TRIGGER WARNING: self-harm by cutting.

My hands shook violently as I pressed myself closer to the wall of the bathtub. The shower was running, blocking out any noise I made, any crying or whimpering, any hissing or swearing; Dad wouldn't hear. Dad would leave me alone. Well, I prayed he did anyway. He couldn't walk in on me like this.

There were three blades sitting to the right of me, balancing on the blood-stained ceramic. Which would I use today? Sharpener, razor one or razor two? My fingers lingered over the triplets as I tried to decide before settling on razor one, my personal favourite. I don't know, it was sharper, it made cleaner, deeper cuts, more of a thrill if you asked me.

I smiled ironically at myself as I held my arm over the running water, palm facing upwards. The skin was patterned with hundreds of gashes and scars already, so much so that I don't think there was actually any clean skin visible – it was oddly beautiful, if you asked me, I thought the cuts looked pretty, the merging pink, red, purple and white made my arm look more of a painting than a mangled lump of flesh.

I brought the sharpened end of the blade to the skin just below my elbow, applying slight pressure before I pulled it quickly to the right. Blood started to bubble immediately but was washed away by the shower before it could spill over. I tried again, this time lower down.

This was pretty much what happened every night, really it was a wonder I hadn't bled to death somehow, but I don't know it was a cheap thrill and I couldn't seem to get enough of it, every time I wanted more and more… sounds more like sex than self-harm but it gave me the same pleasurable feeling anyway. Took the weight of my chest.

I cut a few more times, only managing to get a third of the way down my arm before I heard footsteps on the stairs. I froze immediately. No, I swore, he can't find me now! Not now!

"Isaac?" my dad's voice reached my ears and before I knew it his fist was banging on the bathroom door. I jumped out of my skin at the noise, falling back and knocking the blades off the edge and into the bath. "Isaac are you in there?"

My vocal chords knotted, I couldn't get a single word out of my mouth as my whole body began to tremble with fear, tears pricking in the corner of my eyes. "Isaac!" he shouted louder, anger seeping into his voice. I glanced up at the door knob, my blood running cold as I saw the lock turned upwards rather than horizontal. I hadn't locked the door, I hadn't fucking locked the door. The knob began to turn and I quickly darted for the towel hanging over the radiator, I didn't make it in time though.

"Isaac did I fucking say you could have a shower?!" Dad screamed and looked down at me in disgust before he saw my arm. Once his eyes locked onto the cuts, his expression hardened and I knew I was in for it. "What the fuck?" he launched himself towards me and grabbed my arm, yanking it out in front of him, "are you fucking insane?!" he threw my arm back at me and I flinched, trying my best to ignore his fist that was slowly drawing back.

"S-sorry," I whimpered, voice merely a whisper as he brought his fist down on my face. I felt my skull crack off the sink behind me at the exact same time the skin over my cheekbone split.

"'Sorry'?" he mocked, "please I'm glad you did it because you deserve it, don't you? Fucking piece of shit," he spat at me, causing me to retreat further into the sink behind me. I know I deserve it, I know I'm a piece of shit but he doesn't have to remind me of it. I can't tell him that though, he'll hit me again won't he?

"Isaac!" he shouted at me again, making me jump. Had I missed something he'd said? "Isaac!"

"Isaac! Wake up!"

I groaned, rolling over on my bed so that my face was hidden in the pillow. There was an irritating knocking echoing through my room, was it time for breakfast already? "What?" I called back, voice muffled by the cardboard pillow beneath me.

"Have you put something in front of the door again?" I heard the voice more clearly now, it was Stiles, one of the nurses that worked here. I peeked out an eye from the pillow to where the door was, a chair propped underneath the handle.

"Maybe," I shrugged and pushed myself up into a sitting position. The blood rushed to my head quickly, causing my eyes to droop and all I wanted to do was go back to sleep.

"Come on, move it now. You know what the orderlies are going to do if they discover it," he had a point I suppose, that's why I loved Stiles, he didn't rat me out any time I 'broke the rules' by for example, barricading myself in my room or breaking wood off the chair in a desperate attempt to cut myself. Stiles was the best.

"Is it time for breakfast already?" I yawned as I pulled myself to my feet and stretched, cracking the joints in my back. I padded softly over to the door and moved the chair before I turned the handle to greet the small nurse.

"Not exactly," he smiled up at me, "has anyone told you of your new roomie?"

I nodded my head, I'd heard vague stories of a guy moving in here in like a month or so, or was it a week or so, I don't really know or care, I just knew I was going to hate it. "What about it?" I began to nibble on my bottom lip out of habit.

"Well," he turned his attention to something a little further down the corridor, beckoning them to come closer, "Isaac I would like you to meet Scott. Scott, this is Isaac."

I rose my eyebrow sceptically as I waited for the boy to come into view. But lord, as soon as he did I think both eyebrows nearly flew off my head. My heart skipped a beat, that was for sure. Scott. Scott was tall, he had shaggy brown hair and large, brown, puppy-dog eyes to match, his jaw was slightly off but it just made him look all the more cute. Jesus Christ almightly, I mean I knew I sometimes had a thing for guys but good lord.

"Hi," he smiled at me, "I'm Scott."

"I-Isaac," I choked out, voice quiet as I stared at him. I think I was going to like this guy.