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1:13 AM.
That's what the clock in the corner of Leafy's room read, bright red numbers being the only source of light in the girl's room. She laid back on her bed, blanket long forgotten on the floor and just staring at the ceiling, letting the day go by.
Leafy and Firey were back from their little adventure and were now living at the hotel where TPOT was taking place. Her and Firey weren't contestants, but she learned that a lot of people who lived in the hotel weren't contestants either. Her and Firey were best friends again, and Leafy was so happy about that. It's everything she ever wanted. To be friends with him again.
So why did she still want to hurt herself?
She felt selfish. Why did her eyes linger on her phonecase a little to long? Why did she get that itch to just.. hurt herself? Why did she still feel like this? Leafy wanted this feeling to go away. She wanted to be normal, to be back to how things used to be. She wasn't like this around Firey that whole time they were on the boat, but maybe it's because it distracted her from such things.
She thought she would be fine after everything. That things would go straight back to normal the second her and Firey became friends again. She was wrong. Leafy pushed herself up from her bed, letting her socked feet hit the carpeted floor before grabbing her phone and walking into the restroom. She flicked the light on and was quick to peel her phone out of the phonecase, taking the blade she's always used out of it.
She promised herself she was done. She's been clean for so long, why give that up? Leafy tried to reason with herself, yet the same itching urge to bring that blade to her skin was overpowering anything. Leafy stared into the mirror and took in her disheveled appearance. Her short hair was choppy as usual, always cutting it herself, it was greasy as well. She needs to take a shower. There were dried tear streaks that went all the way down her cheeks. She deemed it useless to wipe off considering she was about to start crying again.
She held the small blade between two fingers. She didn't know any other coping mechanisms aside from this one. She's never had to use any other coping mechanism, but now she didn't want to use this one. But she didn't know what else to fucking do. She closed the lid of the toilet before sitting on it, placing the blade down and lifting up the sleeves to the lime green sweater she was wearing. She looked down at her wrists, old scars reminding her that this wasn't her first time doing this to herself, and knowing who she was, this most likely wasn't gonna be her last.
She grabbed the blade and held it to her left wrist. This was always the hardest part. Leafy could stop and turn away, throw away the blade and move on with her life, but it was like her body would budge. Wouldn't allow it. Because she knew deep down that this is what she wanted. To hurt herself. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she dug the blade down and quickly sliced it to the right, and the response was immediate. Red oozed from the cut, and Leafy watched it was disdain and interest. She wasn't clean anymore. She had lost months of fucking progress just because she couldn't suck it up.
She felt tears stream down her face, and the blade was to her wrist once more. At this point the cutting was subconscious, like it was second nature, something Leafy was supposed to do. Why was she even doing this? There was no real reason. Her and Firey were friends again, not everybody hated her, and her life was going so good for once and now she just. Couldn't take it. Now she was just cutting herself because she had a bad day? How much more pathetic could she be?
Her left wrist was covered in red, puffy, irritated cuts. And then she blinked and so was her right wrist. She placed the blade down on the counter, and took a moment to stare at the cuts that littered her wrists. They were always so neatly done. Always horizontal and evenly spaced together. She never cut so deep, never beyond a styro, and yet the sight made her want to throw up. Leafy sobbed. She hunched over and sobbed. She was crying because she fucking cut herself. She was upset about something she did to herself. Something that was her fault. Why couldn't she just be normal.
After she snapped herself out of her own self pity, she grabbed a handful of wipes before gently wiping the blood off of her wrists. This was always her favorite part. It felt like someone else was taking care of her. Like someone had grabbed the wipes themselves and gently dabbed the cloth over her scarred skin, barely grazing against the cuts but still cleaning them. It was funny. That she always took her emotions out on her wrists and was so rough with them, but became so gentle and soft when it was time to clean them.
She threw the wipes away and looked down at the now puffy scars. They were no longer bleeding, and she hated the way her heart dropped at that fact. She tugged her sleeves down and winced at the fabric that ran over the cuts. She whined. Taking another good look at herself in the mirror, she blinked back tears and turned off the lights before leaving the restroom. Leafy walked to her bed in a daze, rubbing her eyes as she got in bed. She pulled the blanket over her body and turned to her side, shutting her eyes. Sleeping always came so much easier after every relapse. She hated that she knew that fact.
Leafy yawned, taking comfort in the warm blanket around her, lulling her to sleep with ease.