Chapter Text
Miya stared ahead at the wall in front of him. He was supposed to be doing his school work, but instead it lay scattered on the desk in front of him, not a single question answered.
He’d told himself he could do it at the start of the school year. That he could push through one week after the next. That he could do his work and earn top grades as always. That he could continue to skate at a professional level. That he could stay on top of all his responsibilities at home. That he could keep up his innocent, wide eyed innocent and sweet school boy persona.
But he couldn’t.
His parents used to be proud of him. He knew that, even though after every skating match he won they’d say that his opponents were just weaker than normal. That the judges were going to easy on them. He knew they were proud of them, even when they’d read his report card and ask why he’d gotten over a 100% on a subject, only to say the teacher had been lax. That he was good at bullshitting on his essays. He knew they were proud of him even when they’d tell him he needed to go out with friends more and get off his tech. That he needed to do more and look into jobs. That he needed to expand his life more because what he excelled at was never enough. He knew they were proud of him because they always told him before mentioning the others. They would say so before the inevitable “but”. That one word which would always, without fail, follow whenever they mentioned those few words he craved more than anything.
But they hadn’t said those two tiny words for years. But it still carried over, right? It had to. Except that it didn’t anymore. He wasn’t getting his chores done anymore and arguments or yelling would always ensue. His grades were dropping and they always voiced their concern before getting mad at him. He wasn’t attending as many skating tournaments anymore and kept messing up in practice. His coach would shake his head and tell him to get back on his feet. That he could do better because he always used to be.
No one cared that he wouldn’t shower for weeks. No one cared that he barely had the energy to play his games anymore. No one cared he either slept all the time or none at all. No one cared that he never ate anymore. Because those things didn’t matter because he didn’t matter. Really, when had he, himself, ever mattered? His grades mattered. His skating mattered. His chores mattered. But he didn’t. It was that simple. Always had been.
Stupid stupid Miya. Around Reki, Langa, and his skater dads he had deceived himself. Had let his stupid little brain think that maybe he did matter. That maybe his feelings mattered. And look where that had gotten him.
Missing classes because he wasn’t self harming anymore to spur himself on. Not driving himself to exhaustion skating because maybe he should take care of himself. Not doing his chores because maybe he needed to be around his friends instead of being left in his head.
Healthy coping mechanisms his ass. They’d destroyed his life. Everything was so much better when he’d pushed himself to the point of self harm and throwing up his own meals. Everything had been so much better then. Because people were proud of his achievements and by effect, tolerated him. Tolerated him of all people because of the benefits they’d reap by being close to him.
He snapped himself out of his daze, out of staring at that wall in front of him and yanked out his drawer, a psychotic smile coming over his face as his finger skimmed over razor blades. The old Miya was back and it was time for the show to go on. It was time to be successful again.
And if self harm was the key, the crutch he had to lean on to get his way, then so be it.