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Saturday morning.
I had nothing to do and was bored out of my mind, so I wandered into Mark’s room.
He was sitting on his bed, attempting some kind of dangerous calligraphy.
When I looked at his left arm, he’d rolled up his sleeve, exposing that pale soft inner skin, and there were these uneven red letters lined up at perfect intervals.
It looked like some deranged typography experiment.
He was using the most primitive method humans have ever used to record language.
Nice going, Mark. You’re an avant‑garde artist now.
“What the hell are you doing…? That’s gotta hurt, right?”
“It doesn’t hurt as much as you’d think. Look.”
He was about to cut himself again with that calm face, so I grabbed his right wrist on instinct.
“Stop.”
“Don’t interfere. I’m not finished yet.”
“Well, sorry, but it’s kinda hard not to stop my mate when he’s making contemporary art out of his own blood.”
“It’s not contemporary art. It’s revenge. …Don’t touch me. If you touch me again, I’ll lash out.”
“How? You think you can take me in a fight?”
“I’ll— I’ll bite your testicles off. Like a snapping turtle that’s been rejected by every female in the pond and finally lost its mind.”
“Do whatever you want.”
I walked out of the room.
⸻
I was watching TV on the couch when Mark came into the living room, clutching his arm, looking awkward.
“Jeremy.”
“What.”
“I think I cut a bit too much…”
His face had gone pale. I grabbed a fistful of tissues—five or so—and rushed over.
At the end of the “lettering,” there was a particularly deep gouge. Blood had stained part of his shirt.
From my experience doing that nursing assistant gig, it didn’t look that bad, but he was shaken.
“What should I do…? Should I go to A&E? But I don’t want some doctor in emergency medicine seeing a stupid wound like this.”
“I’ll get a towel. Do we have anything that can work as a bandage?”
“Bandages and gauze. We have some. Third drawer down from the top, in the kitchen cupboard.”
Just as I thought, the bleeding stopped after he pressed the towel to it for a while.
Mark relaxed and got some colour back.
He didn’t bite my balls off after all. He just sat there, head down, and held his arm out like a sulky kid.
I opened the fresh packs of gauze and bandages. For some reason there was disinfectant and cotton, too.
I cleaned the wound, placed the gauze, and wrapped the bandage over it.
He flinched a little—the disinfectant must’ve stung—but he gritted his teeth and took it.
“Good thing it didn’t turn into a disaster. I’m not spending hours in a waiting room praying for my husband to survive.”
“Because I bought the first‑aid kit. Show some gratitude.”
“Yeah yeah. Thanks.”
He went quiet again.
“…Were you planning on emailing Sophie a photo of this? What’ll happen to the flat if you get arrested? I can’t pay all the rent myself.”
“If it gets you kicked out, that’s a bonus.”
…
I secured the bandage.
I tied it with ridiculous care, avoiding the injured bit, and stroked the uninjured part of his arm—just enough to poke at his guilt like a sharpened stick.
“Anyway, no more cutting yourself. If you still want revenge on Sophie, I’ll help. What do you want? Poison? Should we dig a pit?”
“I don’t care about revenge anymore.”
“Then what were you trying to do? This isn’t going to bring her back.”
“The wound was deep, you know. Pretty damn deep. And you were weirdly calm. I bet it hurt like hell.”
“Yeah… it hurt… a lot… I…”
He choked.
I looked at him, and saw tears gathering fast in his eyes. Oh crap.
Did I go too far?
“Sorry! Mark, I’m sorry, I only said that because I wanted you to understand—”
“No, Jeremy. It’s not your fault… none of this is your fault…”
His voice broke. And then the tears spilled over, big drops falling off the rims of his eyes.
His shoulders started trembling.
I’d never seen him like this.
I was the one panicking now.
I pulled him into my arms and rubbed his back. That usually calms people down… I think.
“I want to undo everything… go back before I messed it all up… talk to Sophie like I used to… have her smile at me again… If I had that, I wouldn’t need anything else. But I don’t even know what I did wrong…”
He said that, tears running down his face, holding back his sobs in my arms.
“It’s punishment.”
Poor Mark.
Me, I don’t cry over getting dumped anymore, but when I was a teenager I was probably this dramatic too.
It’s not that I’ve grown up—more that I’ve gone numb.
“Don’t cry like that… You just don’t have enough experience yet. One day you’ll figure out how to deal with this stuff.”
That was a lie.
If that were true, I wouldn’t still be stuck in the same cycle of hookups and breakups I’ve been in since forever.
He looked up at me, lashes wet, big brown eyes staring like he wanted to believe every word I’d said.
Idiot.
“You think so?”
“I do.”
I hugged him again.
Someone will hug me someday too. Hopefully not Mark.
He leaned against me, still sniffling.
His wool jumper scratched my cheek.
He was warm, soft—like a giant baby.
Not the worst feeling, honestly.
I didn’t want to think too hard about anything, so I rocked him back and forth like he was a toddler and sang some nonsense lullaby I made up.
But Mark didn’t even say “Stop it, you idiot,” like he usually would.
A grown man soothing another grown man—absolute hell.
I felt like crying myself.
God, please don’t ever do this again…
⸻
I thought crying would make me feel better, but the shame of breaking down in front of my flatmate is worse.
Now everything is painfully awkward.
My left arm feels heavy with the layers of bandage—so thick it’s like a cast.
Every time I have to change it I’ll see the cuts and spiral again.
And Jeremy will tease me to death about it, so I’d better thank him before he starts collecting interest on this “debt.”
I opened his door.
“Jeremy. About the bandage… thank you.”
“Yeah… don’t worry about it.”
“I won’t cut myself again.”
“Of course not. Otherwise I’ll have to monitor you 24/7. Even when you sleep. Even in the bath. And if you do it again, I’m calling the cops.”
“Fine. I won’t. I don’t want you freezing to death on the street in midwinter.”
He gave me a weird strained smile.
I smiled back and closed the door.
I’ve thanked the leech of a nurse who drank my blood.
Considering I pay half the rent here, we’re even now.
Sophie still probably hates me…
But after tonight, it’s hard to pretend I’m dealing with this alone.
I guess I’ll just have to accept it and move on to the next.
Until then, if things get too much, I can drag Jeremy out somewhere.
I was heading back to my room when Jeremy poked his head out of the door.
“Hey—if you ever feel like cutting again, tell me. I’ll tattoo you instead. I’ll ink ‘THE EL DUDE BROTHERS ARE COMING BACK!’ across your whole back.”
“That’s the one thing I refuse.”
He looked oddly relieved.