. It didn't help that Janus had replaced him after that, which had essentially been the sign to tell him to give up on that conversation.
Sometimes, it seemed as though he were being punished for trying to mediate between the others, or even just punished for offering his own opinion outside of anyone else's. But why should he be punished because everyone else was angry at people who weren't him?
He let out a sigh. He knew it was pointless to wonder why exactly the others were behaving like this. The rest of them relied on emotions too much, and as Logic, he wasn't going to be able to figure out their emotional reasonings unless they were rational.
Even still, his decision to let it go didn't settle the uncomfortable feelings in his chest and stomach, nor did it soothe the pounding in his head. He had a sudden urge to slam his fist into the wall, and the idea was becoming increasingly tempting the longer he stood by his door.
Instead, he forced himself to go further into the room and sit on his bed. After all, he didn't want the others to hear him punch the wall, either, especially considering the fact that it was most likely worse than slamming a door.
Was he just misinterpreting things? Or, maybe, had he actually done something wrong, and he just couldn't see it for himself? He had been pressuring Thomas to get things done a lot lately, but he'd also been trying to be less harsh when Thomas failed to complete his list of tasks. Was he still being too strict? But Thomas was already so far behind schedule that, if Logan put even less pressure on him, would he get anything done?
Sighing again, he fell back to lay against the soft bedspread adorning his mattress, turning his head toward his dresser.
Another urge prodded him, and he tried to push it away, even if the attempt was weak.
He felt bad.
He felt, because he knew he did, no matter how much he tried to deny it, and no matter how much he wished he didn't. He'd rather have no emotions instead of the confusing mess he so often found himself confronting, the different pieces so nebulous and tangled sometimes that he could barely even sort it all out. Even now, he knew he felt angry, but it wasn't just that. There were other emotions there, ones that made him feel worthless and desperate for some unnamed something that he wouldn't even recognize if he was staring at it.
He didn't want to feel.
And so, he stood back up and listened to the nagging in his mind.
He pulled open the top drawer of his dresser, removing a small case he'd hidden beneath his socks.
The small case, despite being quite light, felt heavy in the palm of his hand.
Its contents weren't anything particularly exciting- just two little razor blades, small and easy to hide, but just as sharp as a knife would be. No one ever really tried to snoop in his room, let alone his sock drawer, but Logan still took care to hide the blades, even though part of him knew he could hide them much better than he did.
He didn't want to get caught.
After all, doing this was utterly illogical, against everything he was supposed to be, and the fact that he continued to do it was just continual proof of how poorly he fulfilled his role. He knew this didn't help anything, knew it solved nothing. All it did was hurt a little bit. It didn't actually change anything-
Except it did.
It was stupid and illogical, but it made his emotions settle down more than anything else ever did, forcing them back to some place he didn't have to deal with them. It helped him keep up his facade more easily, focus more easily. It held back thoughts even worse than the ones he was currently experiencing.
It was fine, as long as the others never found out. It barely did any damage, and it healed readily enough, so there wasn't much of a risk (even if he wasn't entirely imaginary, but since he was, it was practically nothing). It was fine. It was fine.
Trying to let himself move on autopilot, he grabbed some hand sanitizer and tissues from his desk and decided to sit on the floor.
He pulled down the waist of his pants to expose his left hip, a spot chosen because no one ever had a reason to see that particular segment of his body. Even on the rare occasions Roman decided they were all going swimming in the Imagination, the area would still be covered by his swim shorts.
He made sure to disinfect the blades and the small expanse of skin, just in case the Mindscape decided it wanted to give him an infection, before he started.
It only took a few seconds to draw a small handful of red lines across his flesh.
Little red blobs beaded up along the wound, though not very much. His blades, though sharp to an extent, were far too dull to cut deeply, so they were closer to scratches than deep cuts (Or maybe, he just couldn't bring himself to press any harder). Even still, one of the wounds was bleeding enough that the blood started to drip, forcing Logan to wipe it away with a tissue before it could stain the hem of his pants or the carpet. Grimacing at how little he could feel the scratches, he squirted some of the hand sanitizer on another tissue and held it tightly against the wounds, almost gasping at the sharp, sudden sting.
He continued his hold until the sting began to fade, choosing to switch to a fresh, dry tissue to stop the blood. And once the blood began to clot and close up the scratches, Logan pulled his pants back up and gathered his tissues to dispose of them in the trash can, not bothering to bandage the cuts even though he knew he should.
Instead, he just turned out the lights while he was close to the switch and fumbled his way over to the bed, falling onto it as he allowed the dull throb in his leg take over his mind.
It hurt less to focus on that.
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"Guess what? I'm not a robot."
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Quick comment: My intentions with this fic aren't to romanticize/encourage self-harm. My intentions were just to vent, and in the part where Logan is saying it's 'fine' is him attempting to convince himself.
Stay safe, y'all.
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