Love Like You
Wallflower sat on the rim of the bathtub, her gaze locked on the double-sided razor blade she had pinched between her fingers.
She didn't have to do this again. Just because she had the urge didn't mean she had to do it. She could put it down and walk away.
She had been telling herself for weeks that she at least wouldn't do it on her arms anymore, if only to give the array of scars already there some time to heal. None of the scars on her arm were all that visible, aside from one. Sunset had been teaching her more about makeup stuff, though. Maybe she could help Wallflower cover it up once it healed a little more. Sunset was nice like that. She never made a big deal out of scars that were already there. If Wallflower stayed clean a little while longer, maybe she would even be able to wear short sleeves again.
Or maybe she could throw all that away on a stupid whim.
Fuck it.
The bite of the razor didn't even phase her anymore. With a quick motion—guided by urge and instinct rather than conscious thought—blood began to bubble up. The rigid tenseness in her body lessened with every exhale as she stared at the wound, a single line of bright red amongst a backdrop of barely-faded scars. Cutting on already scarred skin didn't hurt very much. It didn't bleed much either. Within the span of half a minute, the tiny dots of blood lining the cut began to darken.
That was fine, though. One was enough. One was plenty. Wallflower could already feel the low, sweeping wave of hazy calm. She didn't need to do any more.
It wasn't very deep, and it was already among so much scar tissue. In a few days no one would be able to tell, not even her. It would be like she never did it at all.
Maybe just one more.
Another motion, once again across the field of old scars. So long as she did it there, it was fine. It barely hurt at all, though. She'd been so cautious with this cut that it barely even broke the skin. Or maybe it was because scar tissue was more resilient than undamaged skin. Was that true? She couldn't remember reading that anywhere, but it sounded true, and that was good enough for her.
The next cut was harder as Wallflower made a conscious effort to let the corner of the razor dig into her arm. Yeah, she could definitely feel that. A low, shaky sigh passed her lips as she pulled the blade away, watching the line of rising blood. Stinging sensations flared around the cut, drawing all her focus. Wallflower used her fingers to open the wound a little, coaxing out more pain, more blood, more and more—
A sharp inhale. What the hell was she doing? What happened to just one? Wallflower cursed under her breath as she set the razor on the bathroom counter beside her. She needed to stop. She didn't even have a good reason for doing it today.
That was nothing new, though. She never had a good reason to begin with.
Sunset was going to be so disappointed with her.
Wallflower stood and popped open the medicine cabinet affixed to the wall beside the sink, taking care to keep her left arm angled up so as not to bleed all over the counter. Turning away from the scowling girl in the mirror, she retrieving a roll of medical tape and a couple of cheap pharmacy-brand antiseptic swabs. Normally she would use gauze for a bandage, but she'd run out last week and never bothered to go get more. That was fine, though. The swabs could work in a pinch.
The harsh smell of isopropyl alcohol greeted her as she tore open the packet. The cold feeling of the wet pad on her skin quickly died beneath the sudden stinging rush of disinfectant on an open wound. There had been a time when doing this made Wallflower wince, but now all she could manage was a blank stare as the pain faded and the swab turned red. She tossed it in the tiny trash bin beside the counter, opened the second packet and laid the clean swab across the largest cut. The medical tape followed, completing the makeshift bandage. Hopefully it would be absorbent enough, but if not she could always swap it out later.
Slow, unsteady breaths came and went as Wallflower lowered herself to the floor of the bathroom.
Idiot.
Stupid, selfish idiot. One tiny, out-of-the-blue urge was all it took for her to throw away days of progress. She couldn't even make it a week anymore without giving in to the urges. All she had to do was literally anything else, but no, because she was a short-sighted, pathetic little freak and she did whatever the hell she wanted whenever the hell she wanted to, consequences be damned.
She really was useless, wasn't she?
But what was she supposed to do? A less stupid person would throw the blades away, but she… She couldn't do that. What if something really bad happened and she needed them?
Except it was never something really bad. If anything, it was usually nothing at all. If she really wanted to stop, she wouldn't be keeping around the source of her temptations in the first place.
Of course she wanted to stop, though! Every time Wallflower relapsed, she was left swimming in guilt for the rest of the day. Was that just because Sunset wanted her to stop? Did it really matter either way?
Sunset had once used the word "addiction" when describing what Wallflower had always seen as just a bad habit. Was Sunset right? Was that why this was so hard, because Wallflower was well and truly addicted to hurting herself?
Even if Sunset was right, there was still nothing Wallflower could do. Throwing away the blades wouldn't make a difference. Razor blades were dirt cheap—it's not like she couldn't just go get more. A half-hour walk to and from the pharmacy hardly seemed like enough of a barrier to keep her from acting on her urges.
It would still be a barrier, though. It would be thirty minutes she'd have to spend thinking about what she was doing, rather than being able to immediately shred herself to pieces within seconds of wanting to.
There was no use thinking about it. What difference did it make if she couldn't bring herself to throw the razors away in the first place? Wallflower was terrible at making herself commit to something. Knowing her, she would probably wind up digging them out of the trash a couple hours later.
She would never be able to get rid of them on her own. Pathetic as that was, she just couldn't.
But maybe she didn't have to.
Fishing her phone out of her back pocket, Wallflower unlocked it and opened her list of contacts. Right at the top was the only number she bothered to mark as a 'favorite.' For a moment, she hesitated, her gaze flicking to the red spots leaking from the makeshift bandage on her arm. If she called Sunset, she wouldn't be able to hide it. Wallflower's request would prompt Sunset to ask, and even if she didn't, lying by omission was something Wallflower was trying really hard not to do anymore.
She looked over at the razor resting on the edge of the counter, and the little orange cartridge behind it with four more individually wrapped blades. As soon as she made the call, they were as good as gone. Maybe she could hide one, just in case. Maybe Sunset was really busy today and calling her would just be bothersome. Maybe Wallflower should put the phone down and forget she ever had this stupid idea in the first place.
Or maybe, for once in her life, she could do the right thing.
Fuck it.
The phone rang once, then twice. Wallflower held her breath as the line clicked and she heard a voice from the other end.
"Hey Wallflower, what's up?" Sunset sounded as cheerful and steady as ever. She probably had no idea how much Wallflower relied on that steadiness. "Everything okay?"
"I-I, uhm…" Wallflower's reply caught in her throat, only her stiff, hitched breaths making it through. It took a moment for her to recollect herself, and Sunset remained silent the whole time. Wallflower loved that about her—she was always so patient, even when Wallflower was stupidly tripping over her own words. Finally, she got something out. "Are you busy right now…?"
"Not even a little," Sunset said. Even over the phone, her voice was so measured and gentle. "How are you doing?"
Adrenaline welled in Wallflower's stomach as she forced herself to answer. "...Not good."
"Is it the urges again?"
"Yeah." Tears tickled her cheeks as the first whimper broke free. "I-I'm so sorry Sunset, I—"
"Shhh, Wally, it's alright," Sunset soothed. "I'm on my way over, okay?"
"Y-yeah, thank you," she said. "Thank you…"
"I'm really proud of you for calling me," Sunset said.
Proud? That couldn't be right. Sunset should be ashamed of her, or at the very least annoyed. She asked Wallflower to do one little thing, but Wallflower was too pathetic to even try. She never should have bothered Sunset with this. She never should have—
"How many days did you make it this time?" Sunset's voice pulled Wallflower out of her spiral. "Four, right?"
Oh. Sunset was keeping track of the days too. Wallflower wasn't really sure how to feel about that. Grateful? Judged? Cared for? Maybe all of the above. "Uhm, yeah," she said. "Four days."
"Four days, that's great!" If Wallflower didn't know Sunset as well as she did, she'd have sworn that praise was a forced lie. Sunset wouldn't lie to her, though, even if sometimes Wallflower wished she would.
"It's nowhere close to where I was a few months ago," Wallflower said, wiping the tears off her cheek. "I can't even make it a week anymore."
"But it shows you're trying," Sunset said. "Even though it's really, really hard, you're still trying. I'm proud of you for that, too."
Wallflower let out a long, shuddering exhale. Some stupid, hateful thing in the back of her head wanted to argue, to tell Sunset she was wrong, that she should hate her and be disgusted by her and never bother with her again. It wouldn't be the first time she told Sunset all those things, but Sunset just ignored her and kept coming back every time, even though Wallflower didn't deserve it.
Whether she deserved it or not, she had already come this far. May as well make the most of it.
"When you get here, uhm…" Wallflower could barely hear her own voice. "I was hoping you could maybe… Th-that you could…"
Again, Sunset stayed silent. She was always so patient, so kind, even when Wallflower's stupid brain short-circuited and she kept fumbling through broken words.
She swallowed as much of her doubts and fears and anxiety as she could and forced herself to start over. "I-I want to throw them out," she said. "The razors, I mean—but… But I can't, I… I can't." A long, drawn-out breath, and then another. "I know this is really stupid, b-but when you get here, c-could you…?"
"Of course, Wally," Sunset said. Wallflower could practically hear her smiling. "That's not stupid at all. I'll take them with me when I leave, okay?"
"Yeah, okay." Wallflower nodded, despite being alone on the bathroom floor. "Th-thank you."
"I'll be there soon," Sunset said. "Like five minutes, tops. If you want, I can order us a pizza or something when I get there. Does that sound good?"
As she shakily stood up, Wallflower took in the aftermath laid out before her—razor blades, empty packets of disinfectant, a bloodied alcohol swab taped to her arm… All evidence of her being a shallow, useless fuckup. And yet, despite her blatant failure being plainly visible all around, she knew Sunset wouldn't care. Sunset, who was now using Wallflower's shameful relapse as grounds to spend an evening together, sharing dinner and chatting and hanging out and… And…
Wallflower didn't deserve that, not after what she did. It didn't make sense. None of this made any sense.
But… Maybe it didn't have to.
She took a deep breath and whispered, "Okay."
The next few minutes were spent redressing the cuts on her arm, tossing the bloodied bandage and generally doing her best to clean up around her bedroom. Just as she plugged her laptop in—Sunset would probably suggest streaming something later—she heard the doorbell ring. Wallflower rushed to the door and pulled it open. Blue eyes met her own, only to trail down to the uncovered bandage hanging at Wallflower's side.
A second later, Wallflower was wrapped up in a comforting hug, surrounded by warmth and compassion and a repeating promise that she was okay, that it would all be okay. Tears fought to the front of her eyes as Sunset held her close, gently stroking her back as the first of Wallflower's whimpered apologies and gratitudes muddled together into short, sorrowful sobs.
She clung to Sunset like her life depended on it, her cries muffled against Sunset's shoulder. As Sunset's soft, encouraging whispers continued, the last of Wallflower's composure evaporated, and she collapsed into the embrace.
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Daaaaawww!
Ooo it's so good to see Wallflower putting in that effort! And that supportive Sunset is someone that everyone should have. So bitter and so sweet~
Nice work, Scamp!
Oh and also,
Ah yes, a phrase spoken with confidence that really can go either way.
beautifully written and perfectly done. Wallflower's confusion at her own actions and the way she blames herself really hits hard, and I absolutely love how Sunset reacts. Not with shock or shame or anger, but with supportive kindness. There isn't even a second of blame, just pride that she made it a certain distance.
10/10
Oh Wallflower. I'm proud of her for calling Sunset and asking for help. Sometimes, that's the hardest thing to do. I sure as fire know that I have a hard enough time asking for it.
Anybody else minorly annoyed these are coming in tiny separate stories you have to trace back instead of chapters?
Although I cannot relate with the addictive pleasure of self-harming, if I substitute self-harm for other addictive behaviors, I find this very heartwarming and hitting close to home. Having a kind person to support you through an addiction can be vital.
Also, I actually have an orange cartridge with double-edged razor blades in them. (Probably the same brand as Wally.) I shave with those because they give you a closer shave and they're cheaper than Gillette cartridges.
10450759 No.
10450759 Not really. It would work fine as an anthology, with the “Anthology” tag, but this isn’t much of a bother.
Sunset is the friend we all deserve. It's so good to see Wallflower remember that she can't trust the depression to see things clearly, so she calls on Sunset to trust her instead. That's courageous and strong on Wallflower's part, and you wrote it very well.
Sunset here reminds me of a psychologist I heard some years ago saying that when people who are struggling with depression, self-harm, and suicide come to him, they're the ones who are being brave - he's just there to help them make the most of their bravery. To help them see the good in themselves that they have a hard time seeing without help.
Sometimes we all need help. We have the right to ask for it. The voice that tells you you don't deserve help or can't be helped is a liar and doesn't deserve your time. Let people help you shut him up.
Depression, self-harm, even suicidal thoughts can and do become addictive - there's a reason they call it an illness. When you're in that state, it's easy for the lying voice to be loud. That's why we reach out to people who people who can help us heal. Like battling any illness, it can take time and care, but I promise you that you're worth it.
Your life matters, and the world will be emptier and darker if you are gone. Even if by some twist of fate no one noticed (and it's almost certain someone would know and care), there would still be a phantom pain - an absence that no one would know the source of, but would be felt all the same. We would be diminished by the loss of you. If that wasn't true, then why is it that people willingly choose to spend their days professionally helping complete strangers to realize their own self worth? That's what suicide hotlines are, after all - strangers helping strangers to battle the lies that are hurting them.
You matter. Whenever you have a hard time remembering that, please talk to someone who can remind you of your worth.
Suicide Hotline: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org, 1-800-273-8255
List of International Suicide Hotlines (in case you're not in the US): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines
This is excellent, through and through – quite possibly my favourite entry in this pseudo-anthology. Everything said about Bad Habits and Day Zero applies here: You don’t pull your punches, you convincingly deliver a bleak emotional state, and just personally, I see a worrying amount of myself in some of Wallflower’s emotions and behaviours.
Yet there’s another layer here. You delve into the addictive nature of self-harm; as you aptly put it, the mentality of “fuck it” lurking behind. It never comes across as justified, or excused, and absolutely never romanticised, but… reading through Wallflower’s mental state, it makes sense. Because fuck it, right?
Like here. This hurt to read because it’s such a perfect, terrifying example of how it works. Because it’s a horrible thing to say, right? It’s ugly and messed up and Bad™ and disturbing and…
And it’s the truth.
You write Sunset beautifully as well, as someone who’s truly empathetic rather than just superficially concerned. Her introduction weaving from casual greeting to compassion is seamless – a neat way of showing both that Sunset understands Wallflower’s self-harm more than most, and that this isn’t the first time they’ve talked.
Their dynamic is fantastic as well, and honestly is a lesson to anyone who wants to approach the topic seriously and genuinely. Sunset says all the right things, is calm and understanding, never pushes, never judges. But even then, this toxic little part of Wallflower’s mind wants to reject it. In turn, Sunset accepts and… she works through it, instead of fighting against it. And when they finally see each other face-to-face, it’s so, so cathartic.
I’m drained after reading this. From brutal, uncomfortable realism, to self-doubt in seeking help, to unabashed compassion and release, all in two thousand words.
Bloody hell.
Wally took a big step in calling Sunset this time. That's a good thing.
The imagery in these stories never fails to make my flesh crawl.
10453602
Me and my bloated ego choose to take this as a compliment 🙏
10453910
Good. It was intended as such.
Reading over this story, I can't help but contemplate certain things.
If what Wallflower is going through is truly an addiction, could she benefit more from Sunset not trying to stop her outright, but with a more gradual tapering off approach? Like giving her permission to make one cut after a five day period? Here she says she can't even make it four days without going back to cutting herself. But if she believed she could do it if she simply waited a little longer in between, almost like it's a reward for delayed gratification? Could looking forward to it be used to help her go for longer and longer stretches in between?
Sometimes all it takes is a friend.
This series is just... amazing. Like I mentioned in another comment, I'm not affected by a lot of what I read anymore. But all of these stories are just so raw and emotionally honest that I can't help but feel so much for Wally. I just want to wrap her in a blanket, make her a cup of hot chocolate, and tell her it's gonna be okay.
Sunset is so perfect in this. Offering to take the blades with her instead of just throwing them away shows that she's starting to really understand how deep this runs. She also pretty obviously chooses her words, and I'd like to say she mostly chooses the right ones.
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Dang, Sunset makes me feel better about myself and my struggles with my various problems and and I'm not even in the story.
Even though the narrative is claiming they don’t hurt so much for her, I still flinched at every cut, and deeply at the deep one. I felt the sense of perverse relief, too, though I have no equivalent experiences to draw on. Again, you communicate sensations really well.
That Sunset. That steadiness, patience, and love, all through a disembodied voice on a telephone line. I am so happy for Wally that she is in her life.
I’m proud of Wally, too, and not just for finally asking for help despite her fears and doubts. She can’t understand why Sunset wants to be there for her, or see that she isn’t undeserving of it, but she accepts it as something that just is. I hope the understanding will come in time, but even if it doesn’t, Sunset will still be there for her.
That last moment was so beautiful. Thank you for ending it on a happy note this time, it was very nice to see.
Hey, Scampy.
So, I liked this. The struggle you write Wallflower in through each successive story is very real and well written. I was admittedly uncomfortable due to having had to be in Sunset's position on occasion, but the hopeful bit at the end was worth pushing through it.
I really am just super stuck on the emotion you wrote into the stories. They really translate powerfully in the text and you have a knack for showing the thought process of a character and how they're feeling through your writing.
I look forward to diving through your back catalog when I have the time.
Cheers ~!
I just... Wow. I don't know what to say. This story is so packed with emotion it's beautiful. I struggle to really collect my thoughts it affected me that much. Wallflower is healing, but a wound has to really hurt before you can desire to bandage it. Wish I could make a longer comment, but I think I've said everything previously. Wonderful story.
I've comparatively little to say about this one, actually. But this?
<3 That is really lovely. Wallflower still blames herself, still doesn't understand why she deserves this. But she does. And she is not alone, not when she's got someone as great as Sunset.
No one should ever be alone.
Thank you for this little trilogy. It has been a sobering, powerful read.
Months ago, in the wake of the sunflower contest (that regrettably I was unable to participate in), I asked some folks to give me briefings of all I needed to know about this ship, its dynamics, and its characters. Instead of explaining it to me, they should have recommended this fic instead. It would have been faster.
Wallflower is no stranger to self destructive vices. Her history with the memory stone shows a pattern of giving in to the urges, only to make things worse and hate herself even more. She used to erase every convo she thought was awkward, because that's how lowly she thinks of herself. As such, she quickly became forgotten by everyone in CHS. And she couldn't blame nobody but herself. The title serves both as a way to sum up the entire structure of this fic in a few words (interestingly enough), and wallflower inner conflict: She thinks she is not worthy of affection, when in reality she just wants to be cared for and loved.
This line, as hard hitting as it is, sums up her character as someone who expects nothing but a bleak future, and nothing from herself. She constantly lives with the expectation that things won't get better, and that she won't change either, so why bother trying?
Its really hard not to feel sympathy for her, because its her own mind playing tricks on her. And she becomes more and more negative the more she regains consciousness of what she is doing. She is trapped on a never ending cycle that drowns her on a spiral of self loathing.
But there's something, beautiful irony if you may, about the ship itself. What the names of its characters represent. The night ends, the sun raises and breathes life into the flowers with its warm shimmer. I refuse to see this as a coincidental symbolism, for it is the core of their relationship. Just as depicted here.
Wallflower has something going on for her: She is aware of her own limits, seen as how she admits of being incapable of throwing the blades away. This unfortunately acts as a double edged sword for her, making her feel powerless, because she is the one in control yet she can't do anything. But she is strong enough to push through this and call sunset for help.
Sunset doesn't even need the geode to do her magic.
One of the first things she says to easen wallflower and reassure her, is that she inst busy. She has and always will have time for her. And most importantly, she seemed to know what was going on from the get go and even said it for wallflower. The urges, again. That way wallflower didn't have to put herself in an uncomfortable position trying to explain it to her. This however gives the implication that is not sunset first rodeo, but that's alright. Because Wallflower thinks she possibly betrayed sunset expectations, but still is brave enough to ask her for aid. And Sunset knows that, and Wallflower is rewarded with her unrequited compassion, support, and understanding. Sunset is the only one, the ideal person, who can give her the push to go through the dark times. The sun after the night. But at the end of the day, is wallflower who has the resolve to take that step. For her. For sunset.
This fic on its entirety, is what makes this ship special.
Howdy, hi!
Here is a review from the mansion.
I'm echoing the words of others, but you do a very effective job of showing how this mind works -- how it tries so hard to twist anything and everything into a weapon to itself... That it can't allow for anything good. Not only that it thinks this way but that it refuses to stop, even when it wants to.
Related, this Sunset here is a paragon. She drops everyting (what are the odds she was doing nothing important already? every time?), and does so immediately and with no hesitation. We should all be so fortunate to have a friend so actively supportive when we need help. I will applaud that in Three Act Play (which everyone should go read!) you and Dave Bryant explore how demanding and exhausting that providing of support can be when it isn't a one-off situation.
Edited to add:
That bit about support/help being exhausting felt familiar, and I was able to track it down quickly: it came up while I was playing pedagogue in the comment section to TamiyaGuy's excellent short, Notadrenaline (links directly to first of two comments).
Sunset's unwavering patience and compassion remind me of my beautiful empathic friend. He's really a spiritual mentor to me due to our shared experiences. He knows the mental and spiritual battles I've gone / go through -- but every time we talk on the phone he's always bright and chipper. A natural optimist, it seems, whom I know for a facf considers himself a Stoic philosophically. I have no doubt he'll make a great Army chaplain one day.