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There was nothing special about the day; it was simple, ordinary, and uneventful. No impending deadlines, all of his meetings with clients went well, and for once it even looked like he was going to be able to pay rent on time. By all means it should've been a good day; it is a good day. So why did he feel the pinpricks of anxiety creeping up his spine, the way the collar of his shirt was rubbing uncomfortably on the back of his neck, and the chill of the doorknob under his grip? Why did he feel like he needed to rid the world of his pitiful existence?
Kaveh had barely taken two steps into his house when his legs stalled beneath him, forcing him to fall on his hands and knees. The door clicked shut behind him, but it was barely audible over the gasps heaving out of his chest. The sweat dripping down his neck made the feeling of his shirt rubbing against his neck even more unbearable.
Grabbing the collar of his shirt, he pulled, trying to pry it away from his skin so hard he could hear the seams cracking as they ripped. His chest was tightening with every breath, but no matter how hard he pulled, nothing would stop the feeling of his airways closing on him. Every sound was amplified tenfold, from the sound of his ragged breaths to the steady ticking of the clock that rests above the divan. It was 4:52; Al’Haitham would be back soon. He needed to pull himself together, and quickly. There was no way in Celestia Kaveh was going to let anyone see him in this state. He reached out and steadied himself on the wall as he stood up; his fingers and palms stung from how hard he was gripping his shirt.
He wasn't new to these episodes; they came on randomly and could end just as fast. But sometimes they lingered, and he needed to give an extra push to get his mind back to a regular pace. Standing up definitely took some effort, but he managed to stumble to his room, pulling the door shut behind himself. It slammed because of how fast he closed it.
A hazy fog was slowly covering his field of vision, making it harder to think. He blinked hard trying to clear it, but it only brought him back to the fact that salty tears wouldn't stop pouring from his eyes and down his cheeks.
Kaveh was losing control. Of both himself and his emotions, it scared him. He had just finally gotten his life back to normal, or as normal as it could be.
Then-
What was wrong?
Why did he feel like this?
The clock kept methodically ticking, 4:57. He had time. The familiar feeling of buzzing underneath his skin was sinking in; this was his control, his pride on the line.
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Simply put, Kaveh’s room is a mess. But within the mess is a system; he knew where everything was, so he never bothered to clean it because then he would have to memorize everything's locations again, and that seemed rather inconvenient.
There were a variety of knives and box cutters in Kaveh's room, and they were all in pristine condition minus a bit of clay on the handles. When he had these urges, he never used anything he needed. Why would he waste a tool meant for the creation of beautiful things on this wretched vessel he called his body?
In the bottom of the left desk drawer sat a small tin. Years ago it had held several small sunsettia candies. With the prior contents long gone, now the box was filled with old box cutter blades. When they became too dull for his projects, Kaveh snapped them in half and put them in the tin. They may not be sharp enough to cut through the dense paper he uses for his models, but the points from the snapped edges could still draw blood.
In most other circumstances his mind was clearer for this process, so he went to the bathroom to set up a towel to protect his sheet. Kaveh's head was spinning too fast to consider these consequences, though. His back slammed into his headboard as he shakily opened the tin; it was an unfortunate angle for all the blades to fall out. Some landed next to him on the bed, and some caught on the bottom hem of his shirt.
It didn't matter. Kaveh grabbed the first blade he saw and started to dig it into any patch of skin he could find. The blood bubbled up like shining rubies, gemstones pooling out of his body. Some may call this destructive, but to Kaveh it was art. What is life if not to find its hidden beauty?
One turned to two, two to four, and soon his skin was slathered in warm red liquid. Laying back on his bed, Kaveh lifted his arm over his head, staring at his work. The blood was still running thickly out of the cuts, the whitish yellow fat visible as red dripped down onto his face.
It was beautiful; he had made many things, but this remained one of his favorites. His body was laced with cruel white ribbons of scars. Zoning out thinking about his newly acquired art, he heard the front door click, and that was enough to temporarily snap him out of his fog to realize the dire situation he was in.
“Shit, what am I supposed to do?” Kaveh said as he looked around from his bloodstained sheets to his ruined clothes and caked drying blood on his body.
He stood up quickly to go to the bathroom, but he must have underestimated the amount of blood he lost because as soon as he did, the world got fuzzy and he almost smashed his face into the ground.
“Kaveh, what are you banging on now?” Al’haitham questioned through the door; of course he was being too loud, he was being a nuisance again. Why was he still here? Kaveh went to open his mouth, but the pain from landing on his butchered body only allowed him to let out a pained gasp.
The space around him had become a blackish-grey haze; the only thing grounding him was the constant dripping of blood down his arms in a slimy, repugnant pattern. Kaveh didn't know how long it had been when he felt something wrap around his body before being lifted off the ground.
He wasn't sure what his fate was going to be, but he did feel a wave of calm come over him. Giving into the wave, he closed his eyes and fell into a long overdue slumber.
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Kaveh kept floating in and out of consciousness. At one point he could tell he was in a warm bath; the next he felt the sting as his wounds were being cleaned and bandaged. By the time he opened his eyes, he was lying on a bed. The room was so calm and peaceful you could almost forget what had happened just hours earlier.
Kaveh was aware that it wasn't his room; he wasn't too sure how to feel about it but wasn't surprised. His room was soaked in the evidence of his self-hatred, so he was grateful he didn't have to face that yet.
He looked over at his hand that was lying to the left of him. Al’haitham had fallen asleep with his back leaning against the side of the bed with his fingers intertwined with Kaveh's.
It made him smile, and maybe, just maybe, he had finally found his reason to keep living.