Can’t
You’re… home alone. Asgore and Frisk had to go to a meeting, which, although sparse, still have to happen at some point or another. Toriel actually decided to go with them, of course having no problem, as she had been the queen. You’re almost surprised she went, considering her distaste for Asgore, though you have a feeling that Frisk did some finagling on their part for that result. You’re kind of happy for them though. They’re obviously not going to get back together any time soon, or even at all, but it’s nice that they’re becoming friendly again. It ceases a whole lot of previous tension in the house, but besides that, they both deserve it. They’ve both have been through so much, and deserve to not have to put energy towards holding a grudge over what the other did. Not like Asgore ever held much of a grudge, he’s too much of a softie. But you could tell he held some resentment to Toriel, and it’s better for them both that they forgive each other. Forgive, but not forget.
Undyne and Alphys also had plans today, a nice day out on the beach. Well, really not a “nice day”, considering it’s still winter and just barely above freezing. But, you figure, Undyne has always been one of those hardcore types, and Alphys will go along just to be with her. Plus, as Undyne put it, “The beaches will be empty because no one else except the extremists will be there!” You have a feeling Alphys isn’t going to go swimming. She’ll probably just watch Undyne, the dork she is. And also, Undyne called up the canine unit from Snowdin, which you know they won’t mind the cold, and Alphys will have someone to talk to if she gets bored of watching Undyne or wants to socialize. Which you doubt either will happen.
And Papyrus went out for a job interview at some restaurant place. You, of course, had to look it up before he went there to apply. It was a small breakfast restaurant, quiet, quaint. You’re surprised Papyrus even wanted to interview there, seeing as it’s the perfect representation of the opposite of his personality. You figure though, that’s probably why it appealed so much to him. He probably feels like he could “liven it up” or something like that. Which would be super cool of him to do. You really hope he gets the job, seeing as it’s his dream to work in restaurant. Well, not his actual dream of being a world renowned pasta chef, but, hey, you gotta start somewhere. And his spaghetti, though you would never admit to him, still tastes… interesting.
You want him to get the job, you really do. But… There’s a selfish part of you that doesn’t want him to get it. Because then you’ll not see him as often as you do now. And maybe you’ll reach a point where you absolutely need him to be with you, but he’ll be at work. It’s a selfish thought, and it fills your mind for a moment before you push it to the back of your head. Which, would have worked, had you not had that space in your mind occupied by something else caused by that original thought: guilt. You feel guilty for even having such a thought. How could you? Papyrus has already done so much more than he has needed to, and yet you still crave more? You would have him sacrifice his dream for your own egotistical needs, because you lust for attention? Because you need someone to tend to every single negative thought you have, because you’re too pitiful to do it yourself?
You sit up on the couch you were previously laying upon, deciding to try and distract yourself by maybe getting a small snack and watching tv. Your appetite hasn’t improved much really, but you’ve been conscious of making sure you eat at least something everyday. Usually, at least one whole meal, usually for dinner, and something small for breakfast and lunch. Since there’s nobody home to make lunch for you, you take the task on yourself, deciding on the strenuous activity of preparing yourself a bag of chisps.
Entering the kitchen, the first thing you notice is the gleam of the light coming in from the window reflecting against a kitchen knife on the counter. Your initial instinct is to put it away, as what else are you supposed to do, but you pause. Your mind goes blank for what you can assume is a solid minute.
A strange thought comes to your mind. Weren’t you on suicide watch? Why have you been left alone? Now, thinking about it, this is the first time you’ve been left in the house by yourself since… well… that. Had everyone decided that you’re finally better enough to be trusted to your own actions? Had they simply forgotten or didn’t realise that everyone but you had plans? Or, the hideous thought comes to your mind, maybe they don’t care. Maybe they don’t even care anymore if you kill yourself. Why would they, they’re all aware of the RESETS now, right? So maybe they figure if you kill yourself now, it’ll RESET anyways, and maybe their future (or past?) selves won’t have to deal with you.
Of course, that’s ridiculous, you tell yourself, pushing the thought away. Or, you try, as it still lingers at the back of your mind. You look again at the knife. You should put it away. You should. You should.
But… No one's here. No one would know if you… No. There’s no reason. You’re better! You are better and there’s absolutely no reason to do that.
Something in your mind compels you however, to move towards the knife, not with the purpose of putting it away. You pick it up, gripping it tightly in your hands, fists shaking because of your hold. You roll up your sweatshirt sleeve on one arm, and switch the knife into your other hand.
You look at the old scars littering your wrist. They look so.. faded now. Of course, some there are still deep and very obvious, looking like they won’t ever go away. But the rest are small. Insignificant. You almost internally challenge yourself to make bigger ones, deeper ones, more permanent ones.
It’s funny, because there’s no reason for this. There’s literally no reason to do this, that you think you want to do it merely out of habit. There’s nothing wrong with your life, in fact, it’s only gotten better! So why…? Why do you have the great urge to jab the knife into your bone, digging out your wrists like caves. Why do you want to stab yourself a million times over, brining you to the edge of death, but not quite there, because you do not deserve death’s release.
You’re insane. That’s your conclusion. You’ve finally gone insane after all this time. Or maybe you’ve actually been this way for a long while, but only now have realized. Haha. You’re insane!
Your push the whole edge of the knife against your bone, not even deep enough to leave a mark, but only as a preparation. It’s like an itch that you didn’t realize that you had, but know that you're focused on it, it’s become so much more prominent. But the solution in right there. Right in your hands. You take a deep breath, preparing to press down.
And, yet, somehow you can’t. You can’t force yourself to. Maybe that makes you weak. You are weak. You can’t even handle a little pain anymore, can you? Mind you, pain that you so rightfully deserve anyways. You had done much, much worse to yourself over much more petty things. So why now…? Why can’t you? Why can’t you do it?
Your hands still shake, and you pull the knife away from your body, still clutching it tightly in the air. You want to, you want to so bad. But, you can’t. Because somewhere, something in your subconscious is telling you you can’t. Because you’re stronger now, you’ve been through so much more.
You now have a reason to exist. A purpose.
And it doesn’t feel like it. In fact, you feel the worst you have in weeks. But that small, small fact in your mind still prevents you from doing what you want so desperately. You don’t want that thought to be there. You’d rather have to not care and just do it because you obviously deserve it. You can’t though, and you wish you could.
You put the knife away in the drawer, not trusting yourself to be able to stop again if you see it a second time.