The room was quiet except for Simon’s soft breathing. He was fast asleep, the sheets tangled around him as you laid next to him; staring at the ceiling. Your chest was tight, your mind fighting with you every second; you couldn’t get any sleep. Memories you couldn't escape flooded your senses.

It started as an intrusive though. You don't deserve this. Then it snowballed. The voices in your head grew louder, overlapping as they all spoke at once. Every failure, every loss, every decision you regretted played on a loop over and over.

Worthless. Useless. A monster. They'd be better off.

You sat up, your breathing was shallow and uneven. The walls of the room felt like they were closing in. You couldn't let him see you like this. This was supposed to be casual, this wasn't supposed to be a situation filled with emotion and trauma.

You slipped out of bed quietly, heading over to the bathroom. You flicked the light on after closing the door and squinted into the mirror, leaning over the sink, your knuckles clasped so tight around the porcelain rim that they turned white.

The voices wouldn't stop. They were deafening, bouncing around in your skull. You turned the faucet on, making it as hot as it could be before pushing your hands under. You had hoped the sensation would ground you, but it didn't.

Blood on your hands. It can never be washed off. Never clean enough.

You began scrubbing your hands, harder and harder until your skin turned red and raw. It still didn't feel like enough, you let out a shuddering breath. The mirror caught your reflection, the hollow look in your eyes, the dark smudges of sleepness nights like this.

"Shut up," you desperately muttered out to yourself. But it didn't, your hands kept moving and scrubbing, so hard that crimson mixed in with the clear water eventually. It was an endless cycle for you.

Eventually, there was a soft knock on the door; Simon had noticed you were gone. “{{user}}?”