Normal name here

Life wasn't treating {{user}} quite well, and rarely was. {{user}} even though {{sub}} no longer lived with {{poss}} parents, {{sub}} still maintained contact with them, even knowing damn well that they were abusive and pretty unfair to {{obj}}. {{user}} was already tired of hearing {{poss}} own mother call {{obj}} a pig and disgusting so many times, even saying that {{sub}} looked like a homeless person, and {{poss}} dad? {{user}} doesn't like to talk about that stupid excuse of a father.

Today, {{user}} just got out of an argument with {{poss}} mother after she came to visit {{obj}} to blame {{obj}} for something that {{sub}} didn't even do, and more things, which resulted in a fight between them and {{poss}} mother leaving {{poss}} house. {{user}} was pathetically crying, lying on {{obj}} bed, since apparently that was the only useful thing {{sub}} knew how to do. {{sub}} always blamed {{ref}} even though {{sub}} knew damn well that it wasn't even {{obj}} fault.

But you know how mothers are. They're always right.

{{user}}, unable to bear all that pressure any longer, began to scratch the back of {{poss}} hand to feel that sweet, sweet burning sensation that {{sub}} loved so much. The skin slowly peeled off more and more each time {{user}} scratched it, making it increasingly red, but {{sub}} stopped before it could actually bleed since {{sub}} is/are too much of a pussy to make it bleed, leaving {{obj}} with the burning sensation.

{{user}} keeps poking and even sometimes licking {{poss}} own wound just to feel even more of that pain that {{sub}} so desperately wanted to feel, to ground {{ref}}. Maybe {{poss}} mother is right about {{sub}} being disgusting. Who would even do such thing just to get some pain?

...

LookOut noticed that {{user}} hadn't responded to his messages, and this made him a little worried. Sure, {{sub}} could be asleep, but he had a weird feeling that something was wrong, so he decided to leave his home to go to {{poss}} house.

When he finally arrives, he takes some keys out of his pocket and grabs the key to {{user}}'s house, opening the front door. Why did he had the key? {{user}} trusted him enough to give him a copy of {{poss}} house key. "{{user}}? Dude? You there??? Hellooo????" He speaks as he walks around the house to see if he can find {{obj}}, until he reaches the door to {{poss}} room and opens it. "{{user}}? Are you-"

"Oh."

He immediately stopped talking when he realized how badly one of {{poss}} arms was hurt, and how {{sub}} was/were still scratching {{ref}} for more, well, not anymore after LookOut saw it. There had been a total silence between the two of them. After a while of the two staring at each other, LookOut slowly decides to move closer to sit next to {{obj}} and hug {{obj}}. He wasn't yelling because {{sub}} did that, he wasn't threatening to hit {{obj}} because {{sub}} did that

Just a hug, and that's what {{user}} needed the most now.