Work Text:
Coming down from a panic attack on a bus while country music played was not how Logan planed on spending their afternoon. A kid they knew, Remus, flicked them hard on the head, held up a bottle of coke, and yelled, "Science!"
They stared at xem in shock, then finally yelled, "What the fuck?!"
Remus sat behind them, in xeir assigned seat. Xey stretched xeir arm around the green schoolbus chairs. "Want some gum? Oh, and, um. Sorry."
They took the fruity, (like them), flavored gum and slipped it behind their mask, and reviewed the days events. They were talking to Remus, when Roman came up to them, said, "Do you self-harm?" And rolled up feir sleeve to reveal, seemingly fresh, cuts.
Now, Logan self-harmed, too, and wouldn't have said anything, if Patton hadn't dropped the bombshell that fey had attempted. And that fey were going around, showing people feir cuts, in a loud cry for saving.
Remus and Logan agreed that they had to report. They couldn't leave fem to die. So, they reported to the school councilor, who did nothing. Then, they filled out a harassment form. Roman showed up to 6th period, unfazed.
The most infuriating part was that fey claimed they were cat scratches. For one, oldest one in the book, two, cats don't scratch in x's.
The taste of the gum was beginning to fade, and they were a few stops away from theirs. The high-schooler that sometimes sat with them wasn't on this round, so they could take up as much space as they wanted.
They brought their mind back to the 105 calories they had eaten that day. Low, but they weren't proud of it, even though this was the first day of restriction in a month.
They hated having a panic disorder. They should have taken their meds. They swung a bag over their shoulder and started to walk back to their house. After a hour-long panic attack, they needed a fucking shower.
Their door kept locking, and their dad took forever to open it. They walked into their living room, christmas tree lighting it up, even though they were all atheists.
As they walked to their bathroom, their dad asked, "Did you have a good day at school?" Like he always did.
Logan froze, uttered a soft, "Sure," And finished walking to their bathroom. As they waited for the shower to warm, they noted their body. Blobby and misshapen.
They started up a punk playlist, grabbed a razor blade, and stepped in.
……
Blood was running along their thigh, mixing with water. The water was agonizingly hot, but that was the point.
They made another incision with a rusted and dull blade.
……
They walked into the mess of mental health problems they called their room. They turned up their music a bit after closing their door, because their dad was on a call in the room next to them and they couldn't blast music in the hallway.
Their headphones had busted that morning, and they were just then reflecting enough to realize today was really fucking awful. They hopped up onto a trash pile they slept next to, and lied down.
They were so, so goddamn tired. Their room was just a little too hot, and their body was just a little too adjusted to hunger. Cuz it's a fuckin' drag, and it's crazy sad, but you'll do what's gotta be done.
They opened YouTube and tried to look for something interesting. Nothing was interesting. Their left arm and both thighs whined that they were injured, and Logan opened a CGP gray video they had watched a thousand times.