”WRISTS”
IMPORTANT TW!!: self-harm,mental health,emotions,feelings,triggering themes,and mental illness.
wrote this story instead of doing it irl
writers note!
this story is about love that doesn’t flinch when things get dark. it’s not about saving someone — it’s about staying, listening, and showing up.
if you’re struggling: you’re not alone. your pain doesn’t make you unlovable. healing is messy, but you’re still here — and that means everything.💓
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the first time matt notices something’s wrong, it’s a thursday night. they’re sitting on her bed, his hoodie draped over her thin frame like armor. she hasn’t spoken much—not unusual, but tonight there’s a certain silence between them that feels heavier than most. like there’s something choking the air.
he watches her as she curls her knees to her chest, sleeves tugged over her hands like she’s trying to hide inside herself. he reaches over, brushing her hair back gently.
“you okay?” he asks, voice low.
she nods. too quickly.
matt doesn’t push. not then.
but the weight settles in his chest like wet concrete.
—
the second time is worse.
they’re at his house this time. it’s late. the tv’s on but neither of them are really watching. she’s fidgeting, fingers gripping the hem of her long sleeves like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.
she shifts to grab a blanket and for a second her sleeve rides up.
just a second. but it’s enough.
matt sees them. thin, angry red lines across her wrist. some healed, some not.
his chest goes cold.
she doesn’t notice right away. but matt’s eyes are frozen, locked on the marks like they’re screaming at him.
“what—” he starts, voice cracking.
she pulls her sleeve down fast. too fast.
“don’t,” she says, not looking at him.
“what is that?”
“nothing.”
“that’s not nothing,” he whispers, barely able to speak around the lump in his throat.
she still won’t look at him. her jaw tightens. her shoulders go rigid. she’s shutting down.
he knows that look.
“please talk to me,” he says.
silence.
then finally, she says, “you weren’t supposed to see that.”
—
later, she’s curled into the corner of his room. her back pressed against the wall like she’s trying to disappear into it. her voice is flat when she finally speaks.
“i don’t do it to die.”
matt is kneeling in front of her, elbows on his knees, trying to stay calm. trying not to let the fear show on his face.
“then why?” he asks, quietly.
she looks at him. and this time, there’s no mask. just a raw, broken kind of honesty that guts him.
“because sometimes it feels like everything in my head is screaming and the only way to shut it up is to feel something else. even if it’s pain. i just need it to stop.”
his eyes sting.
“you could’ve told me,” he says.
she shakes her head. “you’d look at me different.”
“i’m looking at you right now,” he says. “and yeah, it hurts. because i love you. because i didn’t know you were carrying all this by yourself.”
she finally breaks. not all at once, but in quiet, crumbling sobs. like her body is too tired to hold it in anymore.
matt pulls her in. holds her tight. she stiffens at first, then slowly lets herself lean into him, forehead pressed to his chest.
“i don’t want to be like this,” she chokes out.
“you’re not broken,” he whispers. “you’re not weak. and you’re not alone anymore. okay?”
she doesn’t answer. but she holds on tighter.
and maybe for now, that’s enough.
—
days pass. not everything gets better overnight. there are moments when she pulls away. when she’s quiet again. when the dark clouds in her head settle back in.
but matt doesn’t let go. he doesn’t flinch. he learns.
he learns to ask “how’s your head today?” instead of “you good?”
he learns that sometimes she needs space. sometimes she needs arms around her, grounding her to reality.
he learns how to hold silence without filling it.
he goes with her to therapy when she’s ready.
he hides the sharp things in his bathroom.
he keeps bandages in a drawer—not to enable, but to help when she slips, because healing isn’t linear.
he listens. he stays.
—
and one night, months later, she falls asleep in his bed. her sleeve slips up again. the scars are still there, but they’re fading. healing.
matt traces one gently with his thumb, careful not to wake her.
he doesn’t see shame in them anymore.
he sees survival.
-@sturnispider
this story is very triggering to me and may be very triggering to other people aswell,it’s a very personal thing that a lot of people struggle with, especially people ages 13 or younger to 29,remember that you never know the truth of someone’s life,so don’t judge people ever.
“you never know the silent battles people are fighting.”-madison beer
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@thighs4evan @humpster35 @stvni0l0 @kayskreativeideas @beabadoobeelvur