**This particular chapter deals with self harm and near death, but not suicide. Please do not read if you are not comfortable with the topic or it triggers you. I know it's tempting but please don't do this to yourself if it'll hurt you. This is not to glorify self harm at all. This isn't truly to raise awareness. This is simply to help me cope with my own issues. Thank you and please enjoy the chapter.
For those with requests, they're coming soon.**

You knew since the moment you scratched the skin off your arm you had changed. The pain felt great, you loved it actually. No one knew this not so little secret of yours, not even your boyfriend.

One night, Peter had to work a super late shift. He'd been overworking himself lately and that was causing you to freak out and want to hurt yourself more. That usually happened with depression and anxiety combos. Tonight though, you ventured from your normal form of harm. You decided to take one of Peter's razors and run it along your wrist.

At first, the pain was excruciating, but soon it became numb. Nothing hurt anymore as you made cut after cut on your arm. Peter wasn't going to be home for a few more hours due to his work. The more you thought about how he came home every night and slept. How he'd gotten thinner from not spending enough time eating. How he has been obsessed with saving lives and when he saved them, he pushed himself too far to do better.

With that thought in mind, you yelled and made a very deep cut. Blood began to pour from the wound, staining the light blue rug. Instantly, panic set in. You never meant to do this, for it to go so far.

You hand already soaked in blood, you dialed 911. An ambulance arrived soon after, but you were already unconscious due to blood loss. They loaded you up onto a gurney and into the back of an ambulance, taking you to ye hospital.

Peter lay on a couch in the staff room, catching a quick power nap on his break. The otherwise peaceful sleep was interrupted as a coworker forcefully shook him awake. "Petrelli, we got a call for an ambulance. The address was your place. They just brought the girl in now."

He didn't even need to think before darting out the door and into the hall. They brought patients through here from ambulances to rooms or surgery. Bile rose in Peter's throat as he saw you.

An oxygen mask was strapped to your face, bandages pressed onto your bloody arms. The blood had already seeped through, creating straight patterns. "What-what happened to her?" Peter gasped, jogging to keep up with the nurses.

"According to paramedics she cut herself pretty bad with a men's shaving razor. The cut possibly damaged the artery in her arm, she's pretty skinny as it is. The wounds were self inflicted, something had to have set her off she's covered in scars but none this bad. You know this girl?" The nurse informed Peter before asking a question. Peter nodded in response, swallowing as tears brimmed his eyes. He couldn't believe you'd done this.

You woke up later that night, Peter beside you. IV's were poked into your none damaged skin, an oxygen mask placed over your face. "Peter?" You ask, your voice muffled.

As if startled, Peter jolted up and removed the mask from your face. "Before you say anything else, I just want to know, why did the most beautiful woman ever in existence do this to herself?"

"Because that beautiful woman hates herself." You spat, momentarily losing your temper before gaining it back. Peter sighed and kissed your forehead, tears brimming in his eyes again. You took a deep breathe. "I was worried about you, I am worried about you."

"Because of all my overtime?" Peter asked, gently moving some hair from your face.

"Because you've been beating yourself up, not eating, not sleeping. That's a sign of depression. I would know." You say, bursting into tears at the end. Peter pulled you close, gently kissing your temple as he ran his hands through your hair.

"I never found the right time to tell you about that... But now we both have a goal. We both get better. Deal?"

"Deal..."