I dig my nails into my arm as small reddened rose buds begin to blossom through the bandages. Of course it stings, but it's what I deserve for putting myself in that position and freaking out Lance.

Damnit! Why am I so stupid?!

Maybe I can calm down by taking a shower. I need to get this sap off before we leave anyway.

I strip down and get in the shower. The water's like ice, desperately trying to penetrate my skin but I deal with it. It seeps into my cuts and makes me scream internally but I don't care. I brush back my wet hair and my thoughts take over.

You ruined there lives. Do you want to do that to Lance? You know you will. He isn't going to want to talk to you any more. He's going to use you and toss you to the side like your last boyfriend.

"No, Lance wouldn't do that right?" I began mumbling aloud subconsciously, now trapped in the dark manifestation within my dreamscape. 

He hates you for what you did. Other's will find out who you really are. You're a burden on Shiro, you encumber Hunk and Pidge with you're problems, you'd be better off gone.

"No, I can't! Pidge and Hunk..."

Don't care either. They just want you to help them get Lance's attention again. You're just the shadow before their sun, you're just another complication shielding them from what they want! Your foster families probably would have loved you if you weren't such a disapointment.

My thoughts are pounding on my skull! I have to hold my head in my hands to keep from screaming. Lance is in my room and I don't want him to have to deal with me.

Just leave, you'd be better off dead.

Kill yourself! 

They repeat the same words over and over again, getting louder and more aggressive with each lash of their utterance.

Maybe I should...

I'd be so easy! Just grab the blade and do it!

I begin to cry. I drop to my knees and I clench my fists and teeth so I won't be too loud and I just breakdown.

"You're wrong! Just shut up!" I yell through my tears. I get out without turning off the water and grab my razor blade.

I hold out my arms and make a fresh line with the razor and then another. I'm finally feeding the thoughts in my mind and relieving myself of everything that's built up throughout the week. I just go in a pattern, my mind is in a loop, over and over but my arms aren't enough. I begin to migrate to my thighs, slashing them until the blood pours like a muddy river.

You don't deserve the things you have! You don't deserve the time people give you! You should just go!

This time I move to my ankles. Bending over to reach them is painful enough from the skin of my thighs rubbing against my body and the floor. Blood's smearing on the tiles but I just keep going at it. Soon cuts are littered around my ankles, creating the illusion of a bunch of thin crimson anklets. 

DO IT!

They yell louder than any other thing they've tried to say to persuade me. The dozens of voices don't sound so distant anymore, but more so it feels like they began to mutate into one angry tone, a familiar tone. 

My old foster father.

The thousands of times he told me I was a waste of time and space. The hundreds of times that he hit me for being me and the times that he'd scream, You'd be better off dead than wasting the money I make on keeping your sorry ass alive. I lost count of how many times he would yell that at me.

Well maybe he'll be getting his wish today.

I go from my ankles back to my wrists and right before I pierce the part of my wrist further and end my suffering I hear a knock on the bathroom door. I look up through my watery eyes and clear my throat the best I can to hide any form of whimper from him.

"Y... yeah?" I stuttered a bit but I guess, and hope, Lance didn't notice.

"You good? We have plenty of time but I thought I heard you..." I cut him off with a clear answer.

"Yeah I'm fine. I'll be out soon." I thought about making everything stop. About relieving myself from this torment, leaving all the screams and sorrow in my wake. But then I contemplate all the hassle that would go along with that. Ambulances, Police cars, and people trying to save my pathetic life.

To sum it all up, I don't deserve release. I don't deserve happiness, because in exchange for my joy the people around me would suffer and I'm not worth all that. Besides, I don't want anyone to worry and Lance is the only other person here.

I don't want to burden him with that.

Not again.

I quickly bandage my wounds. Gauze on my ankles, wrists, and around my waist. I throw my jeans on and another clean T-shirt then turn off the shower I left running previously to wash out my screams. 

The blood is slowly squeezing through the layers of bandage but I figure I can hide my arms from Lance till I manage to get my jacket back on. I go to stand up, my body limp and shaky but I lean on things to help me get to the door.

I'm ready. I'm...

fine.

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I'm sitting on Keith's bed, completely stunned after what just happened.

Does Keith like me? Me. Was he flirting with me? Is he gay? Am I gay?! No I like girls. Am I bi? Why am I having this fight in my head again?

My mind wrestles with these thoughts and I can barely sit still. I need to do something, move around or pace, I don't know.

I make my move to get out of his bed but unfortunately notice an unmistakable feeling of utter embarrassment. Reluctantly I peer down at the tent in my baggy jeans. 

Right, that's why I'm contemplating my sexuality again.

I'm pretty sure my face is a whole new shade of red that I'm glad Keith isn't in the room to see. Seriously? I can understand the ignominious pink stained cheeks but... seriously? 

I get up and begin to try and pace for a few moments but opt out and sit in a chair that overlooks the window, hoping this will go down by the time Keith finishes his shower. He had left the window open when he jumped in before but the breeze from it is oddly calming at the moment. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath.

Out the window you can see across the way to my bedroom window but aside from that, a big pine tree is covering the view to the front of my house; which is probably why it took me a while to noticed this whole windows across from each other thing. I'm pretty sure the blinds are usually down anyways, so that's probably another reason.

His face was so close to me before and he looked so cute with his shy expression. I didn't expect him to play along with that but back to the elephant in the room; his wrists. They were both covered in the same bandages as last time but I think... I know I saw red through the white. What happened to his wrists? That couldn't have happened from boxing. Was he-

Oh my god.

I want to punch him for being stupid but at the same time I want to give him a hug and tell him I'm here for him. No, he can't be cutting himself.

Right?

Does he know how dangerous that is? It could kill him! Does he even care at this point? I did a pretty fucked up job of saving him when he clearly wanted the opposite. But I just couldn't let him go through with it. I couldn't let him go.

I still can't let him go. He's a mystery to me that I want to solve, a sentence on the tip of my tongue that I can't seem to muster the words for. He can make me speechless and a spout of words overflowing. He's the most talented person I know! Why would he do this to himself? What is hurting him so much that he needs to do this? 

Maybe... he wanted me to see it. Like a silent plea for help? Why would he do that though, he seemed rather reluctant to become friends with me in the first place and we've only talked for a week, but this past week has felt like a lifetime and it isn't even over.

Keith is a very reserved and closed off person, so if he were cutting wouldn't he try to hide it better? Or he just forgot I was in the room, or that he was wearing short sleeves. No, he isn't self-harming. I'm just thinking of worse case scenario. He wouldn't do it if he knew how bad it can be, but if he is cutting... is it really a good alternative for relief?

Would it help me forget? Take away the pain in my head and replace it with pain on the surface? Would anyone care?

I open my eyes and look down at my shirt and pants, the only things covering my bruises and scars.

NO! WHAT THE HELL AM I EVEN THINKING?!

He would kill me if he found out I was cutting myself! He would beat me for trying to get attention and he would definitely beat me for not being-

Straight? 

I think I really am bi... Oops. 

I mean if I wasn't than I wouldn't find Keith attractive right? Or any guy for that matter, cause it's not all about Keith. He's just a friend? Buddy? Acquaintance? I don't really know what we are but definitely not... that.

To drown my thoughts I decide to look through my messages, unfortunately another one just appeared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lance's text messages:

Father: I'm coming home in 10, better be there.

Father: 5 bottles of tequila, 3 of vodka, and 17 cans of beer. If you touch a single one you're dead.

Father: I'm home. Where the fuck are you?

Father: I swear to Fucking god if you aren't here you're gonna wish you came home when I told you. 

Father: FUCK! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He's got the son of a bitch part right.

My mind is screaming at me. 

I should go home but he's already there, this isn't going to end well for me. Then I feel a genuine relief at the fact that he's actually sober enough to text me with everything spelled correctly. Not to mention, he actually warned me that he's coming home, and he's sober enough to drive himself to Spirits and back!

Then a realization of dread set over me like a thundercloud, he just really hates me. Drunk or not. He despises me enough to still want to abuse me when he's sober and I still can't blame him.

After contemplating this, my heart sank at the fact that my father's probably in my room looking for me and my window's wide open, ya know cause I'm a dumbass. I threw myself on the floor faster than you can say 'I fucked up' and luckily I don't think he saw me, cause I didn't get anymore texts from him and he hasn't thrown our toaster through Keith's window yet. Sooo... I think I'm good for now. Although I did hear some talking and a thud coming from the bathroom followed by more yelling from Keith.

He probably just slipped or something.

The thoughts of what just went through my mind pushed through again after about five minutes of lying on the carpet. I did an army crawl out of the room and stood up when I got to the safety of Keith's hallway. I'm in the clear for now but I'm also worried about him, so I sprint to the door quietly and quite clearly hear sobbing through the white wood door, is Keith crying?

It's so hard to believe he never cries when this makes four times I've heard/seen him cry in a week.

I knock and hear the faint sound of someone clearing their throat before answering.

After checking up on Keith, I lean against the wall next to the bathroom door and released a compressed shakey sigh.

Is Keith cutting? Is that why he pushes people away? Why does he do it though? What happened to him that made him want to do this, if he even is doing it? Is self-harm the reason he isolates and hides his emotions, his real self?

What happened to you, Keith?

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