𝐌𝐂 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 #𝟏𝟖 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

And you had found a saviour in the sharp razor blade that was in the small cabinet above the sink... And you had watched your blood flow. 

When George hadn't been there for the sixth or seventh panic attack, the razor blade suddenly took his place as your new best friend, your savior, and you found that you often began seeking the company of it's sharp edges, even if you weren't under the midst of a panic attack, and your arm taking the hits to keep you satisfied. 

The second George had found out about your pleasurable meetings in your bathroom with the blade, he had helped you. And he had been there again. For the eighth, ninth and tenth. 

But you had never expected to flee away from George in the rush of panic settling within you. You had never anticipated that sitting there on George's couch in his hoodie that was way too big for you, and with his arm laid loosely around your shoulder in a shy act of affection, that your throat suddenly closed off, or that your hands began to tingle and the black dots appeared again. 

And you had never expected to flee to his bathroom of all places, excusing yourself with "lady issues", that had caused George to get as flustered as he could get and telling you to take your time. 

The smell of his hoodie lingered inside of your nose as you locked the bathroom door behind you, before turning around to look yourself in the mirror. 

You felt that you looked worse than you usually did; your hair looked more uncontrollable than before, and more mattered, that is. Your eyes didn't hold the usual will to live, to laugh... To try. No, in fact, they looked quite dead. Your face had sunken in slightly as well, leaving your cheekbones more visible than before, and your whole skin had paled noticeably. 

It was a wonder that George hadn't questioned your sudden... Dead demeanor. And you questioned if he even took the time out of his day to take a good look at you. 

Did he not notice? 

You didn't want him to notice. 

Did he not know that you had went back into bad habits? That you had slipped back to satisfying yourself through pain?

You didn't want him to know. You didn't want him to know that you had managed to fail him. Again. 

Or did he simply not care anymore?

You did want him to care. 

But was that selfish of you? When all you brought him was trouble and heartbreak, one that only you could heal if you stopped. Just stopped. 

Maybe you should just put an end to it. You weren't referring to putting the razor back in the cabinet. 

... Would that be easier for George? 

The thought alone had your panic level rise a degree more; you weren't even sure what triggered it this time. One minute, you had been content in the arms of George, of the one person that always seemed to be able to put an end to this, and the next, you started rummaging through the drawers and cabinets in his bathroom to try and find a razor, or at least something sharp. 

Something to snap out of your state of panic. 

And something, you had found indeed. Hidden underneath some of the smaller towels in one of George's drawers, was a razor blade. 

Just your luck. Or unluck, whatever you choose to call it. 

George heard the crash clearly from his place on the couch, followed by the undeniable thump of a body hitting the ground, and in an instant, he sprung up from his place on the couch, swearing that his heart was suddenly beating so rapidly, that he could feel it through his chest, beating erratically with a sudden worry that seemed to appear within seconds.