TW (contains self-harm and stuff. reader discretion is advised)
He didn't know how he got home. Everything, from getting a taxi to unlocking his apartment, was a daze. It was like he was operating on autopilot mode, doing things but his mind was completely elsewhere. His eyes still had the dead look, the shine in them lost somewhere.
He looked around, his own place unfamiliar to him. Where... where was the second jacket that always used to be here, hung on the coat rack? He began to hurriedly look around, trying to find it, despite knowing that it and its owner had long ago left.
When he didn't find it even after trashing the whole living room, he clutched his hair in pain. Tears sprang to his eyes, legs trembling as reality hit him. Something seemed to get in him as he suddenly broke into a run, heading to the bathroom.
He slammed the door open and stumbled in front of the sink. Edward really erased any trace of himself, huh. The two toothbrushes that used to give so much joy to August every morning, reminding him of his beloved, were no longer there. A lone brush stood there, the cup looking strangely desolate, as if weeping its own misery.
He finally couldn't hold it in anymore. His insides were in turmoil, every passing second paining him more. "Huh... he's not... not here..."
Even imagining a life without him made him shudder, weak in the knees as he fell down. He had gotten so used to Edward that he didn't even try to clutch onto something, thinking, as always, Edward would hold him, hug him before he fell. He stumbled harshly, elbow banging on the marble making him wince.
He took no notice of the dripping blood or pain, as this physical trauma was nothing compared to what he was going through inside. He was used to these kinds of wounds anyway. After all, that's what he deserves, right? Because he's bad. He's crazy. It's because of him people become sad; it's because of him Edward, a person so kind, became like this. Maybe the reason Felicia abused him was this too... maybe he was the one unlovable and prone to hate? Felicia isn't the villain; it's him. It's just that he victimizes himself so much that people tend to think of her as the bad guy.
August clutched the edges of the sink, steadying himself. He looked up to come face to face with an unfamiliar boy, his expression haggard. Somehow, even his reflection didn't feel his own anymore. It's like that, along with all his traces, Edward took all of him too. Nothing felt the same anymore, not even his own body.
Even now, looking in the mirror, he couldn't see August; rather, he saw someone crazy, someone to be hated. Edward really... made him hate his own self so much.
He laughed self-deprecatingly, looking straight in the mirror at his own puffy eyes and dark circles. His hair was messed, clothes crumpled. He really looked awful. No wonder Edward left him.
He mocked, "Are you happy now? Huh? Are you?! Edward left you, okay?" pointing at the mirror, he continued, "You're crazy; that's the reason everyone leaves. So stop playing the victim, stop saying you're just a loner, okay? You're trash. Not Edward."
He suddenly yelled, "Okay?! You're trash! TRASH, TRASH, TRASH!" he banged his fist on the mirror, attempting to punch the boy inside. His hand collided with the hard glass, cracking it. He didn't care; however, blood stained his knuckles became as he continued punching the glass until he couldn't see himself in it anymore.
Even smashing the mirror didn't seem to put his heart at ease. He clutched his face with his bloodied knuckles, not caring about anything. His vision got blurry from crying too much as he stood there, alone. After a long time, he cried alone, with no Edward to pull him into a hug, or to tell him it's alright. It's been a really long time since he had to use those bandages, huh.
He didn't know till when he stood in the bathroom, not having the energy to move or think. He just stood there, merely existing.
"Ah," August hissed in pain as he disinfected his wounds. His hands were already very skilled in this, all too well used to the process. He'll have a mental breakdown, injure himself, and then treat those wounds. Seems like after all, he can live without him. See, his body's already adjusting.
But... who exactly would he be without Edward? August, his own self? But would it really be so if Edward, who helped him find his own self, wasn't there? Or would he just be a shell of a person, someone who managed to ruin even Edward?
He got up and brushed himself, expression stable as if nothing was wrong. He was strangely calm as he put the antiseptic and bandages in their respective places, no tears, nothing. Was the pain already subsiding? Or maybe, he's just too burnt out to show emotions anymore. Maybe he's just empty, eyes too dry to cry anymore.
August shut himself in, not even bothering to take his classes. He was afraid... afraid he'll see Edward, afraid he'll beg him to come back like a pathetic idiot again.
His phone was cluttered with missed calls and messages, but he couldn't care less.
It rang yet again, but he made no movement to pick it up. He just sat on the bed lifelessly, not having the will or energy to pick it up.