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[personal profile] ruddiestbubbles posting in [community profile] mindcracklove
When things just don't seem to be going well...

The next morning he woke up feeling groggy and in the same position as he'd fallen asleep in; a tight little ball with his knees hugged close to his chest. He didn't get to ponder the moment for long as there was a knock on the door, followed by it opening.

"Good morning." Lauren says with a gentle smile.

"Morning." He replied gruffly, sitting up.

"I got in contact with your uncle." She starts slowly. "He dropped off some of your clothes so you could have a more comfortable stay here."

His blue eyes flickered to her. "Did he say anything?" He asked quietly.

She shook her head sadly. "Nothing much."

"He doesn't care about me..." He said sadly as tears quickly built up. "No one does..."

"Why would you say he doesn't care about you?" She asks gently.

"He-he never liked me... Not since I came out...."

The look on her face softened even more as she sat on the bed gently. She rubbed his back as he talked.

"He called me a faggot.... A piece of shit..." He managed to say around the lump in his throat. "He only took me in because he was the only family I had left..."

She let out a soft sigh as she glanced at her smart watch. "Why don't you go ahead and get cleaned up, there's some towels in the bathroom. Your clothes are in the wardrobe." She pats his back. "I have to go tend to other patients, but I'll be back in a while."

He just nodded and watched as she left. He pulled himself out of bed and slowly walked to the bathroom, his knees weak. The second he closed the door he felt a pain in his stomach and ran to the toilet. He spilled all of the contents of his stomach; leaving him dizzy and weak. He let out a groan and leaned back against a wall, his arm wrapped tightly around his stomach.

He didn't feel like he could stand; his knees were like jello and his head pounded. He felt like bawling. He felt like cutting. He felt the urge growing ever stronger. He grabbed the edge of the counter and pulled himself up. His legs trembled as he stared at himself in the mirror. He looked horrible. His skin looked sunken in and pale, oh so pale. He saw a razor in the shower through the mirror. He grabbed it and used all of his strength, which honestly wasn't much these days, to snap the plastic, letting the thin pieces of metal spill onto the counter.

He grabbed one with shaky fingers and brought it to his left wrist, which was far more cut up than the other. He brought the little silver piece of metal across his pale, scarred skin. It felt amazing. It felt like heaven. It felt like his saving grace. He brought the thin metal across his wrist again and again; not caring that blood dripped onto the counter. The piece of metal dropped to the counter when his shaky fingers just couldn't hold it any longer.

Tears trailed down his cheeks as he stared at the droplets of crimson that resided on the counter. It was his. Of course he'd seen it before, but this time he knew he was close to succumbing to deaths embrace. He could do it. He could run that blade down his wrist and watch the blood spill until it was all was over; finally over. But, he sunk to his knees and put his head in his hands, letting the tears fall; letting out a choked sob.

Eventually, after attempting to calm down, he turned on the shower and stepped into the steamy water. The shampoo made his wrists sting; causing him to wince slightly. But, he brushed it off and finished with his shower quickly. He wrapped a towel around his waist after he stepped out. He grabbed the blades from the counter and shoved them into the back of a drawer, hoping they wouldn't find them.

He briefly glanced at himself in the mirror before walking away with a sigh. He dug through the stuff in the wardrobe and found a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He pulled the sweats on, finding that they were barely small enough to hang loosely on his hips. He pulled on the t-shirt, which had some stars and the moon on it, hung loosely on his thin, frail shoulders. The shirt, much like the sweats, seemed to engulf him.

A knock sounded at the door, catching his attention. "Hey Kurt, wanna come with me, we're gonna go down to the cafeteria and get some lunch."

He sighed. "I'm not hungry."

"Well come on anyway, you can at least try to eat."

"Why?" He sighed. "I'll just end up puking again."

She gave him a concerned look. "When?"

"When I went into the bathroom."

"That's gonna happen." She says with a sigh, placing her hand on his back. "When you haven't eaten in a long time your body just isn't used to having food. But, it'll get better as your body becomes accustomed to it again."

He just groaned as she lead him from his room. They passed many rooms and a receptionist desk. At the end of the hall was a set of double doors; which lead into a large room with tables and chairs. Many kids his age were in there laughing, talking, eating. He felt uncomfortable and awkward, but stuck by her as she walked through to a serving area. She grabbed two trays, handing one to him. He went down the line and grabbed a bottle of water, a sandwich, and a bowl of fruit.

She lead him to a table and they sat down. They were by themselves at the table, which didn't bother him too much. He picked up his fork and pushed the fruit around in the bowl, unable to find the will to actually eat.

"Eat?" She asked gently.

He picked up a piece of fruit with his fork and took a small bite. She gave him an encouraging smile. He ate the whole piece before sitting down his fork. He gripped the edge of the table as he felt the pain in his stomach. He ran over to a trash can, spilling the contents of his stomach, which really wasn't anything at all. He gasped for air as he finally stopped throwing up. He leaned against the trash can gasping desperately for air. He felt the lurking feeling in his stomach again before dry retching. He sank to his knees when he'd finally stopped. He heard rushed footsteps but nothing more as the world fell dark.

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