「 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒾𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝐿𝒾𝑒 」Bowers Gang #3

╳ Request Pref. 5 ≫ Reacting to them self harming

"Henry...w-what's this?" You asked, trying to keep your voice from shaking too much. You gently moved his arm so his wrist was facing towards him. His eyes glanced to his arm then back to you.

He ripped his arm out of your grasp and turned away. Mumbling incoherent words. You felt anger flash on your face as you reached for his arm again.

"Henry. This is serious." You frowned.

Henry looked at you, glancing from your grip on his arm to your face. You saw the tough demeanour fall off his face.

"It's really nothing Y/n."

"Henry. These," you raised his arm, showing the red marks along his arm, "aren't nothing. If you need to talk about anything I'm here." You whispered softly, gently pulling him towards you.

Though once he was close enough his arms wrapped around you. Tightly.

You felt as if all of your breath was shot from your body. His arms crushing. Then you realized he was sobbing.

You felt your shoulder dampening from his tears. Once the shock left your mind, you gently wrapped your own arms around him, rubbing his back in slow circles.

"I-it's not my fault." He sobbed, his voice cracking. Your mouth opened slightly.

"Henry, I understand. Just tell me." You hummed, pulling away slightly.

"Mom left. I guess you know that because she's not around. Dad started drinking. Started hitting."

You felt the words seep in your mind. At first it was weird, but the more it sunk in you felt it stung your heart.

"Oh Henry, I really don't plan on leaving. I'll make sure he never hits you again. You can stay with me. No matter what."

Victor Criss ✞

Victor wanted to fall asleep. He didn't want to listen his math teacher groan on and on and on about stupid ratios.

He felt horrible. Well more like shit. You were so smart. Always scoring the highest scores. Always making the way into the highest classes.

How could someone as smart as you be interested in him. He was stupid. Yeah, he passed every class with high 50's low 60's, but how could he compete with the 90's you seemed to get in every class? How could he support you going to the highest schools when he probably wouldn't be able to follow you.

What if he held you back? What if you didn't go to a certain school because you didn't want  to leave him behind?

He couldn't do that. He cussed to himself. Not realizing his nails were digging into the side of his arm until the blood made his fingers sticky.

He carefully maneuvered his way to the bathroom. Basically begging the teacher to let him go. Mr. Allan allowed it, only because Victor whispered that he would piss on the papers if he wasn't allowed. That made the teacher basically kick him from the class to go.

Victor cursed again.

Three months. Three months of no scratches and no hurt. Though the scars in his hips were proof that it had been happening longer than he would like to admit.

You just thought they were scars from falling of the bike and small childhood accidents. He always made sure he would make the wounds in the same place that the scars sat. He didn't want you to worry.

The blood was almost pouring from his arm, and he hoped you wouldn't see him.

"Oh hey baby! Skipping class again?" Your voice was so easy to pick out, though it didn't help when your arms wrapped around his waist, your lips gently pressing against the side of his neck. He shivered.