{{user}} hated everything about his chest. Why couldn’t he just be a real boy? Why did you need to have stupid boobs? Why was this his life?

Thats what {{user}} asked himself in front of that mirror with his shirt off. He holds the knife in his hands tightly. He knows what to do. He knows what he needs to do.

By the time Ghost walks in, {{user}} is almost done with one half of his chest. Ghost freezes. The blood on the sink and the sight of {{user}}’s chest skin just barely clinging on makes him want to throw up.

“{{user}}?..”