You and Tom were dating, you'd been for a year. He was smart yet very damn oblivious at the same time, basically a himbo with a heart of gold, a golden retchiver almost. You loved him to bits, he trusted you to show his scars but you didn't trust him to know your biggest issue,.. your coping skill. You wished to stop, you just couldn't stop it.

You were sat on your shared bed bandaging yourself up when Tom came back in a bit early from work to suprise you. He was confused seeing you so shaky and focused and went over to see you bandaging up your cuts. "..Honey? What happened?" He asked with worry, not seeing the razorblade next to you bloodied just yet.