Antidepressant Withdrawal (9)

Aaron was in the bathroom of his room when he grabbed the razor between his fingertips, not thinking as he just held it. Clenching his teeth as he breathed through his nose, he tried to remember what his doctor had told him a few months back when he still cut himself. Sighing, he tried to think in something positive, wanting to immerse in just one happy memory, so he could forget about everything else that plagued him. He thought about how great life could be, how good it was. How there were moments when he could laugh easily and feel so content and light.

Like how he enjoyed reading Sophie and tell her stories, inventing new creatures just to heard her giggle; to play games and teach her new things. He liked to help Will in the garage because he enjoyed his company and could always picture Marcus at his side shaking his head every time he tried to fix a car. Helping Karen in her bar was fun because of the different types of people that came, all the stories they told, the knowledge they shared.

He knew this, but for some reason he couldn't recall the feelings behind the memories, they just kept slipping away from his hands. He tried to think of something, anything. Like how beautiful were the fireworks at night. and how learning new things always made him curious for more. He wished to see a sky full of stars one day and at least once drive their Fiat with the music on in all its maximum volume as Marcus did when they were young. He wanted to visit Jose's grave at least once because, without him, he wouldn't have opened up again, nor would have he met Lucifer.

Lucifer.

Aaron knew who Lucifer was; had a good idea of what he had done and did. He should be scared of him. He really should. The truth was that he simply didn't care, and it terrified him how much he didn't care, because he had grown to like him, maybe something more he didn't want to name. And it was stupid because it all started as a stupid deal, one where he hoped to get killed; go to Hell to receive the punishment he thought he deserved. Instead, they became good friends, things he hadn't thought possible but was true. As true as the fact that Aaron was falling for him, falling for the possibly worst choice ever in partners in all human history.

He didn't want any of this but didn't regret it either. He liked Lucifer's laugh and the things it made him feel, how gentle he could be. He loved to feel the light touches of his hands against Aaron's skin, his nose against his neck, the way their legs tangled. How he held his hand, always brushing the tips of his fingers first. The feeling of his cool skin against his own. How he always listened to him attentively, as if Aaron was saying something important.

He even liked the way he smiled mischievously, making Aaron afraid and curious to know what he was thinking.

Aaron sighed and glanced tiredly at the razor. He hadn't seen Lucifer since he told him to go, three days ago. He felt so sick, too. His doctor approved the pills for the flu but they didn't do anything but heal his sore throat. His headache was still there, the shivers, the nausea ─he vomited at least twice a day. How the nurses still hadn't found out, it was a wonder.

He wanted to rest, to sleep without nightmares, and forget everything.

A sob escaped him because, f*ck, the nightmares. Aaron was afraid to fall asleep because of them. He dreamed of Erika, Marcus, his dad, Will and Karen, everyone in his life telling him how pathetic he was.

His grip on the razor tightened.

Most people thought that the ones who self-harm love the pain. Why would they do it if it weren't the case, right? Aaron always remembered digging his nails against his palm whenever he felt angry or impotent, even before the doctors diagnosed him with depression. It was just something he did to calm himself and something that became frequent after Erika and Marcus died. He hadn't really paid attention to what implied before.

He couldn't exactly recall if he ever thought that that pain wasn't enough and needed something more, but he did remember thinking that if so many people cut themselves to feel better, it would mean that it was true, that it really worked. Maybe after some time, the pain didn't hurt.

So he did it.

He was angry at himself at that time. He couldn't stop the broken sobs that escaped him, nor control his breathing. He just wanted it to be over and when he saw his razor next to the tub, well, it was more out of curiosity, really.

He didn't remember how much it hurt, just that not too much. It slightly stung. On the first try he hadn't even been able to make the cut bleed, he thought that he was doing something wrong so he repeated the action, trying to press the edge a little deeper, wanting to make only a small cut. He remembered thinking that it would hurt the same if he did it small or larger, so why do it more noticeable?

The second time it did bleed. A red line covered the cut and a small drop poured from the border where he pressed the skin. If he wasn't mistaken, he had huffed that time. Because it hurt, even if slightly, it still hurt. There wasn't anything magical about it; it wasn't as some kind of drug that made you feel better or something. Everything was the same.

He sat on the toilet at that time, trying to think if he had done something wrong, perhaps you needed some special movement to achieve the pleasure.

But then, he noticed.

His tears had stopped, his breathing was close to normal, he didn't feel so angry, perhaps a little annoyed, but other than that, he was fine. Apparently, at some time he had been so engrossed with the razor, trying to think in how deeper he should do the cut so no one would notice, that he had calmed. It scared him so much because even if it didn't give him pleasure or was like a magic spell to feel better, it did work to focus him in a way other things didn't help.

Evens so, he promised to himself that time to not ever do it again.

However, a second time came, and a third. He didn't know when the scratches on his skin didn't help anymore, and he wanted something rougher, to make the lines bigger, deeper. Wanting desperately more.

Aaron swallowed.