tw! mentions of self-harm, eating disorders, and other depressive/suicidal tendencies.
credit: gaylarryland
you'd been different lately. vinnie can figure that much. you don't talk as much as usual and you space a lot more, yet you know what's going on with everyone all the same. you're wearing more makeup and getting less sleep, yet you're in your room half of the day. you've stopped smiling as often and you're not as touchy, but your obscene jokes and warm presence are still there, if not tenfold.
and, like, you're not... close. so, vinnie can't really expect you to tell him what's wrong. but you notice him and he notices you. the fleeting looks and withdrawn touches say as much. or, they used to. they used to with you curled up in a ball in the corner of the kitchen, not necessarily avoiding vinnie's gaze, but not actively seeking it out either. little giggles fall from your pretty lips when connor and alex start yelling at each other over something stupid, when mia and kouvr intervene and smack them both upside the head.
you duck your head into your knees and get this hazy look in your eyes every once and a while, like you're in some faraway place and you're trying to convince yourself out of something. but ultimately, you lose. you'd been convinced so overwhelmingly that you push away from the chair you're sitting in and walk out of the kitchen, silent and unnoticed. unnoticed by everyone but vinnie of course.
he gives it a few minutes, waiting patiently for your return. but one minute turns to five, five to ten, ten to thirty. and vinnie's confused, concerned. doesn't understand why you've been gone for so long. what could you possibly be doing? everyone's in the kitchen. it's not like vinnie doesn't understand your need for privacy, but you had quite literally spent the entire day in your room.
he excuses himself and makes his way toward your bathroom with a frown that seems permanently etched into his face, but he's proven wrong when he knocks three times on your bathroom door and gets an answer he shouldn't listen to.
"oh- shit," vinnie cusses, throwing a hand over his eyes immediately.
"i said you could come in," you snicker, slipping into your panties with no sense of regret. you put your all-too-uncomfortable bra back on right after, clasping it in the back before grabbing a hair tie. "covered," you mumble, your tongue peaking out as you concentrate on putting your hair up.
"right then, i was- fucking christ y/n, that is not covered!" vinnie groans, eyes flitting up to the ceiling.
"covered enough," you sigh out after styling a rat's nest on the top of your head. you turn to vinnie, walking forward before stopping right in front of him in red lacy bra and panties that literally only cover your cunt, patting a hand on his chest three times to grab his attention. "and if it makes you that uncomfortable," you start, waiting until vinnie's eyes land on yours, lowering down involuntarily, swallowing hard when he sees how the red compliments your skin. and when he looks back up he's got the furrow in his brow and a look in his eye that tells you he's sorry, that he doesn't mean to make you feel objectified or sexualized. and you smile for point two seconds at that because you don't, could never feel that way when it comes to vinnie. "you could've left," you finish, brushing past him, and you almost win.
you almost walk right out without vinnie saying or really noticing anything. you almost get away with the red that he didn't notice before. the exposed skin and witty remarks almost let you walk straight past him. almost.
his fingers close around your wrist - softly, at that - scared to irritate the pretty, crimson red lines more than they already have been. he frowns deeply, bringing your arm closer to him to inspect just how many.
one cut, two cut, set me free...
three cut, four cut, no more me...
four is really forty. or, that's as far as vinnie goes before he's looking up at you with a sour look on his face. but not like he's disgusted by you, more like... more like he's disgusted that he understands what you're going through.
you look down at your arm, cocking your head to the side and lifting a curious brow as you inspect the damage that has been done. and even though somebody's seen and that was never the plan, and even though that somebody is vinnie, and even though you know he understands, the only thought running through your head at the moment is "there's not enough."
but when your eyes flit back up to vinnie's, they've pricked with tears and are a bit red. and then the only thought running through your head is "he's so pretty when he cries." so, you straighten your head out with a cute face that has a sort of confused pout there now, running your eyes over his face and searching his eyes more than a few times over. you go to lift your hand but stop, too scared that you'd be crossing some sort of unspoken boundary.
fleeting looks and withdrawn touches.
but his grip on your wrist loosens as if to say "it's okay, you can touch me." and you're smiling for point three seconds at that, bringing your hand up to wipe away the few rebellious tears that slip from his captivating hazel eyes.
his skin is supple under the feathering touches of your fingertips, but nevertheless, they send little sparks that feel like ice-cold rain droplets shooting down your spine. and "pretty... so, so pretty," is what you want to mumble. but now doesn't really seem like the appropriate time. so instead, you smile softly, leaning forward to press and small but an emotional kiss to vinnie's cheek, pulling back only to see his eyes locked on your wrist once more. and this time the frown is permanently etched into his face, and that makes you a bit miserable - well, more miserable than you already are, for fuck's sake, you're mutilating yourself - because, like, you never want vinnie to look so sad, so depressed and pitiful. and you definitely don't want him looking that way because of you.
"hey," you mumble, pressing your hand into his cheek and turning his head back to you. and he does with a look that sorta says "i'm sorry. i'm so fucking sorry." which is adorable in a totally depressing, suicidal kind of way because he thinks that if he found out earlier he could've stopped you. and that's a sweet sentiment and all but, fuck that. because no one, not even vinnie, could've stopped this. because to stop it you need to know the cause of it. you need to know the why to get to the how, and for fuck's sake, you don't know why. you just do.
"hey," you repeat, your eyes sparkling under the shitty lighting in the bathroom. and, if it weren't for the circumstances vinnie would still be fixated on the fact that you aren't wearing any fucking clothes. but he'd been so engrossed in your alluring beauty that he almost missed what is right in front of him. "it's okay," you shrug, eyes softening, comforting smile finding its way to your mouth. "it's okay, vin," you coo. and vinnie feels like even more shit because he's the one who's supposed to be comforting you right now but he just fucking can't.
"i'm fine," you smile, wiping away his tears one last time before turning away and walking into your closet to finally get some fucking clothes on.
and it then it hits him, like a fucking freight train. because even though vinnie just noticed the hazy look tonight, he now realizes that half of you is always in that faraway place, and that, that half is always trying to convince yourself out of something. and he feels so stupid, so goddamn stupid because it's not hard to see, you just have to look. because you can physically see the difference. you can see the unwashed hair, the dark circles, and the yellow teeth. you can see the smudged eyeliner, the mascara streaks, and the bitten lips. you can fucking see the weight loss, the fewer and fewer meals a day, and the fatigue. you can see that vinnie isn't seeing you as often anymore because you don't want anyone to see you. it's not hard. it's not hard to see, you just have to look. all he had to do was fucking look at you and he would've known earlier.
+
it's another week before vinnie and/or yourself bring up that night. and he wants to say something before that. he wants to yell at you for doing something so fucking stupid and then hold you so tight you feel like you're suffocating. but he can't do that because he'd be a fucking hypocrite.
no, he's not cutting anymore. but there was a time, multiple times actually, that vinnie couldn't find a better outlet than stealing his dad's loose razors and cutting up his hips, arms, thighs, stomach. he couldn't find a better red to paint with than the pretty, crimson color coursing through his veins and giving him life.
so, he doesn't say anything, not until the last minute. not until hype is throwing another party and you're in the crowd, hazy look as evident as ever, and you're pushing past people, chest rising and falling so harshly vinnie can tell from across the room.
and he follows you. he follows you because if you do something stupid and he knew he could've stopped you he'd never forgive himself. because he finally looked. and he saw. he saw everything.
the sound of your sobbing and sniffing pulls vinnie to the bathroom, where he finds you smooshed into the corner with your head buried in your knees.
"y/n," he mumbles, but you're so submerged in your faraway place that you can't hear anything but what's going on inside your head. and it's loud. it's so fucking loud and you just want it to be quiet. it's exhausting, too. trying to fight a battle that's already set in stone. one that's written in the stars, and you're not winning. not this time.
it's so loud and exhausting, it makes your stomach twist. it makes the bile rise from your gut up to your throat, makes you crawl over to the toilet, and puke out your stomach because - lord knows - you haven't eaten in days.
vinnie rushes over to you, collecting your hair while you hold onto the edge of the toilet so hard your knuckles turn white. and all of sudden your clothes are too itchy, your skin is prickled with the worst kind of goosebumps, and vinnie's too close. so you sob harder as you lay your head against to seat of the toilet. and you dig your nails into your palms, leaving small, scarlet crescents behind because it's not vinnie. fuck, it's not vinnie, it's just...just...you. your head. the constant cruelty and scrutiny you're under by someone who does so little for the world. because we are our own worst enemies and best friends. no one can break us down like we do ourselves and no one understands what's going on inside their head better than themself, even if there are no words in any language to describe it.
vinnie's stuck. he doesn't know how to help or if he's doing something wrong. but he knows that the taste of vomit is shit, so he grabs and towel and wets it, trying to ignore the way his heart cracks just a little bit more with every cry that falls past your lips.
the minute his hand grabs your arm you want to scream, like vinnie's touch is the equivalent to a sixth-degree burn. but you choke it down and turn away from him to bite into your shoulder, leaving puke residue in your wake.
vinnie's gentle, whispering soothing words and apologies because he puts together that him being here, so close to you, is making whatever mental agony you're going through worse. but he can't leave you like this, not when he knows what the next step is. not when he knows how this chapter of the story ends with him edited out of the pages.
"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry," he mumbles, voice strain while you choke on your breaths.
"can't, i can't, make it stop, please," you sob, and even though you aren't talking about anything you can even stop, vinnie wishes with everything he has he could stop it.
"i know baby, i know, i'm sorry."
he wipes up your mouth, and the rest of it is a blur on your end. you know you swallow down the part of your that's screaming to push vinnie away, not caring that you feel like he's too close because the part of you that still wants help wants him close. so for once, you listen to that part. you wrap your arms around his neck and cry into his chest, and vinnie does the rest of the work for you.
he carries you to bed and hushes your cries. he kisses your neck and holds you tight to him, even when the part of you that's entirely too fucked up and self-destructive tells you to kick and writhe to get away from him.
vinnie doesn't let that happen, he holds you until you pass out from exhaustion. and when you wake up the next morning there's a glass of water and tylenol at your bedside table, and you can hear vinnie in your bathroom.
when he comes back up he's happy to see you're up and drinking your water, and you're happy to see he's still here and hasn't run away screaming.
"i, um, didn't get the chance to take it off last night," he mumbles as he lifts up a pack of makeup wipes, referring to your ruined eyeliner and mascara. a small blush creeps up your cheeks as you smile sheepishly at him, looking down at your glass of water like not looking at him will make your schoolgirl-crush feelings go away.
he trudges over to you quietly, lifting one hand up slowly to wipe away the remains of your cosmetics as he sits down on the edge of your bed. you let him with no protest, letting yourself enjoy being so close to him while you're not kicking and writhing like a maniac.
"thank you," you mutter. "for helping... last night."
he's quiet for a long beat, pursing his lips and he concentrates on removing every smudge of eyeliner and streak of mascara from your skin. when he finally finishes, he turns so he's looking straight ahead at your wall, brows furrowed in a look of something you can't quite put your finger on.
"does it hurt?" he finally speaks up.
"which part?" you ask, removing yourself from underneath the covers to sit next to him.
his frown worsens, like acknowledging that there's more than just one problem felt unnecessary, and he turns his head to search your eyes.
"all of it," he says after a moment.
you sigh, setting your water back down on the bedside table so your can pick at your nails, looking up at the same white wall vinnie's staring at again.
"yeah," you start. "it hurts... but, it's like... the good kind, you know? the kind that leaves a sting behind and has you yearning for more. it's exhausting, but there's like... like this sort of clarity, kinda? that you feel in the midst of it all... and eventually it's so constant that you find peace in the clarity rather than focusing on all the pain you're going through."
and vinnie does know. he does know the good kind of hurt that leaves a delicious sting behind and has you yearning for so much more. and when he willed himself to stop, he searched for something like that beautiful sting. he still is, actually, but deep down he knows, nothing will compare.
if he had to choose a close second though, you'd be his first pick.
inflicting so much pain to yourself that it deflects and pains others, but you're so caught up in your own sting you don't realize you've nipped someone else too.
"probably sound crazy," you laugh when vinnie just sits in silence after you stop talking. and he feels bad now because that's not how he intended to make you feel, he just needed time to process if he really did know the good kind.
"it's not crazy," he says quickly, looking back at you and the vulnerability in your eyes makes him weak. "just really fucking depressing."
you shrug at that. because it is, and you know it is, but like... what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? "oh no, it's fine. the sex, alcohol, and drug abuse are my best outlets aside from cutting." fuck no. but you can't come up with anything else so you just stay silent.
"can i see them?" vinnie suddenly asks, and you're stuck with momentary confusion because what could he possibly be talking about? but it's pretty obvious. and you stopped feeling anything about them other than the physical pain and relief they bring you long before you knew vinnie. so you shrug again, mumbling a "sure," under your breath before standing up to strip.
vinnie gives you the respect of taking off your clothes without his eyes watching your every move. and you find it kind of cute because he just saw you have a mental breakdown less than ten hours ago, and saw you butt-ass naked a week ago, but you won't stop him because he's a gentleman.
he only brings his eyes back to you when you sit back down on the bed next to him, looking over the scars and fresh cuts yourself.
there's not enough, there's not enough, there's not enough...
vinnie starts at your arms, counting.
one cut, two cut, set me free...
three cut, four cut, no more me...
this time, four feels like four thousand. all the scars, discoloration from a blade piercing your skin. he slowly stands, still looking, fanning his fingers over your tainted skin, but you're back in that faraway place again, just a sliver of your sane self still peeking through.
"and what kind of hurt is this one?" vinnie brings you back, eyes snapping to his kneeling figure.
you swallow hard, and you finally realize that vinnie is hurting from this too. and yeah he's still pretty when he cries, and yeah that still makes you want to scream it at the top of your lungs, but you want to scream i'm sorry at the top of your lungs more. because while you were so busy trying to get people to really look at you, you never really looked at vinnie. and it's not hard to see. it's not hard to see, you just have to look. all you had to do was fucking look at him and you would've known earlier.
"the best kind," you choke out, watching as vinnie's frown you hate so dearly comes back at your words. he runs his fingers over the scars on your hips, his eyes flitting back down to watch where his fingers trail.
and, fuck, he's sobbing now, the salty tears falling onto your thigh with a mixture of yours. because before you didn't care. you weren't proud of them but you weren't ashamed of them either. but now you feel stupid. you feel like a fucking idiot because now you're hooked. and deep down you don't want to stop. ever.
"the worst kind," he whispers back, kissing over every scar. letting a tear fall for every blood drop.
because whether or not it was the good kind, the bad kind, the best kind, or the worst kind, it all still hurt.
—
confessionals 🩸🪒,
jimmy john's ran out
of bread 🤨