Just a Normal D-Class

17

(Diana's POV)

It hurt so bad. But she didn't stop. She knew it wouldn't help anything. But she didn't care.

She was dizzy. Her vision wavered as she dug her nails into her arm. Tearing at the skin, peeling away layers until she landed on a vein. She watched the blood drip onto the floor, gasping as her salt-infused tears fell onto the wound.

Her brain was muddled, her thoughts in an asymmetrical spiral that didn't make any sense. But she didn't have to think to scratch her skin off. That was an easy, simple task. A painful one yes. But it didn't take much thought. Just a bit of force.

Eventually, she started to wonder why she was doing this. She had started because she was sad. And she was sick of it. She was sick of the nonphysical pain that lodged in between her lungs like a stray bullet.

So she started to give herself a good reason to cry. There was no point in her sobbing over something that replayed in her head. Especially when she couldn't change it. So she started to chew on her arm.

She didn't hold back any tears while she did this, as she felt she had a valid reason for them. But was sadness really a valid reason for her to tear at her skin like a wild fucking animal? She stared at the wound for a moment, thinking.

It was red and angry, and it felt like her nails were still digging into the partially revealed muscle. Blood fell from the crinkled-up skin, staining the floor with little crimson dribbles. They looked kind of like paint. 

She pulled her bloody fingers away from the gash and instead dipped her index one into one of the puddles. With the sanguineous liquid on her finger, she drew a small smile. Two dots and a curved line across the tiles.

She thought it was quite silly, but she smiled a bit. Not a real smile. Nothing close to her expression around SCP-999. But it wasn't a pain-filled grimace, and that's what she cared about. She didn't want anyone coming in on her like that.

She sighed, getting up and tearing the sheet off her bed. She ripped a strip off and tied it around her wound. She felt her muscles and nerves spasm at the contact, and she bit her tongue to keep quiet. After the fabric was secured, she got onto the bare mattress.

A shiver ran down her spine as she curled up. She doubted that she'd be able to sleep. But she really wanted to. She rolled around a bit, staring at the torn sheet that was on the bloodied floor. With a small sigh, she got back up and grabbed it.

She wasn't really thinking. She just tore off another strip, a longer one this time. It was wrapped around her neck and tied as tight as it could. She felt her throat heave as she gagged. Her heartbeat sped up as she realized how awful this would be if anyone else was doing it.

But she'd come back. And she needed rest. She wanted her wounds healed too. So she sat down, her head and windpipe throbbing from the lack of air. Time seemed to slow, and her lungs almost shook inside her ribs.

Eventually, she blacked out. The last thing she noticed was the blood dripping down her arm.

(Mason's POV)

He woke up to a shaking of the shoulder. He blinked wearily, rubbing sleep from his eyes and looking at Archer. He looked upset. But not the normal 'I hate you all' kind of upset. He seemed disturbed. 

"Hale. It's the kid. She... she's dead."

Mason shook his head. "I thought you knew that she revived. She'll be back." Archer rubbed his face. "That's not what I mean. I mean she used her fucking bedsheet to suffocate herself." His voice was stiff.

Mason blinked. Why the hell would D do something like that? Especially since she knew that she'd be back. Was she really that damned upset? Mason sighed, getting up. "I'll go talk to her." He pushed his glasses up.

Archer nodded. "Alright..."

MMMMMMMMMM depression

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