The Dirt (Your Version)

Chapter 17- Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

All your past trauma from your childhood to your utter loneliness was simmering to the top and you were drowning in the pain.

So, you reverted back to an old self-destructive habit to numb that pain despite swearing to never do it.

-

"I expect that homework to be done by the time I get home, understood?" Your father demanded.

"Yes, sir." You answered, your voice trembling after just being screamed at for 10 minutes straight about mathematics homework.

His hard eyes stared at you for a moment before he nodded and stormed out the bedroom and a few seconds later, Vince was taking his place after having overheard the whole thing.

"Are you okay? He didn't do anything, did he?"

Vince's eyes scanned your body looking for any injuries your father had caused, and you could pinpoint the exact moment he saw the blood on your flannel sleeve against your wrist and your stomach dropped.

No, he wasn't meant to see that.

Fuck. No, no, no, no.

It was too late to hide it. He saw the blood. He saw it.

It was like your brain had just short circuited because all you could do was stand there, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, but you couldn't say anything.

"Shit. What's that? What did dad do?" Vince questioned, grabbing your arm as he stared at the blood stain.

"What..." You trailed off as realisation hit you.

He thought your father did it. Vince hadn't figured out that it was you who actually caused the blood. And you were going to keep it that way.

Your brother didn't need to know about the things you did with a blade. He wouldn't understand. It was a fucked up habit, you knew it was, but it helped. The physical pain helped subside all the other pain deep inside of you, but how were you meant to explain that to him?

Quickly, you pulled your arm away not wanting him to see the cuts. If Vince saw the cuts, he'd know it wasn't from your father.

"It's fine. It's nothing, don't worry. it's fine." You hurriedly reassured, but he didn't listen and grabbed your arm again. "Vin, wait. Don't-"

It was too late, he was already pulling up the sleeve and you couldn't stop yourself from wincing as the fabric stuck to the cuts on your wrist.

"Shit, sorry-" Vince began to apologise before stopping midsentence as he stared at your now exposed wrist.

You didn't look. You couldn't look. You knew what he was staring at, and you watched his brown eyes widen in pure shock. A million different emotions washed over him, but they were masked before you could decipher any of them. You looked down at the ground not wanting to see the hate and disgust in your brothers' eyes.

"Y/N..." Vince couldn't finish his sentence, his voice cracking as he stared at the cuts.

You could feel tears starting to burn in the back of your eyes but refused to let them spill.

Vince was going to hate you. He was going to hate you and then he was going to tell your father and then... shit. You didn't even want to think about what your father would do.

You yanked your arm from his grasp and rushed out the bedroom. Vince shouted your name, but you ignored him and slammed the bathroom door shut behind yourself.

You turned on the tap in the sink rolling your sleeve up before shifting your wrist under the steady stream unable to stop yourself from wincing as the water stung the cuts. Bright crimson blood mixed into the water, trickling down the drain.