Padding down quiet hallways gave him access to the murmur of classes strewn on both sides as he passed the successive rooms, though more than that, he couldn't help the tickling itch between his legs as the stench of urine reminded him of his...

"Ugh, fuck me! What is wrong with me?! I can't go to class like this; that would just make things worse. Well, worse than they already are...," Stopping for a moment, Dash circled around in the hall for a minute before pacing into a bathroom a bit further down the way.

It would be, at the very least, harder to convince others that he hadn't pissed himself if he smelled like this.

He was already late, so it wasn't as if ten minutes more would make a difference.

It doesn't matter, nothing matters-

Alone, the teen set his bag upon the floor before making his way to one of four sinks. Taking a paper towel, wet from a few moments under the faucet, Dash scrubbed for a minute or two, going through several of the towels as each soaked through until he felt that the smell was, at the very least, manageable.

As manageable as he could make it, at least.

Tossing the last of his towels away, Dash stopped for a moment to look in the mirror, unsure of what his face looked like. The last thing he needed was for people to start asking why he looked like he was crying.

Which he wasn't.

That never happened.

He wasn't crying.

He never cries.

...

Casting a reluctant look upwards, the teen couldn't help but flinch at the state of his features.

He looked fucking terrible.

When had his eyes become so red, his face flushed and pallor?

His hair, sticking in oily strands every which way?

Dark bags hanging like curtains around his eyes?

Was this really what he looked like? How frequently did he come to school like this? Looking like this?

'Yeah, you look fuckin' terrible.'

'Man, you've really let yourself go, huh? Not that you ever looked good in the first place.'

Yeah, that was true, wasn't it?

He was...ugly.

Disgusting.

Nasty.

Too gross to be liked.

Scratch

Too rancid to be loved.

Scratch

Not good enough...

Not Good Enough...

NOT GOOD ENOUGH-

His hand was...wet. Sticky with something, warm as a coppery scent dripped lazily from beneath his fingernails, the stench of that substance so pungent that it drew his gaze away from his face and to the drenched sleeve of his jacket.

Even stranger was the still frantic itching didn't cease, even when that hand, desperate in its movements, pushed up his arm, moving with his jacket sleeve. Further and further as the murmurs between his ears went on and on...

Talking, talking, talking.

Won't stop talking.

...

...

Rushing into one of the empty bathroom stalls, he slammed the door behind him, locking it and throwing himself upon the toilet seat. Yanking his sleeve up, sucking in a taut breath as the itchy fabric slid like bristles along his exposed flesh.

-(If sensitive to mentions and situations of self-harm, masturbating, and descending mental illness both implicit and explicit, please skip this portion of the text)-

"Hnnn, hnnn..."

It hurts..it hurts so much.

Each scrape, each claw that dragged against his raw skin screamed for him to stop, begged for him to cease if only to give pause to it all. The folding cuts, rivulets of raw flesh, dripped warm, red liquid that seeped into his jeans and dyed his hands and fingernails.

He knew that this...this was wrong. From all those years ago, from the very first time, this was bad.

Disgusting.

Like everything else.

Scratch

Like everything else that involved him, he couldn't help but be weak.

It hurts..so why did it feel so...good?

Yet even now, as hot tears crawled like claws down his face, he smiled, chuckling as he dug deeper, longer, never stopping, not stopping.

'Scratch harder.'

'God, this feels so good, doesn't it?

'Oh, you're bleeding so much!'

Sucking in another breath, Dash couldn't help the furious blush appearing to spread from one ear to the other as he swiped with listless desperation at his worn limbs, bearing upon the seat beneath with each movement.

It...i-it hurt, but he couldn't stop.

He didn't want to stop.

More and more, the tears from his eyes drifting lazily down his cheeks, wetting the unkempt hair at his ears as his head rolled back against the wall of the stall, his hand moving without a thought. It knew better than him that he needed this, wanted this; it didn't stop, even when his fingers pawed at his cuts, individual digits slinking between the slits. Even as he stifled the moan (just barely) that trembled on his lips, or the whimper in his throat that screamed to be freed, chuckling as it died out on his lips.

He could feel it, the tightening of his pants as he spied a small bulge that teased the seam of his pants.

No.

No, he shouldn't be here.

For a moment, in his addled mind, the teen pulled his hand away from his arm.

He should be...he should be in class.

With K-Kwan, and Star, and-

'Friends? They can't stand you! Can't you see that? You're right where you're supposed to be.'

"N-no...no, that isn't true-,"

'Yes it is. What good would being in class do anyway? It isn't as if you could do the work, even if you wanted to.

'Ugh, you're hard? God, you sick fuck-'

'Yeah, just stay here! You should enjoy yourself, shouldn't you?'

He...he could, couldn't he? Reservations of his own died on his tongue, heaving a heavy sigh as he felt pants grow tighter.

"I should go back...," His mind uttered as his fingers pawed at the button his pants.

"This is...this is b-bad...," His thoughts reminded him as he pulled down his briefs. He didn't mind the speckles of red that sprayed his legs as he stroked his swollen length.

The burning for his wounds as they stretched and pulled from the speed of his hand.

The way his mind lulled from lightheaded state of his mind, the stench of blood.

Nope, he didn't mind.

Not. One. Bit.

"Hnnn, hnnn...," He moaned, ignoring the terrible that erupted from his groin as his shaft was horribly bruised, but he didn't care.

The voices were screaming, cheering, so...happy, and he was happy...too.

Happy

Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy.

So...happy.

His climax came just as quickly as the darkness of unconsciousness did.