Sanscest One-shots (no lemons) (Requests Closed)

Glass

Outer's POV

The first time was an accident.

I didn't know it was going to break. The door wasn't on properly and when I opened it, it broke. I remember falling glass, and a loud crash. My father's face full of concern becuase it wasn't my fault.

In a split second the ground seemed to be covered in snow in front of me. There were no thoughts, just fear. I didn't even notice that I had been injured. I was just glad I wasn't on the other side of that door. I didn't cry, I just felt frozen. What I felt in that moment, the pure instinct of fear is impossible to describe.

I still have a scar from that incident, on my right hand. I didn't even notice the glass sticking out of my hand. Some one pointed it out to me and I quickly removed it and they put a bandage over the cut. I don't remember much else about it. I remeber there was blood, my blood. It ran down my legs and down my hand.

It didn't hurt. I didn't feel any pain.

The second time was unexpected.

I was just trying to grab a cup. When I brought it down to the counter the bottom just fell off. It looked flat, it looked smooth, like it had been sanded. Something told me to touch it, and I did. It didn't hurt, but there was blood, lots of blood.

My brother was there. I remember his face, no anger, just concern, no one could have known the cup was heat shattered. I washed my hand he looked at it, it wasn't bad, just a lot of blood since I had cut my palm and some of my fingers.

Once again, I didn't feel pain at first, just shock, not as bad as the first but still.

It did hurt but it took a moment for the pain to set in.

I have a scar from that incident to, on my index finger of my right hand, just up from the one from the door.

I had a picture of me and some friends. It used to be hung on the wall. I hadn't talked to them in years. I don't know why I still had it. Maybe I felt some longing for those days. I missed my friends, I missed my home. It sat there, in my bedroom on the floor. It sat there for years.

One day, I was holding it when I dropped it on the floor. I saw it crack. It wasn't like the door, it made sharp triangle shaped pieces. It looked like it could be put back together again, so that's what I did, I took clear tape and carefully pieced it back together.

My sister told me it was pointless, that I should throw it away, that it would never be right again. I've never listened to her.

The third time was on purpose.

I was having a very bad day, well a bad life. I was just messing with it. I was never interested in making any deep scratches. I had scratched up my arms plenty of times, I still do sometimes. I don't like to do anything noticable, I know it gets better, I just have very intense emotions sometimes.

I sat on my bed, pressing the piece of glass against my leg. Suddenly I pressed it really hard until it drew blood.

I don't know why I did it.

I remember the sight of blood dripping down my leg made me sick, I threw the shard across the room. I went to the bathroom and inspected it. It wasn't as deep as I had first thought. No one was there this time, I was on my own.

I didn't tell anyone until the next day, but by then the damage had already been done.

It hurt immediately, I could still feel it even after it healed.

It didn't leave a physical scar but the emotional scars are real enough.

I still have those pieces of glass

It's been a while since then, but I've learned something important.

Hearts break a lot like glass.

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See ya, imaginary people