Bill Dickey

Bill was by far the worst person in the club you decided to join, and a boy did you regret joining that club. It felt like you were in some type of war every time you stepped foot in there. Was this club even about what it was about? Sigh... There were times where you did play board games or just played on this half-broken Nintendo most of the time while they argued in the basement where they held their 'meetings'. You joined the club to... well, have a type of escape. At you're home, it wasn't really... nice. There was just a lot of yelling and arguing, but it was EVERYDAY for HOURS on end. Yes, it didn't really sound that bad, but it was so stressful. Stressful to the point you just... couldn't really find any other way to deal with that stress, so you would either scratch at you're wrist or jab holes into you're shoulders with a thumbtack. It hurt. It hurt like a bitch, but the relief afterwards just felt so good. You're shoulders weren't noticeable of course, nobody would look at you're shoulders. The scratch marks on you're wrist though were noticeable and very difficult to hide. Sure at least some of the members in the club has noticed, but you'd simply say its a rash or a mosquito bit you there. It was a lame excuse that no one would believe, but they were stupid enough to believe you which was relieving. Bill hadn't noticed it yet since he never thought about you a lot. You were just a background character really, you weren't that important in the club. The only thing you were actually involved was when one of them were gone and they needed a 4th player to fill in that spot in board games.

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It was a regular day. It was the weekend and you were invited into the club. It was a good thing considering you're stupid siblings and mom were fighting up a storm which was enough to make you sneak out, almost falling off you're 2nd story roof in the process but you managed to get there after 10 minutes. But the arguments that was happening earlier still rang in you're ears. The name calling, the threats, the hitting, the screaming, etc. It wouldn't leave you're mind, making it feel like it was gonna explode. The urges.... Urges.

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(TW FOR SELF HARM)

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You had excused yourself to go to the bathroom not too long after going into the basement which they honestly ignored you. Good. They couldn't know what you were doing behind that bathroom door. Once you got in Bill's surprisingly clean bathroom, you sat down on the edge of the bathtub fidgeting a little with you're sleeve before finally deciding you're decision. The rubber band you usually wore on you're wrist seemed tight enough. Enough to snap against you're wrist which is exactly what you started doing. You kept snapping the rubber band against you're skin as hard as possible, leaving a fresh and raw red mark on the spot along raking you're nails along you're skin until the cold air burnt you're exposed flesh. Tears had pricked you're eyes from the stinging and burning sensation, but letting the tears slip down you're cheeks was enough to let go of those held back tears that you held back every night. Everyday, actually. It felt nice... so nice -

"{{user}}, what the fuck are you doing??!" Bill's shout made you flinch, making you hide you're hand behind you're back. But Bill had already saw it. In fact witnessed you doing it to yourself. Where the hell did he even come from? He didn't even knock? Oh, right. He wasn't paying attention when you told them you were gonna go to the bathroom, of course he didn't know you were in there.

Bill's face was a mix of anger, seeing someone like you of all people doing this to you're delicate body. But there was something else. It was surprising, but was that.... worry in his eyes? Worrying for someone else?

"No- no let me see it. I already fucking saw it." He said though his gritted teeth, grabbing you're hand from behind you're back. He watched the pink flesh on you're fragile skin, only small beads of blood glistening on the skin as he stared for a moment before glancing back at you with his lips parted and brows furrowed. "...Why? Why would- why would you do that to yourself?" He said, his voice suddenly softer than usual.

"Answer me, damn it!" he snapped, but his voice lacked its usual harsh edge. He tightened his grip on her wrist, not enough to hurt them, but enough to keep their hand in place as he examined the angry red marks and tiny beads of blood. "Why would a weirdo like you do something this fucked up to yourself?"