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It wasn't often Ze found himself in this position.
At least not anymore, not really. Nothing could really erase those memories, the ones originating from completely different periods of his life, where he ended up resorting back to the same self-destructive tendencies.
Ze had always been a little self destructive.
This? Well, it wasn't anything new.
Sitting on his bed, razor blade in hand, just a few inches away from his already scarred wrist. It was so close. He just needed to..
Come on, won't you just do it already? I wasn't aware you were this much of a pussy when it came to this.
The annoying, almost robotic voice assaulted his ears like it was mandatory for it to torment him every single waking hour of his life.
Ze didn't bother looking for where the voice came from. He already knew it wasn't real. Or.. atleast, he just knew it didn't really come from anywhere specific. He knew it was probably just inside of his head.. long story short, Ze was certain he was going crazy.
He usually never responded to it. It was like he believed that if he never indulged in its existence, then he could probably stop himself from going insane.
Focus.
Ze's eyes blinked as he absentmindedly obeyed, staring at healed scars on his wrist, his shaking hand holding the razor with an unsteady grip.
He didn't know why he was shaking. It wasn't like he was scared.
It wasn't like it mattered anyway. It was just a few cuts.
He always told himself that. Before those few, small cuts on his arm, would lead to more cuts, and more cuts which grew deeper, and then he'd end up having to change the location of where he was cutting because there wasn't any space left, and before he knew it he was covered in his own blood and everything burnt like hell and he felt concerningly lightheaded.
This was.. familiar. The feeling of bliss that would settle deep in his chest once he would look at his now ripped up skin, staring at the blood as it dripped from his arms. It was beautiful.
Father hadn't thought so. Or, well, neither did anyone else he had ever met when they found out about this little hobby of his. But father took it personally for some reason.
Ze still remembered that night like it was yesterday. His father had walked in on him in his room when he was fourteen, seeing the gruesome bloody sight. He had gotten too carried away. Ze remembered not really caring if someone walked in at that moment. He just wanted to see himself bleed, to let out his frustrations in any way he could. Cutting seemed to be the best method back then, and he remembered thinking that his father wouldn't have really cared.
Ze had been very wrong about that.
His father wasn't very happy when he saw him doing that. Maybe that was an understatement.
At first, he viewed this as a sign he'd failed as a father. A sign that Ze was weaker than he had anticipated. You'd think he would become a bit kinder to Ze then, but that wasn't really the case.
For some reason he treated him with.. less respect? He treated him more harshly. The occasional beatings dissolved into almost daily ones and the fights between them got worse. Ze couldn't really tell you how many times he had to cover up the bruises whenever he went to school, or when the injuries he had sustained weren't really ones he could cover up and he just had to go to school with a busted lip or a broken arm.
Mason got worried. Ze couldn't blame him.
Father thought that for some reason this would toughen him up. It would make him stop doing that. He had thought that since he couldn't really show any affection to his son, this was the best way to stop this.
At least that was what Ze assumed he did that for. Father never really talked to him about anything personal one on one. The conversations they both had were mostly just.. random shit. None of them were about any important shit. And whenever important topics were ever brought up, they usually just descended into fighting.
Ze couldn't entirely hate that old man.
He knew that he used to. He used to hate him a ton. Ze used to spend almost every waking moment praying that his father would get into a horrible, gruesome accident that would finally mark the end of his suffering.
He knew now that thinking about it like that was just.. immature.
Despite all the cruelty, all of the gnarly, violent memories, he was still the same man who taught him how to fish. He was still the same man who would take him to cut wood with him. He was the same man who taught him how to use a gun. How to hunt. How to survive.
It was still his father.
He knew his father was already struggling with things of his own. Probably? He wasn't really sure. But what he was sure about was that no healthy person with a healthy upbringing would treat their child like how he treated him. If you add his mother's death into the picture, maybe that was what made everything fall apart.
A distant memory of that sweet, perfect smile flashed in his head, before it flickered away before he could entirely take it all in.
Her face. Ze couldn't remember what she looked like.
How could she mean so much to you if you don't even remember how she looked?
Ze felt a pang in his heart. He chose not to think too much about that.
Boot camp was really weird.
Somehow his father had convinced the administrators that the scars Ze had obtained on his body weren't from self mutilation, but they were from fighting.. or whatever. It didn't really help that most of his cuts were just random slashes placed wherever on his wrists and his shoulders. If anything, he argued it made him look tougher.
And so he was issued the military uniform, a swift haircut that rendered him officially bald, and a shit load of exercises.
When you're seventeen, already struggling with yourself mentally, and constantly on the verge of suicide, being issued a razor blade makes it really hard for you not to relapse.
So, he did.
Long story short, he was discharged immediately when a recruit in his division caught him. Unsurprisingly, the Navy didn't have a high tolerance for self-harm or suicidal behavior, especially so early in your career.
Are you going to spend the rest of your day reminiscing on your pathetic life, or what?
“Sh—..Shut up..” Ze found himself murmuring quietly. He knew that asshole would hear it, whoever.. or, whatever this was.
It sounded like that eyes entity from that Minecraft world that he played on all the time with Regect and Moe. The one that haunted him and his friends like they had personally wronged it. But that wasn't possible, because that thing was supposed to stay in the fucking game. It shouldn't be.. in his head. Talking to him.
It's fun seeing you go insane.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Ze's eyes blinked as he stared at the subject of the matter. Oh, yeah. He was in the middle of relapsing.
You'd think he'd stop now. With the whole.. having actual people to care about him thing, and with him finally being out of his abusive household.
And he did. Ze hadn't relapsed in.. a while. Not since a few months ago, when shit went down between him and Mason. That memory, he couldn't really remember that clearly. Though all he knew was that he was really drunk at the time. And he woke up with a butchered wrist.
But that was a few months ago. And things between him and Mason were better. Ze was supposed to be better.
Come on. Just a few cuts.
It was obvious Ze was going fucking crazy.
“..Who even are you?” He found himself murmuring the question quietly.
Ze didn't know why he was indulging in this at all, really. He should've just ignored it like he always did with the rest of his delusions, though when it's something as persistent as this, it's hard not to indulge in it at least once, just to keep him from going mad.
Does it matter?
“Well, yes. Are you—.. Are you real? Why do you keep tormenting me?” Ze stuttered, his free hand coming up to cover his face, his breath hitching as if he was starting to really feel the surrealness of all of this. Why was this happening to him?
I frankly don't think any of these questions matter.
“They.. They do. When you're constantly in my head, telling me to harm myself in anyway, encouraging me to kill myself, to throw myself out of my apartment window— Yes, they matter. They do. Are you another delusion? Or are you actually real?”
I don't think you'd believe me even if I told you if I was real or not. Which answer would make you happier?
Ze went quiet.
It was obvious that he was fucked. He was truly fucked this time. He should really get help, this was getting out of hand— Way out of hand. He almost relapsed again because of this. What was wrong with him? Why was he hallucinating this? He was truly out of it.
Ze took a deep breath, and he got ready to speak again, before he was cut off when the voice in his head spoke again.
I don't think this is that big of a deal. I'm not sure why you're freaking out so hard about this. Your father was right, you truly are a pussy.
Ze froze.
He wasn't sure when he had stopped breathing, though when he realized, he took in a slow, shaky breath, eyes wide and fixated on his wrist. It was right.
Truly, he was a wuss. He was a pussy who always backed out of everything last second because he was too scared. He's scared of the dark, he's scared of heights, he's scared of spiders. He's scared of people. He's scared of affection, scared of his friends, he's scared of everyone.
What was he not afraid of?
He always ran away from people when they got too close. When connections start to feel too real, he always panics and backs out because he's too scared of commitment. What was the point of connections if they would just end anyway, leaving him hurt again?
Ze was a coward.
Now you're starting to get it.
“G—Get out of my head…” He found himself muttering, tears welling up in his eyes. He quickly used his free hand to wipe them away, trying not to cry. Why was he crying? Why was he so weak? He was supposed to be stronger.
But you're not.
Ze began to cry harder.
His lips parted as he inhaled the air around him greedily, hyperventilating as he stared at the razor blade. He was so pathetic, he couldn't even do the one thing he used to be good at. He wasn't even good at self-destructing.
But that can change, Ze. Don't worry, I'm here to make it all better.
Somehow those words made him cry even more.
“Please stop— Please..”
It's okay. You don't have to be a failure. Just do what you're best at! Cut yourself, the razor blade is right there in your hand. All you have to do is just inch your hand forward. It doesn't even have to be on your wrist. You want to do shoulders instead?
“I— I don't.. want to be.. a failure..” Ze mindlessly babbled through his weeping, all attempts to stop himself from doing so were given up. Might as well just let himself cry, he was already pathetic. He couldn't even cut himself.
You won't be if you listen to what I say.
Ze sniffled, and he blinked as he stared at his wrist.
Should he do it?
He stared at his wrist, gauging what area would be the best to cut. His fingers holding the razor inched forward towards his wrist, and he chose a particularly empty spot on his arm, one that was a bit far from his wrist. He couldn't risk anyone seeing the injuries, one wrong move like raising his hand up in a sweater could blow his cover.
Ze was lucky it was winter.
His fingers gripped the razor blade harder, trying to steady the shaky grip, and he slashed quickly against the skin, eyes wide as he stared at the sight, his weeping temporarily quieter.
He raised his wrist up to his eyes, as if trying to gauge how deep that cut was.
Barely a cat scratch. Bummer, this blade was painfully dull.
Ze let out a small groan in frustration. This would have to do for now. He just had to work harder for deeper cuts.
You're doing great.
A sense of warmth settled in his chest, and not just at the sight of the blood actually pooling up in the pathetically small cut, but at the praise. He was never praised like this by anyone in his life really, ever since his mother passed away. It felt good. It felt nice.
A small smile settled on Ze's lips. He was doing good. The tears on his cheeks dried up as he stared at the blood slowly dripping from the cut. A deeper one would look good.
The blade met his arm once more, and this time he went a lot quicker. Quick swipes always seemed to go deeper for some reason. When the cut didn't seem deep enough, he swiped again in the same spot, in which it seemed to do the job. He let out a sharp inhale when the burning sensation doubled, teeth clenched as the pain seemed to get worse. The pit in his stomach, for some reason, got deeper.
Not very deep still, but it was good enough for Ze, and it was good enough to give him that blissful feeling that he always got whenever he did this.
Ze felt good.
Yes, this was good.
Ze realized that the voice seemed to have gone quiet now that he was actually doing this. What was it thinking? Was it satisfied? Was it disappointed in him? He found himself craving its presence again. He felt anxious.
The blade met his arm again on a random spot, cutting open a new wound on already scarred skin swiftly. A smile spread on his face as he watched the skin rip, and he swiped again against the same cut, deepening the wound.
Ze was not really sure when his arm had begun to tremble this much, though it was making it hard for him to cut.
All thoughts seemed to be gone now. No more thoughts about his father, no more thoughts about his mother, no more thoughts about boot camp. Just the blood, his arm, and his blade. His breathing slowed as he watched the blood drip from the injuries, arm trembling from the pain.
The pain didn't bother him though. It felt good in a way. As well as the pure adrenaline rushing through his veins, numbing his mind.
The man closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, before focusing his gaze on his arm once more.
A few more wouldn't hurt. Or.. well, they would. But that was kind of the whole point of it.
Another cut, this time, for some fucking reason it came out a lot more deeper than he had anticipated.
“What the fuck..?” Ze muttered to himself, blinking as he raised his arm up to his face to look at the damage. It was deep enough as to where it didn't immediately start to bleed, the skin underneath was white, in contrast to his tanned skin.
That wasn't a bad thing. He just didn't expect it do that.
His eyes blinked as he watched the blood fill the wound slowly, and he watched as it slowly gathered up in the cut, never spilling over. In contrast to the other cuts in which they'd bleed immediately, oozing out blood that gathered up into little beads upon his skin, before it dripped away.
Ze stared.
He wanted more.
One more cut, and this time it was just another small scratch on his wrist this time. Ze swiped his blade against the wound again, deepening the cut more. He swiped against it one more time and watched as the blood dripped.
So.. much.. blood..
Ze was making a mess.
Maybe that was enough.
Was it ever truly enough?
Ze felt the familiar calm settle in, the one he would always get whenever the adrenaline would wear off, and he let out a small sigh.
That's enough for today.
You did what I told you to do. Good job. I'm proud of you.
Ze's heart jumped in his chest at the words.
The feeling of nausea welled up in him for some reason now.. He shifted on his bed, razor blade still in his hand as he just laid down, blood still dripping from his arm, now onto the sheets.
He should clean that later.
Ze blinked, now staring at the ceiling. He never had someone truly say that they were proud of him before.
Father was proud of him sometimes, that was true, but he never verbally expressed it. Just those small acts of kindness would be enough for Ze to understand what he was trying to convey.
He definitely wasn't proud of him when he was discharged from boot camp.
I'm proud of you.
Ze swallowed, as if trying to get rid of the lump in his throat.
He felt sick.
After setting down the razor blade on his bedside table, Ze gathered up some tissues from his tissue box and cleaned up the blood haphazardly from the wounds.
He decided he didn't have the energy to patch himself up right now and wanted to go to sleep.
Goodnight.
Ze laid on his side, and closed his eyes, eventually falling asleep and ending the pathetic day.