Sehun is on his way down. Down and deep into his darkest place. A place that was wholly his own, and no one else’s. This was a place reserved for Sehun to crawl into whenever hoe felt his lowest, when no one else could hear him, and most definitely where no one else could see him. Where no one could make assumptions about him, where no one could judge him for who, or rather, the lack of person he was.

He looks down at his hands that would not stop shaking; his fingers trembling, muscles twitching uncontrollably. It was as if his fingers had a mind of their own, his thumbs tap tap tapping thin air, as if he was desperately pressing something, or maybe it was a meagre attempt at scrolling his way out of this stage of his life. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. It meant that he couldn’t fill out his form to not join the next school trip, again. But even worse for Sehun, it meant that he couldn’t get to his blade he kept in his drawer, tucked away in a book, well taped in the third quarter of a world geography encyclopaedia he’s had since he was five. The last present he received from his parents.

No, Sehun’s parents weren’t dead, but Sehun wishes they were, they might as well be anyway. The welfare money they received from the government for him would at least be his, and not their drinking and gambling money. Sehun gets the bare minimum for living, enough to sustain him to go to school and function somewhat; so that his parents receive that monthly stipend meant for him, in addition to all the other benefits they claim.

Sehun stares longingly at the open drawer with the encyclopaedia sitting inside, tantalising him with the promise of release. But with these shaky fingers he’d never be able to neatly remove the blade stuck to page 964, and not cut his fingers while doing it. In all honesty, he wouldn’t have minded the cuts especially since it would mean more release. But it was too risky. Everyone would see. Everyone would talk even more. He would get hit more by his dad’s belt, more welts on his already black and blue body. His classmates and teachers would be finally able to confirm that he did indeed cut himself, and would send him to the councillor. Anyone but the useless godforsaken councillor. Sehun shudders at the thought, and trusts his judgement for once. One night without cutting is better than a lifetime of “therapy” and explanations, and sniggers.

He lets out a deep sigh.

“OI! KEEP IT DOWN IN THERE YOU DAMN MUTT!” Sehun’s stepfather’s voice bellows from the next room.

A glass bottle smashes against the wall. It’s a wonder that the glass shards haven’