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Technoblade had thought about this moment for three years. Three years of wishing, yearning, hurting, all wrapped into a vulnerable package and thrown at him at this moment, perched at the edge of a bathtub with a blade in his hand and all the traumas in his life failing to come to mind as he asked himself, “Why?”.
Why?
That’s always the question.
Why did I quit cutting three years ago?
Techno doesn’t remember. As far as he knows, he took a break, and suddenly, it had been a year.
Why break the streak?
He doesn’t know. He isn’t crying, he isn’t particularly distraught at the moment, but life has been feeling so rehearsed as of late. Don’t do drugs. Graduate high school. Choose a college. Make more friends. Don’t relapse! Techno is supposed to do it all perfectly; that’s the least he expects from himself. It’s a prison of his own making. There is no space for fucking up, he can’t fuck up a single thing, but he knows he needs to remember what it's like to fail again. But he could fuck up himself. He’s the one thing he could break without consequence.
Why?
Because he didn’t matter.
Why?
Because he isn’t good enough.
Why?
Because his grades are bad and all his friends are slipping through his fingers.
Why?
Because he doesn’t try hard enough and is a fundamentally bad person.
Why?
Technoblade could ask the question over and over, slipping deeper into his self-loathing with no real answers. If he really wanted to, he could talk himself out of this. He’s done it dozens of times before, but he lacked the resolve. All Techno wanted to do was turn down the volume of his rationalizing, to silence the words with a shock.
He shifted his leg to hold the blade against his thigh- as he saw a spider frozen next to his foot. Techno paused, setting the blade down and rushing to grab a square of toilet paper. Crumpling it up, he struck at the spider, only for it to scurry away. He tried again, missing. He struck one more time, finally catching the spider and throwing the broken thing into the trash can.
Settling down, he wondered if the poor creature was a sign that he should stop. Technoblade hasn’t seen a spider in a good while after all. He scoffed at the thought and dismissed it, holding the blade up to his thigh again as his leg stretched out against the bathroom floor tiles. He only hesitated for a moment before pressing the metal against his skin and dragging it across.
It was nothing like he remembered. The blade started and stopped. He could hear the sound of it scratching against his skin. For a moment, Techno thought he hadn’t put enough pressure, only succeeding in giving himself a scratch, before the white line filled with blood.
Techno’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched the blood pool into the shallow cut. It didn’t look like his thighs. He could almost imagine some preteen posting the exact image before his eyes on Twitter with some k-pop edits. Tears prickled at his eyes as he realized, this isn’t me anymore.
He shook his head, holding the blade above his previous cut, dragging it along with more pressure than last time. It didn’t even sting. It didn’t hurt like he wanted it to hurt. The cut still pooled with blood despite the lack of pain. Techno cursed, cutting above the newest wound once again, intending to make it deeper than he’s gone before.
He couldn’t.
Techno let the blade lightly graze him, the same combination of scratchy motion and noise grating against his senses. He stopped with a scowl, cradling his head in his arms. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It was supposed to feel better. Techno raised his head long enough to slip the blade back into the pack with the rest of the razors he had just bought the week before. He started nursing the cuts with a cotton wad.
He expected to feel the last three years wash away with his blood. The numbness was unwelcome. All Techno could think about was that he didn’t miss worrying about his doctor seeing his thighs and reporting it all to his dad.
He hated it. For the first time in a long time, Techno felt embarrassed, cutting himself like he’s back in middle school all over again. And because of what? Because he wanted to know he can? Because he wanted attention? He had no answer.
But he loved it. The pressure of staying clean was gone. Maybe he could love seeing his own blood on his hands once again if he did it while he felt a little worse. He noticed a bit of blood on his fingernail, it still made his heart swell with sick pride
Techno sighed, throwing the blood-soaked cotton into the trash can alongside the spider’s corpse and stepped into the shower. He turned the knob, making the water as hot as he possibly could. The cuts didn’t even sting.
He scratched at his neck, staring blankly at the shower walls as the warm water flowed over him. He loved cutting. He hated cutting. The experience was just what he could make of it. Techno could either accept the shame and move past self-harm with confidence or run with the freedom, knowing that his downfall could be his own fault, having the comfort of knowing he could turn himself into ribbons tomorrow if he so pleased.
And if Techno couldn’t cut, he couldn’t kill himself, right? In his eyes, that could be a good or a bad thing. A damnation and a miracle all wrapped into one.
He leaned against the shower wall and closed his eyes, trying to feel a single thing. He couldn’t.
So he turned the water off and wrapped himself in a towel.
He supposes he knows the pros and cons of cutting now, maybe even the pros and cons of life. All Technoblade needs to do is make a choice and figure out what he wanted. He felt the need to cry as he realized life still feels like a coin toss, even in his own hand, but the tears never come.