When they reached Tyler's house, both boys entered quietly, ensuring they didn't wake up his parents. Josh went straight to the room Tyler had made him in the basement and shut the door, not bothering to check on Tyler. He kept his clothes on, not caring how uncomfortable the rough jean fabric was against his thighs.
Tyler looked around, everyone was silent and everything was dark. He went to his room, and locked the door before sitting on his bed. He wore a red Adidas sweater which he unzipped and threw on his desk chair. The scars that made up his arms weren't healed and still fresh. He remembered when he cut up his blade in order to prove his loyalty to Josh. But now, nothing seemed to matter. None of that and none of the past.
Tyler grabbed a knife, sharper ans bigger than a blade could ever be. He felt a knot tie in his stomach and he remembered the feeling as if it were yesterday. It starts with the anxiety that builds up until it creates a mirage of a better place. When Tyler placed the knife against his forearm, he could almost feel the illusion of relief and sliced open his skin, the warmth of dripping blood against his skin making him shiver in comfort. It was what he was used to after all.
He couldn't risk another one, his wound was deep and the blood gushed almost liters at a time. Those measurement were inaccurate of course, but in a trance of panic and delusion, you'd believe almost anything.
The truth of his situation was simple: Tyler was fine and all the cut needed were a few stitches and some time. Though, no matter how much time you'd give it, psychologically, it would never heal.
Tyler dropped the knife and laid down. He wrapped a dirty towel around his bleeding arm and closed his eyes. We'll never know what dragged him to a deep sleep; whether it be the lost of blood or the hormones coursing through his limp body. Perhaps the boy was simply exhausted. But the next morning, he woke up with a full memory and could recall all of last night's events.
The feeling of the drugs had worn off and his uncomfortable ache was gone. He remembered Connor's temporarily insane girlfriend desperately attempting to find some condolences for her dead maniac boyfriend. The only struggle Tyler recalled was him on top of Josh, kissing him all over his delicate face. Tyler had nearly completely forgot the teary face Josh had after Loraine died. He was focused and engorged in the idea of relief and pleasure that he had overlooked Josh's pleas and demands to stop.
Tyler jumped up, looking around his room for any indication of the time. In red lights, a clock displayed 10h37 am. Tyler looked at himself: a clothes with dried blood stains stuck to his arm and found himself in blue shorts and a black t-shirt. He got up ans unlocked his door, heading directly to the bathroom where he peeled off the cloth, letting out silent cries of pain. He turned on the tap, cleaning his wound with some soap and water like he'd hundreds of times before. After dabbing it dry, Tyler looked through his cabinet for some pain killers and bandages. He had a migraine and popped a few capsules of ibuprofen before beginning to wrap his arm in a clean white bandage.
Once he was satisfied with himself, he brushed his teeth and turn his light off. Tyler swallowed his pride and headed straight to Josh's room before knocking with anticipation. Infinite scenarios of how the next moment would turn out were overcrowding Tyler's mind. The impossible outcomes kept coming and Tyler grew anxious.
When no sound was heard, Tyler twisted the cold silver handle and pushed lightly on the door. When he peeked his head inside, he saw a made bed and clean room. Tyler leaped inside, worried and began to look all around for any signs of Josh. Nothing turned up and Tyler was terrified. He sat down on the floor and anger quickly replaced any disappointed he had previously felt. He was furious at himself. For not remembering but more importantly, for not stopping.
Tyler fisted his hands, his knuckles turning pale and his nails digging through his skin deep enough to allow a few drops of blood to tickle down unto the wooden floor. He banged both his fists, cursing at what he'd become. All he wanted was to love and protect Josh, yet the only thing he's ever manage to do was hurt him.
The blood fell from his knuckles and his skin scrapped against the harsh wood yet he couldn't stop. Tyler screamed when he heard a crack and looked down to see his pinky finger bruised and and crooked.
He was thanking the gods above for his parents constant working habits which forced them both to spend up to 80 hours every week away from their home. Away from their son. Tyler's tears fought a battle against him and the boy lost, the salty drops burning his flesh as they leaked into his wounds.
Footsteps approached the door and halted at the frame. A light push was enough to allow the shadow through, revealing Josh who stood there, petrified.
"Wh-what happened?"
Josh kneeled down by Tyler's side and without a word, Tyler tossed himself in his arms. Tyler held his mutilated hand while listening to Josh's accelerated heart beat. He was too preoccupied on his presence and warmth to bother with the world that turned around him. To him, his world was right in there with him, cradling him gently while petting his hair.