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Andre was tired, so fucking tired.
The stress of their plan was getting to him bad. He shook every time he thought about it, not being able to tell between excitement and paranoia.
Andre paced around his room, breathing heavily. He needed to get this stress out, one way or another.
At first, he considered just jerking off. A slight dopamine rush could possibly fix him. But, as he scanned his room, he saw a small box cutter.
Andre’s eyes immediately fixated on the blade. Sharp. Pointy. Dangerous.
He sighed, feeling like he was back in fucking 9th grade, stressing out so bad he had to resort to hurting himself to feel good again.
Andre walked to the dresser, picking up the small knife. Tracing his thumb over the blade, slightly as to not get nipped.
Andre tumbled onto his bed, he slowly took off his pants, so they would rest on his ankles, revealing his thighs.
His thighs had light, white scars on them. They were basically unnoticeable, but he could see them. He could tell they were there, and it broke him.
Andre gulped, holding the box cutter to his thigh, slowly pushing it deep enough to cut.
He traced the blade along his thigh, making a long cut that soon started to bleed.
Andre could get high off the feeling, the feeling of being in pain, the feeling that nothing else matters except this bleeding wound.
So he did it again, and again. Trying to go deeper each time.
His finger-tips were bloody, his thigh was leaking blood. Andre felt so much, yet nothing at all.
“ANDRE! WHERE ARE YOU!” A voice shouted, snapping Andre out of his trance.
He recognized that voice immediately, Calvin. He instantly regrets giving him that house key.
Andre stumbled, trying to pull up his pants, as he saw his door get slammed open.
“ANDRE— Woah.” Cal blinked, “Woah— Dude, are you jerking off— is that blood?”
Cal looked Andre up and down.
“Uh, kinky?” Andre laughed awkwardly, fidgeting with the cutter in his hand.
“Dude— Are you okay?” Cal ran over to Andre, analyzing his thigh when he got closer.
“Do I look fucking okay, Calvin?” Andre sighed harshly.
“…No…I’m sorry, man. What’s been happening?”
Andre bit his lips, tears pricking at his eyes.
“Been so fucking stressed out about our plan, fuck! What if it all goes wrong? How the fuck will we escape this? What if someone fucking catches us before it happens? What—“ Andre’s voice got louder, and louder, until it was broken by sobs.
“I— I just don’t know what to do, Cal. It’s too much.”
Cal sat on the bed beside his best friend, putting a comforting arm around him.
“It’s going to be fine, Andre. You’re freaking yourself out! I’m worried too, but I know it’s going to be alright.” Cal assured.
“How can you be so sure? Something could go wrong at any moment.”
“Because we have each other, moron.” Cal smiled, that same dorky smile Andre was so used to.
Andre smiled back, looking into Cal’s eyes, before turning his gaze back to his bleeding leg.
“Clean up? Then we can talk?” Andre asked.
“Of course, man. Take your time, I barged in anyways.” Cal giggled.
Andre was okay. Even if for only a little bit.