Blame The Butterflys

Zayn's special girl has a problem with self harm and he tries to comfort her.


1. Red Towels and Ink

It’s easier to being than quit. Those words echoed in her head as she reached for the blade. She was on her final straw. Her final strand. The final leg. She’d been knocked down so many times before and this was seriously her breaking point. It wasn’t going to be as serious as ending her life because she felt it was her fault why this was happening. People hated her because of the way she was.

As the hot tears trialed down her face She whispered the words they called her again and again and again. She had to believe she was the problem. Their poisonous words are only fueling her fire and giving her strength to hurt herself. 

Hard, she placed the blade to her skin and cried out “ugly” before slashing her wrist. The blood rose from her pale skin and trickled around her arm as if it were tears. She breathed in deeply and watched her blood ooze out of her skin. Again she went, “slut” as the blade ripped open her delicate skin is if it were nothing. She cried in agony. Deep down she wanted to stop but her hands wouldn’t let her.

As she went in to murder her skin cells again she paused at the thought of someone special to her. His face popped in her head, the crisp shape, his jawline and facial hair. The brown dreamy eyes that kept her in a gaze for what seemed like hours translated into minutes. His almost black slick smooth hair that always had her in a trans as well as the blonde fake streak that tagged along for the ride. His sweet smooth honey-like voice trailed in her ears.

Saying, Your hands fits in mine like it’s made just for me, but bare this in mind it was meant to be. Of course, it was meant to be. It doesn’t matter what other people had to say about her, he wanted her to be happy and healthy. She then realized cutting herself was the totally opposite of what Zayn wanted. Feeling guilty and awful inside, she vigorously slashed her skin left right and center not caring where the blade hit her skin. She wanted to feel the pain, feel the burning sensation. She wanted all the hurt and anger and frustration out and she felt the only way to withdraw it was to take it out on herself. 

“Goodbye.” She heard a voice behind her. Startled, she jumped up and dropped the blade. Her heart was in her chest speeding faster than a race horse. It was him. Right in front of her. He caught her dead in the act and she knew he was going to try to stop her.  “Tell that blade goodbye.” Zayn said in a manner so soft if it were a pillow you can lay on it. There were tears swelled up in his eyes. He blinked them back trying so hard not to break in front of her. He had to be strong for her if it was the last thing to do.

Zayn grabbed her wounded hand and took it into his, “You see these new scars?” he whispered lightly. Her lip quivered as she shook her head yes.

“These are you battle wounds. Whatever you’re fighting, whatever you’re dealing with, you’re not longer going to deal with it anymore.” He took a towel off the shelf and dried her battle scars tenderly. She flinched every now and then as the fibers of the cloth soaked up her blood.

“Stay here.” He whispered before disappearing into another room. She tried to comprehend at what just happened. When he came back he has a first aid kit and a black sharpie marker. As he dressed her wounds, she looked at him in amazement and aw. Regret and hurt for doing something that would scare him. Now and then his eyes would meet hers and he’s smile at her kissing her nose and forehead lightly. When her arm was now secure and wrapped nicely he picked up the sharpie marker.

“What I’m about to do is serious now,” He breathed in watching her bite her lips.

“How serious?” she asked him, her voice still shaken.

“Very serious.” He popped the sharpie open and began by drawing two hearts on her other wrist. They joined together with a pencil shaped middle. She then realized he drew a butterfly on her.

“What’s this for?” she pulled her hand away and studied the nonliving creature.

“It’s a butterfly. It stands for me, your parents, your schoolmates, your closets friends and anyone who has put a smile on your face.” He paused. He was mesmerized by her eyes calling him in every second. “If you put on tear or scar on your body from this time on, it dies. Meaning you’ve killed everyone you love. Including me.”

She winced. Would she agree to something so serious? Something so big? How do you resist the urge to cut yourself when that thirst to hurt yourself pulsates through your veins being ready to let out? 

“What happens if the butterfly gets washed off?” she looked away as she asked.

“That’s another thing. You can’t scrub it off or rub it away. It has to fade naturally. Every day that it survives you’ve made me proud and other around you.” He gently tapped her nose as he said ‘you’.

“I don’t think I can do this,” tears were gorging away at her eyes. She didn’t feel strong and secure and worthy.

“Yes you can. I’ll be right here with you doing it too.” Zayn handed her the sharpie and she drew the butterfly on his wrist. 

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