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Greg's blood pumped through his veins as he outstretched his arm, putting it down flat on the edge of the sink in the bathroom. His other hand gripped a small hunting knife, itching. It was a gift from his dad last Christmas, which was a replacement of the bracelet-making kit Greg wanted. Greg wanted to sell some of the bracelets he would've made from the kit, seeing as his classmates were starting to get passionate about decorations coating their bodies, but Dad coaxed him to reconsider.
Greg let out a shaky breath, thinking about just how great it'll feel. That's what everyone said. Something about endorphins, or whatever.
Nobody was in the house but Rodrick, and the teen was all the way down in the basement, sleeping audibly in his room.
With his hands growing antsy, Greg hesitantly pressed the knife not too far from his wrist, sliding it along skin once and letting out a small breath at the sudden spike of energy the burn gave him. Blood trickled slowly out of the new scar, not enough to make a mess but enough to be noticeable.
With a newfound reassurance, Greg promptly moved the knife to make a new cut below the first, lining them up neatly on his arm almost deliriously. Mind clouded by the thrilled, yet oddly numb, feeling in his chest.
He liked how the blood shined in the cuts, uncovered to the world unseen before.
After the fifth bleeding scar, Greg put away the hunting knife back in the cabinet under the sink, feeling lighter than before. He turned the sink on shortly after, wiping the blood off until the bleeding stopped entirely. The water at first turned a shade of pink but quickly came clear again.
His skin surrounding the cuts was irritated, giving to a different shade from his pale complexion.
Greg briefly considered changing his t-shirt to something with longer sleeves, but he didn't have any clean clothes, and the idea of someone noticing somehow felt comforting—ignoring the explanation that would surely need to follow—maybe calling them "cat scratches" would work as to not get in actual trouble? He's heard it does work. Rodrick says it all the time, and he's allergic to cats, so he doesn't exactly go out of his way to pet a stray. Their old cat, Frisky, had to be taken away a long time ago because Rodrick suddenly developed that allergy.
Greg gently tapped the water away with a towel before heading back to the living room, plopping himself on the couch, and turning on the TV immediately. He felt anxious about the whole situation; he knew that only because he couldn't focus on what he was watching and kept zoning out.
His mind kept drifting back to his parents and Rowley, but he couldn't exactly pinpoint why. All he knew was his gut churned anxiously when they were in his head.
"Yo, twerp, scooch over."
Greg flinched as Rodrick's voice was suddenly far too close for comfort. When did he even wake up?
Greg glanced discreetly at Rodrick, pulling his arms a little closer to himself. Maybe the short sleeves were a bad idea. A very bad idea.
Rodrick cocked an eyebrow at him but didn't spare a glance at Greg's arms, instead forcefully pushing him until Greg complied and scooted to the right end of the couch, grumbling in annoyance about Greg making the TV's volume too loud despite the fact they both knew Rodrick didn't wake up because of the noise. He sleeps like a rock through everything.
The two sat in silence as Rodrick changed the channel to something more adult, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head with a smug grin on his face. It was almost like something was funny to him.
Greg didn't make a single comment, only half-listening to the narrator of a reality drama show blabber about the newest addition to the cast. It was so cheesy, Rodrick didn't seem like the type to actually like this. If Greg weren't constantly slipping into his own head, he would've noticed that Rodrick was actually testing him and looking to frame him for another girly behavior he had under all that ego.
Near the end of the episode, Rodrick turned off the TV and turned to look at Greg, who didn't exactly look back until Rodrick kept staring.
"What?" Greg defensively raised his tone; the staring was creeping him out.
"Oh, nothing," Rodrick drew out. He tilted his head to the side as if trying to gouge something out of his brother with only his eyes. "You're being weird, bro." Rodrick informed him, sounding a little obnoxious if Greg was concerned.
Taken a little aback by the comment, Greg stood up. Unnaturally tense, which only seemed to confirm whatever Rodrick was thinking. "No, I'm not!"
"You're acting like I said something insane." Rodrick rolled his eyes, following Greg's actions and standing up from the couch. Rodrick easily towered over the other, and it looked like a brawl was gonna break out, so Greg was already planning his moves. If he tripped Rodrick just right, the other would definitely be knocked out by hitting the table.
"You're being an asshole!" Greg pointed an accusing finger at Rodrick, who moved back from the touch. Credit where credit is due, Rodrick feigned innocence easily, looking genuinely confused. "Huh?"
When it was apparent Greg was making no move to speak further, Rodrick gave him another rough shove and turned away. "Whatever! Don't expect me to care next time, just sayin."
Greg nearly fell, barely managing to regain his balance. When he did, he fought with himself not to call Mom immediately. He didn't exactly want to hear her now, nor did he want to hear her somehow turn this all around on him.
He paused.
What was he mad about, exactly?
The thought struck him, and guilt soon followed.
Rodrick was actually being civil for once, and he blew it all because he felt threatened, and for what reason?
Greg could feel everything just growing too heavy for him to hold, his brain begging to sleep it off while his heart started hammering with adrenaline spiked by an indescribable feeling. All he knew was that it felt suffocating.
He ran a hand down the side of his face and decided to go outside and get some fresh air.
The TV, long forgotten, hummed a soft tune from an advertisement, one for a spinning child's toy that was apparently a new hit.
·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·
The next morning Greg redid the entire routine in the bathroom, reopening his old wounds and lining new scars between the empty spaces. He only cut on the left side yesterday, but the guilt from yesterday still gnawed at him to death, so in a desperate attempt to wash away all those feelings, he ended up cutting on his other one too.
By the end of the ordeal his hands were shaking badly and he felt too light on his feet to even go anywhere.
He tentatively washed up the blood; it flowed more freely now as he dug deeper than before and dabbed at his scars gently with toilet paper to dry the area before the rest of the arm followed.
His parents still weren't home, which wasn't a surprise. They were out. Enjoying the summer like anyone else, like Rowley with his unnecessary traveling that got under Greg's skin every year.
Greg didn't realize he was just standing in the bathroom with his thoughts, which seemed a common occurrence now, so he was definitely startled when he heard knocking. "Yooohoo? Anyone home? Get out of there, man, some of us have schedules!"
Rodrick. A common occurrence, unfortunately.
"In a second!" Greg wanted to sound casual, but his voice sounded almost squeaky. If Rodrick noticed, he sure didn't mention it.
Greg wiped the droplets of blood on the sink, throwing the crumpled toilet paper in the trash can. It was conspicuous, the bright red, but nobody actually lifts the lid of the cans all the way up unless they're throwing out trash, and Rodrick doesn't do chores for free.
With a heavy sigh he opened the door, greeted by Rodrick's messy hair, which signaled he just woke up, and his heavily annoyed expression that bordered on mild concern.
No, that can't be right.
"Bathrooms must be some niche hangout place I didn't know about, hm?" Rodrick pushed Greg out of the way, ignoring the noise of protest from the younger brother. "Go, peasant, shoo." Rodrick made some lazy motions with his free hand, all of them simply telling Greg to get out.
Greg didn't need to be told thrice.
It only seemed to be a minute, as Greg didn't even get halfway down the stairs before Rodrick slammed the door open. "What the fuck?!"
The sinless door hit the wall with how much force it was thrown open, resulting in an audible crack.
Greg flinched, paling at the uncharacteristically horrified tone from his brother.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit, he knows.
He's so done for.
What was he gonna say?
Greg looked behind him; Rodrick was advancing toward him with an unreadable expression on his face. Every muscle visibly tensed. Greg could feel his skin grow goosebumps immediately; this was absolutely fucking terrifying. It almost reminded him of when Rodrick chased him around for his journal—not diary.
He sped down the stairs, ignoring Rodrick's shout to "get back over here!"
His heart loudly pumped in his ears, a rhythmic sound that was never calming. He didn't watch his steps as he fled, managing to trip over his feet before he even stepped off the staircase.
Greg shot his arms forward as he toppled over and fell, barely catching himself from a concussion with how weak his entire body was.
A rush of nausea filled Greg's stomach when footsteps came to a halt behind him.
"I'm not gonna ask again, what the hell?" Rodrick crouched in front of Greg, who scrambled back up into a standing position. He noticed that Rodrick finally spared a glance at his arms, so he shielded the inner parts of them by holding them close to his chest.
He mustered up the most sincere glare he could, not wanting to pay attention to the fact his eyes felt more moist than usual. "What do you care?" Greg hissed out through clenched teeth. Why did he care, anyway? Sure, they both share a quirk, but why should he even bother caring if Greg didn't bother caring for Rodrick's?
Now that he thought more about it, he felt ashamed that he noticed but never asked.
Maybe Rodrick was holding up worse and he just didn't want to recognize it.
Rodrick remained silent. He reached out a hand to grab Greg's wrist, probably to check on the scars, but pulled back when Greg moved away.
His expression softened into something Greg didn't want to recognize. "Relax, look... I get it, everything sucks, but you can't let that get infected."
Greg's shoulders involuntarily slumped in defeat along with his angered expression; he only now recognized how tired he felt. He eyed Rodrick weakly. "Yeah right. You're lying; there's no way it'll get infected."
Rodrick shook his head and scoffed at him; it held no actual malice this time. "Yeah, but that was a lot of blood; let me see." He motioned at Greg's arms, still huddled protectively against his chest.
Greg shook his head almost immediately; Rodrick was feigning decency obviously. He told himself so repeatedly. This had to be some ploy or something; he didn't know what it could possibly be, but he knew it was something.
That line of thought was shattered when Rodrick put his hands on Greg's shoulders and lightly shook him; his eyes held that sickening sincerity. It made Greg's stomach churn even worse; he had half a chance to throw up right then and there.
His eyes caught a glimpse of Rodrick's own scratches too near his wrist; they were only two days old, but they were so prominent...
Greg's chest tightened as a choked sob suddenly ripped from his throat. He didn't deserve this.
Rodrick made a noise that could be registered as awkward confusion; he felt awkward holding his little brother while he cried. It wasn't something he did often, if at all. Greg's choked sobs shook his entire body with his attempts to keep himself quiet.
Rodrick hesitantly wrapped his arms around Greg, who froze for a moment. The silence was deafening, and Rodrick was just about to pull away, unsure if what he did was the right move. But to his surprise, Greg suddenly hugged back, and the crying grew uglier; he let his crying fill the quiet room.
The two sat on the floor for the longest time; Rodrick could only rub his little brother's back and hoped what he was doing was of any help. He only planned to uncover what was wrong and maybe fix it from afar, not get this up and personal. Desperate times called for desperate measures, he thought solemnly.
At one point Greg didn't have tears to spare anymore; he went slack in his brother's arms, retracting his own from the hug and just keeping his head propped up on Rodrick's shoulder.
Rodrick must've felt like it was time because he untangled from Greg, making the other move back too and wipe away his tears with his hand.
"Why'd you do it?"
Greg kept his eyes downcast, his hands gripping the fabric of his shorts as if that would ground him. He knew an explanation would have to come eventually; he just didn't know it would be Rodrick he'd have to give it to. He wouldn't buy the cat story, obviously.
In reality, he didn't know why he did it; he had no clue. He just thought maybe it'd make him feel more real. Everything felt so awfully fake all the time; it got to him. Maybe it was the inability to fit in with his family, the lack of will to have meaningful friendships, or others' needs to not pay attention to him when he clearly deserves it, but everything felt so off for such a long time.
That didn't feel like a good enough answer; he didn't know how to phrase it without sounding paranoid.
Rodrick stayed silent, letting Greg take his time. Greg's mind reeled; despite how muted his expression was, he swallowed a lump in his throat and shifted to a more comfortable sitting position. His knees hurt from pressing against the floor so much.
"I don't know," Greg mumbled, scratching the back of his neck while avoiding eye contact he usually would've tried humoring.
Rodrick looked displeased with the answer, but either he didn't care or didn't know any better, because he didn't press Greg further.
"Alright, that's okay too, man. Sometimes things get too much even when you don't know why." Rodrick stood up, going up the stairs but pausing to look back at Greg. An invitation.
Greg grumbled a complaint about his bones aching enough already, giving in to a sense of normalcy for once on this absurd day, but he got up and followed Rodrick to the bathroom.
Greg sat on a stool while Rodrick rummaged through the drawers searching for gauze, only pausing when his hand hovered over the hunting knife Greg owned.
It did look used, although he didn't know if it was the blood on the handle that gave it away or the mere fact it was the only obvious object Greg could've used.
Rodrick couldn't suppress a sour look on his face; he made a note to himself to throw the knife away later.
He grabbed some clean gauze right besides the knife, whistling some random song that was stuck in his head all day long.
Greg scooted away from Rodrick and his attempts to help almost immediately, uncertain. "Is this really necessary...?"
Rodrick rolled his eyes. "Yes, now stay still."
It wasn't as bad as Greg imagined it, if he even imagined it at all. Rodrick effortlessly wrapped the gauze over the scars and ruffled Greg's hair when the two exited to the living room.
"Is that baby hippo of yours coming back soon or what?" Rodrick tried to make conversation as they both sat on the couch, checking his phone for the date. It'll be two more days before their parents consider coming home from their sweet time together; raising three troubled boys wasn't exactly smooth sailing for anyone, and any chance to relax was a must. Manny might lack the knowledge of an adult, but he's already showing signs that he'll grow up as dysfunctional as everyone else in the family. Not a surprise, unfortunately. He's been with Grandma this whole time, too.
Greg was picking at his gauze absentmindedly, testing how it felt under his fingertips. He didn't want to think about Rowley too much, not now. "Uh… I guess not until next month." He mumbled a little, furrowing his brows in faux concentration on the suddenly all-too-interesting gauze.
Rodrick tutted, wiggling a finger at Greg. "Now, now, don't fret. I'm your big bro; you can tell me just about anything!" Rodrick ignored Greg's weak glare. "I know dependency when I see it, so... What's the game plan?"
Greg looked taken aback. "What game plan?" Though his voice betrayed a hint of nervousness.
"Oh, you know," Rodrick winked.
Greg immediately grabbed a small pillow from behind him and threw it at Rodrick, making the other bark out a laugh.
"Dude, it's okay! You know I—"
"Shut up, Rodrick!"
Rodrick sighed and put his arms up in defeat when Greg looked like he was going to bolt. "Alright, fineeee… You win. No teasing."
·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·
"Go for it" was what Rodrick said a month later to Greg when Rowley finally returned from his trip to... Greg didn't exactly listen to that part. Somewhere in Europe, he guessed.
But he didn't have the guts to; it just didn't feel right.
His scars have long faded yet still itched sometimes. He couldn't find his hunting knife last time he returned to the bathroom. Then Rodrick swooped in to make him learn to play drums. Soon Greg forgot that he even used the knife and what he'd used it for. He didn't want to think back on it, at least.
Rodrick seemed to be distracting him more often, coming by to check up on him or to engage him in some bonding activities he usually would've laughed at.
Greg wouldn't admit it, but it made him feel grounded.
And he didn't want it to stop, so he made an effort to come by Rodrick's room sometimes too, although he was mindful of when Rodrick was in a bitter mood, which wasn't that often in Greg's presence. At least not now.
Their parents called it progress; for the first time in a long time, they were right, even though they didn't exactly know the circumstances of it.
Greg now is playing games at Rowley's house, half-listening to Rowley blabber about various places he visited on his vacation. Greg didn't suppress a tiny smile when Rowley squealed in triumph when he won against Greg in the racing game they were playing.
"I call for a rematch!" Greg declared, not willing to let Rowley have the last victory.
"Bring it on!!" Rowley exclaimed with newly gained, unrivalled confidence, which broke into a small giggle when Greg nudged him with his shoulder.
Rowley's parents got Rowley a bracelet-making kit because they both agreed on making bracelets to sell them, but because Greg didn't get a kit of his own, Rowley ended up just making personal bracelets for himself and people close to him. Greg thought it was stupid when he heard Rowley say it, and he did for a long while, but when Rowley came back from vacation and came to his house with handcrafted matching bracelets, Greg knew he couldn't exactly refuse.
He acted like it was a minor annoyance, of course he did, but his heart fluttered when they both put their bracelets on.
What he did fail to notice, however, was Rodrick being on the phone merely an hour before Rowley showed up.
Things didn't seem all too bleak; maybe he'll get the guts to confess next year.