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Tyler went out, and I’m laying here rotting in bed, because Tyler stole razor blades from Home Depot. And, naturally, I reverted to said ‘childish’ habits. Because of the razor blades. You know, the stainless-steel, box-cutter-replacement kind. The kind you’d find in your garage as a depressed teenager and think, oh, cool. Easy access. Nice. You know, the kind I’d find on the kitchen counter after Tyler left for the night, and I’d get that pang of adrenaline in my chest.
The first time Tyler asked about my scars, I dodged the question. But it was more like I ducked out of the way of the question, and it hit me anyways, smack in the middle of my face.
I told him, it’s nothing, Tyler, they’re old, don’t worry about it.
Ambiguity. Obviously this irked him, and he made it his job to bug me about it as often as possible, until I told him. He knew. Tyler’s not stupid, he just wanted me to say it out loud. To “Come to terms with our human imperfections.”
I took one of the blades.
- - - another bit from a fight club oneshot I'm working on. as per @riazcc's MONTH OLD request sorry btw 💔
SORRY I haven't been posting fics guys I had a rough October. I think .i don't know I'm making up excuses BUT i'm finally up to it and working. hard SO hard guys on fight club AAAAANd saw fics okay bye
