Luke: The mark above your collar bone was one you hadn't remembered ever inflicting upon yourself, nor did you remember letting anyone suck your skin so roughly that it would be left behind. The dark red mark that seemed to resemble the crescent moon stood out against your pale skin, causing everyone who looked at you to think that you'd had a fun night the previous one, but in all reality you just woke up this morning with that red mark there; unbeknownst to how or when it appeared on you. You laughed at yourself as you traced your fingers across it, a smirk forming to your lips as you thought of all the funny things you could tell everyone. You could make yourself out to be the world's biggest tease or the easiest slut, and it was all thanks to some mystery you'd yet to figure out. Meanwhile, Luke is sitting in his apartment with his bandmates, blushing furiously as they all laugh and make jokes at him, pointing to the obvious hickey that his woman for the night sloppily left. His skin felt hot in all the placed she'd touched him, and he was surprised she hadn't torn some of the flesh off of his body from how roughly she'd sucked, the mark on him more sore than enjoyable. His blue eyes stayed closed as Calum and Michael kept throwing up remarks about how Luke was a rough one and how much fun he had last night; but that was far from the truth. Luke hadn't had fun in quite a while, and maybe it had something to do with the random markings appearing across his wrist. He didn't inflict them upon himself, nor did he ever wish to; someone had a lot of explaining to do, and the more time he wasted not asking around to find out, the less time he had to finally meet a certain someone to get things settled.
Ashton: "What the fuck is going on with your arm?" your best friend asks as she points to your freshly tattood skin, the ink being covered with a new coat of blood. You sighed and shrugged, grabbing a napkin from the McDonald's bag in your backseat as you placed it over the new cut. Of course you were oblivious to the pain, but you weren't oblivious to the fact that nothing had cut you nor had you leaned against anything sharp enough to tear skin. Something weird was going on with your body, and it was starting to really freak you out. "(Y/N), it's... uh... seeping through," she whispers as the blood comes through the napkins, trailing down your warm skin yet again. You groan loudly and grab more napkins, dabbing them at first and then full on slapping them gainst the cut until it finally stopped bleeding, the blood now smeared across your arm as if it were part of your tattoo. "I get real fucking sick of this always happening to me!" you shout, slamming your hand against the steering wheel as you watch your arm intently, just waiting for the cut to burst out bleeding again; your frustration only grew and grew as you saw that it did nothing. At the same time you were with your friend, Ashton was sitting with his younger sister Lauren, laughing and holding his arm. They'd just finished playing around with Lauren's kitten, Whiskers, and the consequences were not ones he'd wanted to experience. His arm was cut now, but luckily it hadn't hit deep enough for it to be too serious. Ashton tilted his head in wonder, could cats even cut you deep enough with their nails? He laughs lightly to himself and chuckles. Probably not. His stomach had started to hurt with his laughter, but he was now used to random acts of pain. It'd been non-stop injuries showing up on his body for no reason, and he knew he wasn't doing it to himself. Whether or not if someone was pranking him, his heart was heavy with grief as each night blank tears rolled down his cheeks. He was tired and upset. All in all, he was just ready for his body to completely shut down. If no one could help him save his body from the destruction it was going through; the least someone could do was help him put his body to rest. Right?
Calum: You hissed to yourself as the sudden burn mark ran up your back. The sensation was starting to get annoying, but you'd grown used to it over the course of three weeks. Random injuries and marks were being left upon your canvas, and as you looked in the mirror at your back with the burn mark that looked as if someone had taken a whip to you, you couldn't help but feel pity for yourself. It was odd that you were being tortured for some odd reason; what made it worse was that you didn't even have a clue as to who was doing this to you, it just happened and you were stuck to face it head on like you'd been taught your entire life how to deal with it. A frown made its way upon your face as the burn mark shrank, still staying spread out across your lower back as if it were part of a camoflauge themed design. You gritted your teeth together and went to your bathroom, grabbing burn cream from your medicine cabinet as you walked into the living room of your house and turned towards your mother, the anger and frustration in your features. She asked no questions, just turned you around and spread the cool cream across your skin. While now, Calum sat with his shirt thrown to the side of the room somewhere and his eyes clenched shut. That hurt worse than he thought it would, and he instantly regretted his decision to let Michael and Luke slash belts across his back as if he were a dog; which was his goal for the day. On all fours, his back pulsed and tears were threatening to fall from his eyes, but he wasn't sure if it was for the burns going up his back or if it was because of the stinging from fresh cuts across his wrist, the sensation not one he was unfamiliar with since the weird happenings with his body lately. He tilted his head to the side and watched as each mark was made, slowly and precautiously. All he wanted to ask was, "Who the hell are you?"
Michael: "What the hell, man? We've got a show tonight and you go off and break your leg?" Ashton sighs as Michael makes his way onto the stage with crutches, the green cast one unpleasant to his bandmates. A laugh comes out of Michael's lips as he shrugs his shoulders, not knowing how to explain this to them. He was just casually walking out of his apartment to his car when the bone in his leg randomly snapped, and he sat on the steps of his porch for literally forty-five minutes, thinking and cursing to himself as he had to crawl back inside to get someone to come pick him up to take him to the hospital so they could fix him up. No shows for a few weeks and no driving, so basically, Michael was fucked. He tilted his head back and shook his head; whoever the hell was doing these things to him could definitely go fuck themselves. Michael never asked for this, and he certainly hadn't done anything wrong to anyone when it came to karma, so he could only wonder how and why this was happening to him. Meanwhile, you sat with your ear pulsing from the new gage in it; one you hadn't even put there. You hadn't went to a parlor to get it done, and you didn't have the tapers to do it yourself. You woke up with it there this morning, the only reason it was so obvious to you was that your grandmother had tried to tear your ear off when she shoved two of her fingers through it, yelling that it was disgusting and should be an automatic kick out of her house for you. You laughed and explained to her that it wasn't your fault, and when she asked how, you didn't know what to say. You weren't sure why these things had been happening to you, but you were sure you didn't enjoy them. With your broken leg and gaged ears, you were definitely one out of the loop. Here you sat in your bed, your crutches clutched tightly in your hands as your mind raced. "What the actual fuck is going on?" you whisper to yourself.