Teru's Stress Relief

Teru's Stress Relief Mar 22, 2024 20:01:08 GMT -8 mom and Otisander like this

Quote

Post by icarus on Mar 22, 2024 20:01:08 GMT -8

hey, i haven't used this place. ever. guess what.

i got something.

i had a rough day at work and i knew the exact person to write to, well, relieve the stress. i've had this scene in my head for a long, long time and...its time to put it to "paper", so to speak, at last.

first things first:

content warning: adultery, cutting/self harm, a spiral into depression

stricken

He pushes the palms of his hands into his ears. He tries to block out the noise, the inconsolable sobbing, the soft and almost lost in the din voice of his sister trying desperately to soothe their mother, coming from the living room.

He is eight years old.

The front door opens with a loud creak and bang. He hears it through the floorboards as it hits the wall of the entryway, the vibrations rolling up the floorboards beneath where he is sitting in the middle of his room. Echoing and echoing like an earthquake. He hears the footsteps of someone running up the stairs and the door to his sister’s room, right next door, slams shut.

He can hear her crying, too.

His father’s voice is loud and slurred. He is shouting nonsense words. His mother is screaming, voice cracking, “How could you do this How could you hurt us like this What were you thinking”

He pushes his palms into his ears harder.

It does nothing to stop the sounds, the noise, the yelling. Things are thrown, glass shatters.

“Would you just listen--”

“Get out get out get out”

over and over and over again

He doesn’t even realize he is crying, sitting on the floor of his bedroom, his back pressed against his bed, his hands digging into his skull in a vain, useless attempt to stop the noise, stop the yelling, stop stop stop stop

He moves without thought and grabs his headphones. He shoves them on his head, shaking hands missing the headphones port on his mp3 player once, twice, three times--fourth times the charm--and he turns the volume all the way up. “Stricken” by Disturbed begins to blare.

He throws himself onto his bed, forgetting about the school art project he had thrown there after getting home from school. He hisses in pain, his left wrist sliced open from the scissors he’d carelessly left on the bed.

When the heart is cold, there’s no hope, and we know /
That I am crippled by all that you’ve done /
Into the abyss will I run /

He stares at the cut, superfluous in the grand scheme of things, the blood beading against his tan skin. He touches it, smears his lifeblood and looks at the cut.

SPOILER: Click to show

Then he lifts the scissors and makes another.

You come on like a bloodstained hurricane /
Leave me alone, let me be this time /

The din of downstairs fades away as he loses himself in the music, in the temporary pain. It starts with two, then there are more. By the time his mp3 player is dead and he is alone with his thoughts, his arm is a wretched mess of torn flesh. He stares and watches the liquid drip drip drip drip down his arm, pooling onto the ruined fabric of his pants, drip drip dripping down further onto the hardwood floor.

And that is where he is when his sister finds him later.

Welcome to DV Mafia

DV Mafia

Teru's Stress Relief

Post by icarus on Nov 2, 2018 14:49:12 GMT -8

Post by icarus on Mar 22, 2024 20:01:08 GMT -8