Before He was Rosy Cheeks

when a thought expands

(**warning: big themes of self harm** also make sure you didn't miss the previous chapter)

Days passed, and the boy continued to scratch aggressively at his skin, till the point where most of his arms were covered with pink and irritated skin. When he almost felt numb again, he'd stand under the scorching water of the shower once more, and wince as the jets hit his tender arms.

But he'd enjoyed it none the less, because of the normalcy he found in doing so. And all he wanted was that. To feel like a human, not a monster and a killer. He only heard the mantra for a few hours a day now, instead of a constant like before.

It almost was like he was himself again. Though the little voice in his head (that he'd become to accustomed to) creeped in slowly into his thoughts, and reminded him that he was still a monster. A murderer.

And slowly, while his mother continued to lose herself at the bar, he began to lose himself once more.

The feeling of numbness and nothingness came back, and swallowed the boy whole. No matter how hard he scratched at his skin or how hot he turned the water... there was nothing.

There wasn't pain anymore.

He couldn't even find it in him to cry, as the mantra began again. It was a complusion, a subconscious reminder of who he was and he would never let himself forget it. Never.

While lying on his bed, his mind ran through the words again. "Muderer. Killer. Monster. You. Muderer. Killer. Monster. Y o u."

And then, his lifeless chocolate eyes caught hold of something he hasn't seen before.

A pencil sharpener that had once been his sister's. She'd thrown it at him in anger when he ruffled her hair, they day of.. his killing.

With his slow movements, he rolled off his bed and walked over towards it, picking it up. He stared at it blankly for a few moments, then with a sudden burst of anger, he threw it against the wall and watched it shatter into pieces.

The plastic scattered across the wooden floors, along with a chunk of metal that slid towards him.

Curiously, he squatted down to examine it, to find that it was the blade of the sharpener.

He went to pick it up, but wasnt cautious enough, ending up slicing the tip of his finger. Blood quickly rose above his skin, and his eyes were glued to it.

It had brought pain again. It had brought something.

So the boy found himself lightly dragging the blade across the surface of his forearm,watching thin, nearly nonexistent lines of red bubble to the surface.

Away, went the mantra.

And back came some feeling.

______

Bella's note: :-(

Im sorry. I hate doing this to him (and to you all).

I hope you all have a great day,

-xx