A Blood Stained Requiem
EVERYONE KNOWS THIS: THE MICE AREN'T MINE
He couldn't stop it. No matter how many times he tried; no matter how many times he scolded himself for being so stupid as to keep it going. He couldn't. He had to keep going. Thick blood oozed down his wrist as he growled; hoping to every god out there his bros didn't hear him. He had to get some form of release, or he was sure he'd explode. He'd tried so many ways to do it; but none had worked before he found this.
What he and his bros had gone through had been hell multiplied by ten. After watching his parents die before his eyes; he ended up fighting his enemies to keep his planet; hell, even his bros safe. He knew he was a smart-ass, but he couldn't help it. It was another coping mechanism. He was a womaniser, but he thought he hadn't planned for anything beyond his compliments being shot down.
The one time they weren't; it'd been awkward and very telling. Shame had been written all over his face; and his partner knew it. Fortunately, she'd had the tact to play along and save his reputation. She had been the angel that had lit up his world. Hell, she had even convinced him to stop his habits; but when she vanished, however, when he got back to base that night; he cut himself worse then ever. His entire wrist had been turned red from his blood; his tail lashing as he blocked out the pain. He needed to let the negativity that was consuming him out, as fast as possible.
He knew there was another way. He'd caught himself gazing in the mirror multiple times, wondering if taking the huge leap would hurt as much as he thought it would. There were times he'd be lying in bed; his fingers subconsciously tracing the scars that riddled his arms. They moved up, past his shoulder, past his neck; and towards the scar that ran up his face. Would it kill him to do it?
He'd lain there for so many nights, he couldn't count anymore; wondering that question. Easily weeks, maybe even months had gone by when he wondered about it. Until he could bring himself to do it, he'd revert to his old carving grounds. He was sick of it; sick of the negativity; the hate; the rage that was coursing through him. He decided to cave in and slit himself again. That night turned out to nearly be his last.
He'd accidentally ripped open the main vein in his wrist. How he'd managed to hide the true extent of the damage was beyond his comprehension. His bros thought it'd been a shard of glass from earlier that day when Limburger Tower came down. Lucky for them... Not so lucky for him. After that, he seriously began to question why he was doing it. Yes, it was a coping mechanism; but it was costing him his stability; and his fur could only hide so much. He was sure his bros would notice any day now...
Vinnie looked down at the dulled; reddened blade in his hands; wondering if it was the right thing; whether he should throw away a chapter of his life that had haunted his nightmares for years. He knew it was driving him mad; but if he didn't find another solution and fast; he'd do something he would seriously regret; and that could seriously threaten his life. He finally made his mind up. He closed the razor, then set it alight with one of his flares. At the same time; he picked up the phone, and dialled. The voice on the end said: "Hello, I'm Sarah and I help with the self-injury hotline. What can I do for you?"