FicWad

I woke up with someone's arms around me, and a bandage around my arm. The clock told me that it was 4 am, it was still dark outside. I turned my head to find that it was Jason lying next to me, snoring lightly. Quietly, so as not to wake him, I turned my full body around and snuggled my head into his chest, trying to find comfort.
He was breathing deeply, slowly, peacefully. As cliche as it sounds, he looked like an angel while he was sleeping.
Try as I might, I couldn't sleep at all. It was as though my dad had been given eternal dreams and sleep, and I'd had all mine taken off me. I couldn't stop the tears. As much as I tried, I just couldn't hold them back.
After a while I woke Jason with my crying. "Sorry, go back to sleep," I whispered, choking back tears.
"No," he whispered back, pulling me closer to him.
"I love you," I said.
"I love you too," he replied, stroking my hair.
"Who bandaged my arm?" I asked.
"Me. There was a first aid kit in the bathroom. You have so many scars..."
"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to see my scars, they're ugly," I apologised.
"Don't apologise," he said, stroking my arm lightly. "When did you start to self harm? What age were you?"
"I don't want to talk about it," I sighed, looking up at him.
"Okay. Do you want to sleep now?"
"Yes, but I can't," I admitted.
"I'm really sorry about what happened, if there's anything you need -"
I put my hand up to silence him. "Don't. You're just gonna upset me again. I don't want to talk about him."
He nodded. "Promise me you'll hang on. Promise me you won't give up. Isabelle, please. Please, promise me you'll stay alive," he pleaded.
I nodded. "I promise," I said, my throat aching from holding back tears.
"That's what I wanted to hear," he said, pulling me close to him.
He stroked my arm, without realising I suppose, and we stayed in silence. The embrace and love we were exchanging was worthy of a thousand conversations. Both of us, just lying there in silence, holding onto each other as if our lives depended on it. Mine did.
I sat up, so suddenly that I even surprised myself. Jason jumped and say up too. "What's wrong?" he asked.
I said nothing, and pulled open my drawer, taking out my blade stash. I took the lid of the box and showed him them.
"I want you to hide these. Jason, my recovery depends on this. You need to hide them somewhere I won't find them. But you need to know where they are. Don't throw them in the bin. Hide them. Because if you throw them out, I'll know I'm never going to get them back, so I'll just buy more. But if you hide them, I know there's a possibility of me finding them, so I'll be less likely to buy more. You need to hide them somewhere I'll never find them. Please Jason. Take these monsters away."
He smiled and took the box. "Of course. I'll hide them tomorrow," he said.
"Oh!" I exclaimed. "Give me one of them!"
He raised his eyebrow and inconspicuously (or so he thought) pushed the box behind him.
"Please? I'm going to do something with it, I just want to try something!" I held my hand out and he gingerly placed a blade in my palm.
I took some cello tape that I had used to make my poster collage, and stood in front of my huge MCR poster. I took the blade and held it up to Gerard's face, sticking it in place with the tape.
"See? As a reminder. Every time I want to self harm, I'll have to come here to get the blade. And because it's on Gerard's face, I'll have to look at him, and I won't want to do it anymore."
He nodded uncertainly. "I see what you mean. But if I come here, and I see that the blade has been moved, I'm taking it. No arguments. Deal?"
I nodded. "Deal."
He walked over to me, and stood in front of me, millimetres apart. He tilted my chin up and his lips brushed mine as he said, "Here's to recovery."