R for a dark theme; self harm.
Comments, please. My first fanfic other than CSI’s Nick and Greg. And my first self-harm story.
Slowly. Careful. He eased the blade across his stomach. The burn was a welcome relief. Ianto sighed into the pain. Pain to relieve the pain. How ironic. A small smile touched his lips.
Another draw, across the chest this time. Not too deep. He wasn’t looking for death, just some relief. He watched the crimson drops caress down his chest and into the shower floor. Soon he would wash the pain away and he would breath for a while. But for now, he watched the drops.
He had made sure the marks where they would not be seen. Always a shirt. Always sleeves. No need in the Boss noticing. No need in anyone noticing. Not that they would notice, of course, but if they did, they would ask uncomfortable questions. And expect uncomfortable answers. He blinked back tears.
Another pull. More pain to flow away. Tears, too, this time. Notice him? A snort. No. Oh, Jack flirts. But he will flirt with anyone. And the kisses? Those are just to torment him. So he can know what he doesn’t have. Because Jack doesn’t even see him. Just a Tea-Boy in a pretty suit. He bet he could deliver Jack’s tea wearing nothing and Jack wouldn’t notice.
Another swipe. Not as careful this time. The pain is… a bit much. Puzzled, Ianto looks down. More blood. Maybe too much? He feels a dizzy rush. His hand caresses the blood. So beautiful. So warm. He feels light headed.
With a sigh that he has to end this quicker than he wanted, because yet again he messed up, Ianto turns on the shower. Cold. It catches his breath. Makes him shake. The cold. He hates the cold.
Another dizzy spell and he sits on the shower floor. Damn. Tonight was not supposed to go this way. Over too soon because he wasn’t paying attention. Can’t he do anything right? He watches the blood flow as if it wasn’t his own blood pooling around him.
He begins to shake. Cold. He hates the cold. He touches his chest. The blood flowing out of him was warm. So warm. Feels so warm on his hands.
Dizzy. He looks to see if the bleeding has stopped. Odd. He can’t see clearly. Must be the shower water. He rubs his eyes and blinks.
Tired. He is so tired. Tired of hurting. Tired of being empty. Tired of being invisible. Sleep. He needs. To. Sleep. Just a moment. Yes. Just a moment.
“Ianto!” calls Jack.
“Sir?” was the soft reply.
“We had a bit of a situation in the cells with a new….guest. Please clean up the mess. We are going out,” called Jack as he and the others left, passing him in the hall.
“Yes, Sir. I’ll… get right on that,” but his voice floated into the empty hall. He was alone. Always alone.
Carefully he smoothed his shirt. The burning was still there. The pain. Drawing it out. Making him bear another day.