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You shifted in my arms, rolling over and pressing your face in the space between my shoulder and the pillows. One of your hands balled the edge of my shirt in its fist as you settled back down. You looked so peaceful, but I knew better… Under those eyelids, your subconscious was torturing your with memories you didn't want to remember, triggering every little insecurity you had, pushing all the buttons on things that would've had got curled up in a ball panicking and hyperventilating and crying. I knew that. You've woken up plenty of times and slipped right into panic attacks I couldn't help you with because you just couldn't be touched.
You'd told me once when we were talking about sleeping, that if I wasn't doing okay, to wake you up, because you'd rather be awake and hugging me than dreaming whatever dream you'd be having because they were just so bad. And every time I laid awake till 6am, I was tempted to wake you, but I couldn't, because you needed the sleep, even if it was hell. I laid there, watching you sleep while listening to whatever podcast you'd been listening to to fall asleep.
Tonight was one of those nights, one of the ones where I couldn't sleep no matter how hard I tried, no matter how long I laid there waiting for sleep to come, it never did. So after an anxiety attack in the shower, I crawled into bed behind you, and pulled you against my chest, not having to wait long before you'd rolled over in my arms.
I sighed, letting my hand rest in the shallow groove between your ribs and the top of your hip bone. You pressed yourself further into me as my hand moved to rub circles into your back. One of your legs maneuvered itself between mine, and I looked down, just to check and see that there were no news cuts decorating your thighs. There weren't any new cuts, but the black sharpie stuck out against the pale white of your skin, even if they were red and splotchy.
I ran my fingers along the words as I sat up to get a better look at what you'd written throughout the day. One leg was more heavily written on than the other, containing sentences instead of simple phrases.
Stupid
Pathetic
You could at least try to be enough
Stop being so fucking sick of yourself
Cant even pass for a fucking DAY
Dont hurt yourself
Stop
Shut up
And on and on they went, circling around your thighs, most of them were filled with self hatred and we're self depreciating, others were silently scribbled screams for help, few were reminders to yourself to not do anything stupid and that you could make it just a little while longer. I traced every letter as I sat and thought.
You'd started scribbling in sharpie after I'd found you on the bathroom with a bloody razor and the idea that nobody would miss you if you stopped existing. These notes were reminders to me that you were still struggling, still trapped in that downward spiral that kept getting deeper and deeper the more time you were allowed to sit and think on it. I sighed, moving my hand up your body, pushing your shirt up so I could see your stomach. There were scars there, ones that had been there for years, but what I was looking for were the patches of black sharpie colored in on the surface of your skin, the pieces of skin and fat that you saw as imperfections.
I moved your shirt back down and ran a hand down my face, letting myself sink into my own spiral, trying to think of ways that I could help you feel better about yourself and see that all those things you wrote on your skin weren't true, and how you were perfect the way you were. You were so small and fragile, I wondered what would've happened if I hadn't come home early from work that day… You wouldn't be here, would you? I traced the reminder on your skin Dont hurt yourself.
You shifted where you lay, and your hand moved from its spot by your head, to holding mine. You were looking at me through half lidded eyes, with a small and tired frown on your face.
“You're thinking too much again…” you mumbled, squeezing my hand.
“Maybe just a little bit,” I chuckled tiredly.
You sat up with a yawn and leaned your forehead on my shoulder, the hand not being held by yours came up and pet your head. You hummed as my thumb traced the D in Dont.
“What are you thinking about?” You mumbled, and I sighed, you really didn't need to be burdened with my worries, you had your own to work with.
“It's nothing y/n, just a bit caught up in my head is all, nothing you need to worry about.”
You sighed and lifted your head off of my shoulder, looking more awake, but still so very tired. Your eyes scanned my face as we sat there in the dark, then trailed down to the words I was still tracing. We both stared at the messy writing on your legs before you got up with a sigh.
I stared after you for a moment as you left the room, before getting up and following you to the bathroom where you were pulling makeup remover out of the medicine cabinet. You sat on the edge of the bathtub, talking some of the body wash and smearing it, and some water, over the words on your skin. I sat down on your other side, helping wash away the words with soap and make up remover as you rubbed at the larger sections.
Once your were done, and you're legs were only barely stained with ink, we left the bathroom, and I followed you into the living room where you turned the TV on to the sports channel.
“Stretch…” you hummed.
“Y/n….”
“What time is it?”
“Close to three.”
You sighed and ran a hand down your face, “Why didn't you wake me up if you weren't feeling good?”
“You need the sleep.”
“You should've woken me up.”
“You need the sleep more than I do comfort.”
“Stretch, you know that I don't get rest when I sleep. I'd rather be awake with you than sleeping. You should've woken me up.”
“But you need the sleep,” I said again as you walked over and stood in front of me.
“And you need sleep too, and you can't sleep if you stay up thinking too much.” You said as you leaned into me, I wrapped my arms around your back. I could feel your spine through your sleep shirt, as well the diverts in your sides from when you'd found a friend in a knife.
What if I hadn't gotten there in time?
“What are you thinking about?” You asked, barely a whisper as we swayed back in forth with the TV on in the background.
I sighed, hugging you closer and resting my chin on the top of your head. “What if… I hadn't come home early that day?”
“Which day?”
“Yknow… The one you almost…”
“Stretch… You would've figured out something was wrong and come home either way, we both know that. Nothing would've happened, it would've just been a slight change in events.” You sounded tired, like you weren't all here as you talked.
“No, I mean like… What if I hadn't come at all, or had just come back later, or something like that… You wouldn't be here if I was an hour late… Hell, you probably wouldn't even be here if I was a few minutes later than I had been….” I mumbled to myself, combing my fingers through your hair. “And it's like… It's like I can't do enough to help you keep your head out of the gutter, and that some day I'm going to come back to that, and I'll be too late.
“You know you're the most important person in the world to me, right Y/n? I honestly don't know where I would be if I didn't have you, or if Idve never met you at all. It scares me sometimes, thinking that I could come home and find nothing but a pool of blood and empty eyes in the bathroom… And I want to help, I really do. I want you to feel better, for those thoughts to go away, and for you to be able to actually get some rest when you go to sleep” I continued on rambling as your arms tightened around me and your head was pushed closer into my chest. I could feel you shaking, and the wetness the was beginning to run against my sternum.
“But really… I'm just… Really fucking scared that I'm going to lose you and be left alone here.” I finished, turning my face into your hair. “I'm just scared that you're going to leave me here alone….”
“Stretch, I'm not going to leave you, I couldn't do that to you,” I heard you whisper into my shirt. Your sad shaking was slowly turning into routine shivers as you continued to talk and mutter about not leaving me. One of your hands was gripping the back of my shirt, and the other was holding onto my arm like you were the one that was afraid of me leaving.
You continued mumbling as I picked you up and carried you to the couch, laying down with you on top of me with enough wiggle room to grab the blanket from the back of the couch and pull it over us. You shifted in my arms, shifting to press your face in the space between my shoulder and the couch. One of your hands balled the side of my shirt in its fist as you settled back down, your rambling coming to a quiet halt as we laid there. Your breathing began to even out, and I could feel you relaxing as I too, felt the pull of sleep.
“Dont leave me…”
“I never will”