/Yeah so I'm feeling like shit and therefore, my characters will too. I'm super sorry for that but to be honest, I don't know what I'm going to do and this is better than the alternatives so enjoy. Warnings for self-harm and more suicide talk yay. Dark chapter so yeah be careful./

The next day, Skye was released from the lab and after a long time in the shower, she just wanted to curl up under the covers, still overly exhausted. She promised herself that tomorrow she would wake early and go to the gym, that she would not be too tired or too sad to move from the bed. She had to get up, because she had to lose the weight and it was with that thought that she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

But when morning came, her mind-set was very different. It happened often enough; the brief moment during waking, when she wasn't thinking, just relaxing. And then the crushing, downright crippling depression washing over her in waves of black. She just wanted to sleep forever, even as tears slipped down her cheeks and her body shook with the hungry, aching, scratching need.

And just like that, she knew where the day was headed, she knew the turn she was taking and she was all too happy to slip into the darkness' grasp. She needed to work out, and in order to do that, she had to get out of bed. But she didn't want to and so something would have to be done about that. The only thing pulling her out from under her covers was perhaps the most destructive thing she'd ever done.

She picked up her Hula doll, smacking the bottom, the plastic breaking. Out fell multiple blades and she picked the cleanest, the newest, the sharpest before retreating to the bed, an old shirt cradled under her elbow.

She'd cut a lot as a kid, growing up with no one around and a deep pit in the bottom of her stomach. She'd used it as an outlet, sometimes even as a punishment but it had turned into an addiction, a hungry addiction that left her in long sleeved shirts and meant all money went on blades and bandages and wicked looking knives. When she'd left the system at eighteen, she'd stopped for ages, only Miles knew about the marks under her clothes and the even deeper marks on her soul. That's why she'd trusted him so and why, after being given the tracking bracelet, she'd turned to her old standby. A man's death was on her back and the man she'd trusted with everything turned out to be exactly the kind of person she hated. And so it had started again.

Skye was compulsive and reckless but the last thing she'd expected of herself was to slip into a damned eating disorder. But she supposed, she'd always seemed to trade on thing for another. The self-harm as a kid turned to smoking and drinking, turned to sex and gambling, turned to over working and not eating and back to self-harm. But she was too ensnared, too damned deep in the dark to realize that she didn't need to lose weight, that she didn't need to cut up her body to make herself feel better. All she could think as she dragged the knife over her thigh was oh god yes.

With the team watching her like hawks she knew she couldn't go back to her favourite cutting spot, cliché as it was always portrayed on TV. There was just something about the wrist, the biting pain, the clear skin, the blue veins so visible underneath. But she couldn't risk being found out, little did she know they'd seen some of her scars.

She stuck plasters over her thigh before wrapping a white bandage around them. She hid everything, cleaned up meticulously and left for the gym.

She'd been told that she was only allowed to work out for half an hour, morning and night. And she was required to eat meals three times a day, in the company of the whole team. And if she didn't eat, they were going to take her into a SHIELD facility and she was definitely not bloody going there,

So, she worked out for her allotted time, she drank the water she sipped the disgusting protein milkshake shit and she picked at her meals. Just biding her time. For something, for anything, for her mind to decide if she was going to fight or if it was time to just damn well give up. Her mind dark and twisted, Skye was leaning towards the latter option and it should have scared her how easy it was to contemplate suicide but she was just so damn tired. She was too tired to be scared.

The team however? they were terrified. Skye had barely spoken, had taken everything from the working out to the drinks to eating and even a specific bed time- for her body to heal, Simmons had said, at least nine hours a night.

All of them were at a loss, so worried about her health and weight that they hadn't mentioned the scars. They were just so happy to see her eating with them that they didn't want to break her further. They didn't know how good Skye was at hiding, how well she could hide away from the rest of the world. She knew that a bright smile would be too misleading, they'd know it was faked. But the quietness, the tiredness and the small half smiles instead of the crying and the cutting and the pictures of guns and nooses and knives? at least the team thought she was somewhat okay, they didn't realize that a little broken girl lived inside Skye.

But soon they would realize, because that little girl couldn't hold on much longer.

/I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I understand if people stop reading now. Um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to go this far but um maybe I'll delete this chapter later on idk. bye. /