I won't be leaving anymore.
Of course not, I’ve just put cookies in the oven. At least I think they’re cookies, they might—Wait.
Cal? Cal, are you serious?

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@youveyettoseeanything
I won't be leaving anymore.
Of course not, I’ve just put cookies in the oven. At least I think they’re cookies, they might—Wait.
Cal? Cal, are you serious?
I won't be leaving anymore.
Of course not, I’ve just put cookies in the oven. At least I think they’re cookies, they might—Wait.
Cal? Cal, are you serious?
I won't be leaving anymore.
Of course not, I’ve just put cookies in the oven. At least I think they’re cookies, they might—Wait.
Cal? Cal, are you serious?
I won't be leaving anymore.
Of course not, I’ve just put cookies in the oven. At least I think they’re cookies, they might—Wait.
Cal? Cal, are you serious?
I won't be leaving anymore.
Of course not, I’ve just put cookies in the oven. At least I think they’re cookies, they might—Wait.
Cal? Cal, are you serious?
I won't be leaving anymore.
Of course not, I’ve just put cookies in the oven. At least I think they’re cookies, they might—Wait.
Cal? Cal, are you serious?
I won't be leaving anymore.
Of course not, I’ve just put cookies in the oven. At least I think they’re cookies, they might—Wait.
Cal? Cal, are you serious?
"You broke your ribs? I—fucking hell, Cal." No, no. No emotion. Emotion is for later. You take another deep breath, pushing all the useless and distracting feelings to the back of your head, lock them in a safe until you can deal with them properly. For now, you need to focus. "What did you do to yourself, Cal?" There’s no accusation in your voice, or anger. It’s almost completely devoid of inflection. Inflection is for emotion and that’s for later. Still, you look up at his face and you don’t think you can push aside the worry in your eyes.
His lip is bleeding. His lip wasn’t bleeding before.
You sigh, gently reaching up to cup his face, thumb resting for a moment at the corner of his mouth. Just for a moment, you let some emotion through, just the concern and love and hope that he’ll be okay god you hope he’ll be okay—and that’s enough. Reaching beyond the tub, you pick up one of your gloves. “Here, bite this.” You hold it out for him.
Grabbing the alcohol again, you make sure to disinfect your wrists and part of your upper arms as well. “This … It’s going to hurt and I’m sorry, but you know that.” Adjusting your position, you hesitate a moment, hand at the open cavity. ” … I’m going to feel along your lungs. I’m … I’ll try to be quick.”
You can’t help but grimace a bit as you first enter, blocking your ears and thoughts, focusing solely on your fingers. The tissue is wet, soft, giving, smooth but textured. That’s normal. Slowly working your way up, you try to feel for abnormalities. His lungs move under your hands and you want to cry. You want to cry you don’t want to do this you don’t want too—! No, feeling is for later, feeling is for later! Grinding your teeth, you keep your fingers steady, feeling the expansion of his lungs, the broken ribs—you feel along the area—nothing, nothing, nothing. “Goddamnit.” You reach around, making sure, you have to make sure, it will be worse if you miss something—it’s wet and warm and your fingers and hand are covered in something, something warm and wet and red—you feel a couple of chips and you grab them with trembling fingers. There. Clear. Clear! Other side … You close your eyes, teeth clenched together so tightly your jaw hurts as you feel along the other lung. Clear clear clearclearclear—done. Done! It’s clear it’s clear! You take your hand out, quickly rinsing it in the falling water, blinking to clear your vision. Your hand is shaking. That’s not good. But you set the bone fragments aside and turn back to Cal.
You still need to stitch him up.
I won't be leaving anymore.
Of course not, I’ve just put cookies in the oven. At least I think they’re cookies, they might—Wait.
Cal? Cal, are you serious?
You were woozy, and it was hard to breathe even though your lungs were exposed to more air than ever. Your eyes were half lidded when the door finally opened and the sound of his gag hit you like a truck to a brick wall. Your breathing was laboured and weezy, every there was visible movement within your chest wounds. Your hands fell loosely at your sides and your head faced the door. You would be fine, you knew that and you were to the point that there was SO much pain you actually couldn’t feel anything now. His voice was fuzzy..
The water came on and it hit you… still nothing. The warm streams of water that fell over your body dripped down your skin all of which turned that crimson red when it hit. “I could… do it.”
You make sure the drain is draining before turning to your boyfriend, eyes naturally falling to his wounds. Something in his chests moves, glistening as Cal wheezes and you push down another wave of nausea. Later. Emotions are for later.
It’s just like cloth, you tell yourself. You’ve done this before. It’s just like thick cloth.
Your gloves are off and tossed on the floor before you open the alcohol, quickly dousing your hands in it as well as dipping in needle and thread. Kneeling, you thread the needle, giving yourself lots of thread to use before knotting the end. The red water soaks through your pants easily but you pay no heed, all of your attention on the needle and the flesh and the gaping wounds of Cal’s chest. Your fingers don’t shake as you find the edges of the cut. “Sorry to break it to ya, Cal, but you don’t look up for making toast let alone any kind of surgery.” You pause, eyes watching what must be his lungs expand and contract. Your own breathing feels a bit odd but you ignore it. ” … Is there any internal damage I should take care of first?”
You open your eyes the best you could but refused to really look down at the mess you made of your torso. You could see just by watching his face that it was taking everything he had not to hurl. He was contemplating with himself, it was obvious.
His glasses came off and your hand went to grip the side of the tub the best you could. Numb fingers didn't make grip an easy thing. Once he began with the needle you tried your best to stay still but those areas were the most sensitive. You nearly screamed but instead squeezed your eyes shut and bit your lip, hard. It was impossible for you to answer him, or to make any kind of comeback to that. When he paused you released your lip though you had caused another deep cut on it.. Internal damage? "I.. had to.. break a couple ribs.. you may need to check and make sure there are no... chips in my.. lungs.. or.. stomach.. I'm sorry.. Dirk.. I'm so sorry.. I never wanted you to have to.. see this..."
My 1 Year Old Beatboxing Niece
Vine by iLLyNoiiZe
I won't be leaving anymore.
Of course not, I’ve just put cookies in the oven. At least I think they’re cookies, they might—Wait.
Cal? Cal, are you serious?
Fine… but please don’t freak out.
——
You sat in the porcelain tub, it was filled about halfway up your thigh with water. It was a brilliant red color. There were knives covering the outside of the tub, small splatters of blood covered the walls. You were sitting in the disgusting water, your torso a mess of holes and bone. Your white boxers now stained from the water. Dirk shouldn’t have to see that.. god you should have done this somewhere else but you were scared. Really scared something bad might happen so you just stayed home.. Your phone hit the floor and there was a smudge of broken cells over the screen. It was a scene from a horror movie.
Putting your phone away, you opened the door and stopped. A strong smell hit your nose and your stomach heaved but you swallowed the feeling, forcing yourself to keep breathing. All your eyes could see was red. Red on the walls, in the tub, on Cal—Cal. You could see bones, holes in his flesh, cutting all the way through too— “God, Cal.” There were knives on the edge of the tub and no signs of anyone else. He did this himself. To himself. Why—to get rid of English? To not disappear anymore? You took a deep breath, took a couple of steps in, and closed the door behind you, putting all your questions and your nausea to the back of your mind. Later. All of that is for later.
When you speak, your voice is steady. “We need to get the shower going. And stitches. You’ll need stitches.” Everything should be in the cabinet above the sink. You quickly turn on the water in the shower, slipping off your shoes and socks as you open the cabinet and start pulling out supplies. First aid, needle, thread, rubbing alcohol. You grab a couple of towels too which you set carefully on the floor before you step into the shower, hooking your shades over the collar of your shirt to better see. “You were going to try to stitch this yourself?”
You were woozy, and it was hard to breathe even though your lungs were exposed to more air than ever. Your eyes were half lidded when the door finally opened and the sound of his gag hit you like a truck to a brick wall. Your breathing was laboured and weezy, every there was visible movement within your chest wounds. Your hands fell loosely at your sides and your head faced the door. You would be fine, you knew that and you were to the point that there was SO much pain you actually couldn't feel anything now. His voice was fuzzy..
The water came on and it hit you... still nothing. The warm streams of water that fell over your body dripped down your skin all of which turned that crimson red when it hit. "I could... do it."
I won't be leaving anymore.
Of course not, I’ve just put cookies in the oven. At least I think they’re cookies, they might—Wait.
Cal? Cal, are you serious?
I’m fine.
You need stitches, Cal. Like hell you’re fine.
Fine... but please don't freak out.
----
You sat in the porcelain tub, it was filled about halfway up your thigh with water. It was a brilliant red color. There were knives covering the outside of the tub, small splatters of blood covered the walls. You were sitting in the disgusting water, your torso a mess of holes and bone. Your white boxers now stained from the water. Dirk shouldn't have to see that.. god you should have done this somewhere else but you were scared. Really scared something bad might happen so you just stayed home.. Your phone hit the floor and there was a smudge of broken cells over the screen. It was a scene from a horror movie.
I won't be leaving anymore.
Of course not, I’ve just put cookies in the oven. At least I think they’re cookies, they might—Wait.
Cal? Cal, are you serious?
I f-fixed it.. he’s gone.. but.. I need to… stitch.. myself back up.. don’t come to the bathroom.. don’t.
Fixed it? Just like … Stitch. You need stitches? Cal, why the hell do you need stitches?
I'm fine.
I won't be leaving anymore.
Of course not, I’ve just put cookies in the oven. At least I think they’re cookies, they might—Wait.
Cal? Cal, are you serious?
I f-fixed it.. he's gone.. but.. I need to... stitch.. myself back up.. don't come to the bathroom.. don't.
I enjoy the silence
but what if he does come to get you? what then?
I'll make him eat his own lead.
Free as a bird.