Brandon Rogers Imagines

Blame my hero {Part 3}

❌Brief discussions of Self-Harm, and Suicide❌

"I think we need to talk, dawg."  Blame said as he looked at (Y/n) and the cuts that decorated her arms. (Y/n) looked down to see what he was looking at and quickly pulled down the sleeve of her jacket. "It's nothing." She said, shaking him off, trying to turn his attention to something else.

"Yo, that ain't nothing, dawg." He insisted. "That is some serious shit! You don't need to be doing that to yourself."

"I didn't have a choice, Blame." (Y/n) admitted and already they were speaking like they had known each other for years. (Y/n) couldn't deny that there was something about Blame that made her feel safe like there was nothing that she couldn't tell him. He signalled for her to take a seat and sat beside her. "What do you mean?"

"I needed to feel." She told him, honestly. "I needed to feel something!" She said, shaking her head. "I was so sick and tired of being told who I should, how I should act and how I should feel. I was living a life that I didn't want; actually, I haven't lived at all."

Blame listened to her intently. "Is this why you have nowhere to stay, yo? Your folks kick you out?" (Y/n) nodded in reply.

"My dad, yeah." She said, looking down at her feet. "We've never really got on, so it doesn't matter." (Y/n) looked back at Blame. "The only thing he has ever wanted me for was as something to pass along to his friends when they were drunk and bored." Blame stayed silent.

"Shit, dawg." Was all he said, after moments of dead silence. "I'm sorry that you had to go through that."

"It's okay." (Y/n) replied, quietly. 

"No, it's not okay." Blame replied. "Listen, I sincerely apologise if I jump over a line, but you never tried to do anything more to hurt yourself, did you?" 

"You mean like, try to kill myself?" (Y/n) asked. Blame nodded and watched as (Y/n) gave him an awkward smile and shrug. "Dawg, that's so dangerous! Not to mention stupid."

"Stupid?" (Y/n) asked, shocked. "Do you really blame me?"

Blame pointed at himself. "No, I'm Blame." He pointed at you. "You're (Y/n)." He shook his head as he watched you sigh. "I think the cold must have really gotten to you. You need some rest." He said, getting up and leading you to his bedroom. "You can have my room."

"No, I don't mind sleeping on the couch." (Y/n) admitted. "I don't want to impose any more than I already have." Blame looked at her confused. 

"I don't know what that means, but I'm what some would call, the perfect gentleman." He smiled.  "You're having my room."

"Thank you, Blame."

Blame nodded, feeling proud of himself. "I'll see you tomorrow (Y/n)."