♡︎ Matt Sturniolo Centric One-Shots ♡︎

Never Again // Self Harm {Chris & Matt}

[ Definite trigger warning for this one. Also not saying that Chris handled this the best either, this is such a sensitive subject that you want to be mindful of how you approach it. Anyway please, please do not read this one if you think it'll affect you in any way. In fact, I'd rather you skip over this one entirely if you think it will. Anyway, I love and adore you all lovelies. ]

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Matt sat in his bathtub, water enveloping him. Only the water surrounding him was an abnormal color. It was red as he expected it to be, however it wasn't the rich vibrant hue it was expected to be. The crimson-red liquid dilated into a burnt orange color. There was that and the fact that there was so much of it. It was intoxicating as his own blood mixed with what had once been transparent water. Now it was anything but transparent. Now it was a blood bath. His arms were covered in it, the culprit proving to be the deep gashes he had inflicted on himself. He didn't mean to cut so deep, or subconsciously maybe he did. Matt doesn't know, doesn't know if he'd been craving a way out or not.

The question of death didn't mean anything to him. That's just it, It neither entices him nor deters him from this addiction.

Death isn't anything to him, It's just a risk, a possibility. Matt knows that he's wagering his life each time he does this. And In his mind either he receives the incredible relief he craves out of harming himself, or he dies. He dies and it all stops for him, his world ceases. But other's lives still remain in motion, the planet will still remain the same without him. It'll all be okay if he chooses to be absent.

It's a win-win situation in his mind. Whether he's just granted relief or a more permanent fix.

His thoughts are nearly nonexistent now, only pure endorphins running through his brain. God, had Matt missed that feeling. The honeyed sweet feeling of ease. Of knowing that everything was going to be okay, even just for a moment. It's what the cuts conveyed, and he was always glad to feel anything other than the stress and anxiety lurking throughout his body.

He didn't just feel at ease though. In stark contrast to that feeling another part of himself felt disappointment.

The thing is, he had tried so goddamn hard. So fucking hard for it all to shatter to pieces of meaningless. Almost a month was under his belt of no self-harm whatsoever.

The worst part was that he had been proud, too, of being clean from the habit. He knows he had because now he felt as guilty as ever. Now that his clean slate was back to zero, there was nothing to keep up anymore. He now had no progress, no reason to try again and suffer the disappointment another relapse would be sure to bring.

No, Matt wouldn't suffer the guilt of losing 60 days again because he'll simply never make it that far again.

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His relapse hangs heavy inside him, not because of his own personal feelings or confliction about it but because he thinks Chris is catching on. They'd been filming and Matt knows, he knows that there'd been a split second where his sleeve had drooped at the wrist. That draped fabric had fallen away to reveal his tattered skin. Matt cuts off instantly from what he'd been joking about, chuckling nervously at his carelessness. A split second had gone by before he was hastily adjusting the hoodies sleeve, and yet that'd been all it'd taken for his brother to notice. Chris's eyes lingered the rest of filming, remaining on him. He could feel them, they peered at him almost as though Matt's wounds were still on full display. Never having been covered. A part of him wonders if the younger is seeing right through his sleeve, if Chris is still thinking of his cuts.