Denial

A/N: It's so good to be able to update! Finally! TW for self harm.

2 years ago

Matthew blinked a few times, clearing the drug induced bleariness away. His head pounded as if it was being punched repeatedly and the world swam in and out. Once he felt that he had a grasp on reality, Matthew looked down. White. White all around him. Was he in heaven? Had it worked?

"Mattie. Oh god, Mattie. We thought you were gone for good. Dude, why would you do this?" Alfred's voice was gentle, but filled with hurt and sorrow. At this moment, Matthew knew that he was alive. He'd failed in his attempt to end his life.

"I'm a waste," Matthew sighed, running his thumb across the medical tape holding an IV into his hand. "Papa can't pay for all of my therapy, I get in the way of your football, and I'm stupid,"

"Matthew Williams. Listen to me right now. Papa is fine paying for your therapy. You are not getting in the way of my football. And most of all, you are not stupid. You are the sweetest, most sympathetic, cutest, and smartest little brother anyone could have. If I had known you were planning to do this, I would have quit the goddamn football team. I'll always be here for you. Nothing can get in the way of this, you're my baby bro, and I'm your hero.

Until that terrible day, two years later, it never occurred to Matthew that Alfred was only human, that he couldn't live forever or dodge the facts of life.

"Hey, Matt. I heard what happened,"

"Matthew, I'm so sorry about your brother,"

"My prayers go to Alfred,"

"I'm sorry that Alfred died,"

"Hey, Matthew. If you want to talk about anything, I'm here,"

All day. People finally knew who Matthew was. But not for a good reason. All day, Matthew was stopped in the halls, hugged by classmates who had never acknowledged him before, consoled by people who didn't know him as Matthew, but as the boy whose brother died.

"Hey, Matthew. I'm sorry about all the times I thought you were Alfred and beat you up. He didn't deserve to die like that, honest," a deep voice came from somewhere in front of Matthew. He looked up to see Carlos.

"M' fine," Matthew muttered. He didn't need to be reminded of what had happened. He'd lost the only person that was ever close to him. Carlos shook his head and put a dark hand on Matthew's shoulder.

"You're not fine. Your brother's dead and I never said sorry to him. I'll take you out for ice cream. It might not get better, but it can't hurt," Carlos replied. He pulled Matthew into a tight hug and Matthew was surprised to find himself hugging back.

"Carlos, you don't have to do this, I can pay for myself," Matthew tried to give Carlos a five dollar bill, but he refused. Matthew sighed and reached out for his ice cream. His sweater sleeve fell down his arm, and Carlos looked over.

"Matthew. What's that, on your arm?" Carlos used his free hand to lightly touch the fresh scars running down Matthew's wrist. It had been a week since Alfred had died, the memory was still fresh in his mind. Matthew flinched back, biting his lip.

"It-It-I-Um… I, uh," Matthew couldn't find the words. He distracted himself by licking his chocolate ice cream. Carlos linked arms with him and they walked out of the little shop into the frosty November air.

"You're cutting yourself," It wasn't a question, it was a blunt, honest statement. Matthew sighed and nodded. He couldn't hide it anymore. He'd slipped back into old habits. Old habits from when his mother died, and his father married someone that hated him. From when he was pushed around the halls and called names. From when he got teased because it was easy, because he couldn't fight back.

Carlos gently ran his thumb over the raised skin, making tears spring to Matthew's lilac eyes. Carlos shook his head sadly, it hurt him to see Matthew this way, the person he'd bullied in middle school, thinking he was Alfred. And suddenly, the pieces were springing together. Matthew's prolonged absences, the way he always wore long sweaters even in warm weather, even the dejected way he walked. "This isn't the first time, is it?"

Matthew shook his head. His ice cream didn't seem appealing anymore, and he just wanted to forget this. But something in him stirred. His cuts were almost a cry for help, and maybe Carlos had answered that cry. "I did it first when mama died. Then it just became comforting. Me and the blade,"

Carlos put his coffee colored hand on Matthew's shoulder, calloused fingers rubbing the soft sweatshirt. Matthew found this strangely easy, telling his former tormenter about all his troubles. Matthew felt a drop of cold ice cream on his hand and licked it off, the rich chocolate soothing him, just a bit.

"I'm sorry. It must be really rough on you. I know it'll probably be hard, but can you try to stop? I don't like to see you like this. I used to just push you around and stuff, but I didn't mean for you to hurt yourself. I-I didn't know," Matthew knew that Carlos meant well, but he couldn't forget the years of pain and silent suffering. Alfred had stepped up to Carlos a few times, forcing him to apologize to Matthew. But those other apologies were blatantly insincere, nothing like what he was saying now.

Matthew wanted to nod and say that he would never touch a blade again, but he knew it wasn't that simple. "I'll try," Matthew said, but his heart wasn't in it. Carlos seemed to brighten up just from hearing this, and Matthew actually thought of stopping or maybe talking to someone.

Carlos gave Matthew a quick one-armed hug, and Matthew laid his head on Carlos' broad shoulder, feeling safe in the other's strong embrace. "Hey, Matthew. I don't like the thought of you just going home. You could probably hurt yourself more. Well, I'd like you to come over. Just a sleepover, kay?"

Matthew contemplated the idea. He was alone, since his father was going to be in France working on business the rest of the year. He decided that he couldn't bear to spend the night alone, it would be nice to be around someone again.

"Yes. Uh- thanks. I mean, for inviting me,"