Warnings: Self-harm
He likes it cold. It was December. Temperatures are under freezing most of the time and all he could think about is: He likes it cold. It's not the same thing. He knows it's not, it's just the weather. Same weather he's experienced his whole life. There's nothing different. Except him. Freak. Zombie boy. So cold. Slipping into his skin, creeping down through his body,
He has a space heater and 2 sweaters on but he doesn't feel any warmer and sleep's a distant dream. No matter how many blankets he pulls over himself. He can feel it under everything, gnawing at him from the inside.
It wasn't real. It's just the cold. It didn't feel like just the cold. He feels the slimy feeling in his throat and he immediately jumps out of bed and runs to the bathroom. The slimy sensation is still in his throat, the demodogs. The demodogs. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. It's gone. He's gone. They're gone. It's all in his head. The cold. He's so cold, always so cold, he can feel him. He can feel him.
Will's eyes dart to the shower but now there's only one way to stop this panic. These thoughts. He has to stop these thoughts. It feels like he's going crazy. It feels like he's here.
As quickly as he made his way to the bathroom, he makes his way back to his own room and grabs a lighter that is tucked under other items inside the top drawer of his bedside table. His mom has dozens of them all around the house. As far as he knew his mom has no idea that the musty, brown lighter was even missing.
This was a bad idea. He's well aware it's a bad idea. He clicked the lighter for a moment, watching the flame dancing as he held it. He held his other hand over it feeling the warmth of it.
It used to be enough, just like a warm-then scalding hot shower used to be enough. Two months and he's already losing so much ground. He lets go of the flame but the respite is temporary as he rolls up his left sleeve. There are two other pink marks that he ignores picking a patch of skin away from the others and biting his lip but only briefly hesitating before lowering the flame to his skin.
Pain and redness spread in a matter of seconds. But the most important part is no black veins, no mind flayer. Just him and the pain that doesn't feel as bad as it should. He removes his finger from the wheel and looks down at the new bright red mark. It's strange that burning himself could be so relieving, having concrete proof that it's just him that the mind flayer wasn't there and it's just him, could make things better and if only a little while, chase the fear away. He longs for this feeling even though he knows that he shouldn't.
There's one other part that makes this so tantalizing. His mind is finally clear, and calm. No longer worried about the cold, about the mind flayer, or about much of anything even though he knows it will all come back soon enough, the peace is always temporary. But that doesn't mean he won't take full advantage while it's here. After carefully hiding the lighter back in the drawer, he crawled back into bed and closed his eyes. The nights he burns himself are the only ones that he can sleep.