TW

Fatherly gestures of care, tentative hands brushed overtop stinging lacerations.

He never understood your goals in this. How this was supposed to serve as a coping mechanism. To him, the neatly carved, glaring red parallel lines were naught but horrific. A sight that, without fault, caused him to wince and choke down a gasp each time.

“…Please stop doing this.” Eventually came the hoarse murmur, on one of the many nights of bandaging your self inflicted wounds.