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Character A is a guy, Character B is his girlfriend.
They live together, alone. They don't really have any friends close by that come over on a regular basis.
Character A is a streamer. He streams with friends on twitch, playing random video games. He has a decent amount of followers. Around 1-2 million. He also happens to be a youtuber but that's not important.
Character A is in a bit of a pickle. He isn't depressed. He's not. Life is great. He has a beautiful girlfriend, he's financially stable, he's somewhat famous, things are going great.
He just likes cutting up his skin once in a while. It's enamoring. It's a dumb habit, flares up every couple of years. But he's gained the courage to go deeper this time around. He hides the blood in rolled up wads of toilet paper and throws it in the trash.
One evening, he's playing a 5-6 hour game with a friend on twitch. He's got a couple thousand viewers on twitch at the moment. He's having fun, making jokes about the dumb game they're playing, when he's suddenly startled by the sound of his door slamming open behind him.
He turns around and sees his girlfriend holding red-stained tissue in her hands and waving it in his face.
He's so jarred he doesn't even mute himself or turn off his camera, no time. His girlfriend is furious at him.
"What the fuck is this?" she says. "Did you have a girl over?"
Character A barely gets a chance to explain anything, girlfriend suddenly steps closer, hand raised.
He flinches, visibly so.
"Damn, Jesus I'm not gonna hit you. Who did you have at our house?"
He's embarrassed at flinching, but he pleads.
"Please, not now, it's not what you think it is"
Character B refuses.
"No, now is the perfect time. Tell me, which bitch did you sleep with? Fuck.. it was recent too. What the fuck? I thought we were good?"
He's shaking. He can feel the itch flaring up. He needs his blade. He needs to feel the blood dripping down his hands, on to the tiled bathroom floor. He holds on tight to the hems of his sleeves. No one can know.
"B, please I promise we'll talk about this just let me end stream first?"
"Fine, you have 5 minutes."
She storms out, slamming the door again.
He turns back around.
A sudden whirlwind of emotions hit him. His throat closes up.
"Hey, dude? Did you do something?" His friend asks over the discord call.
Character A manages to say no. But nothing more. He ends stream, making sure it has disconnected completely.
He has to fix this.
He gets up, he's still shaking. He can feel a fog clouding his brain, but he continues forward.
B is waiting in the bathroom, he can see her.
He walks up to her, still holding tight on to his sleeves.
She can't find out. But she needs to know he wasn't unfaithful.
"B, I promise, no one except you and I have been in this house since my parents came over"
"So what are you saying then? Because these perfectly rolled bloody tissues aren't mine."
"I... I don't know"
B pauses, she takes a look at her boyfriend. His eyes are married to the ground. He can't stop fidgeting with his hands. He's shuffling from side to side.
"Fuck, fine. Don't tell me. You're sleeping on the couch tonight. Don't come to the bedroom for any reason"
"Okay"
---
B leaves the bathroom. A locks the door behind him. His second razor blade is hidden within all his shaving tools.
It doesn't get any less scary. The blade is sharp. It makes shallow cuts. Drawing blood isn't difficult, but it takes multiple cuts to bring a drop of blood to the surface.
He cuts 20 in one spot, watches the blood slowly bubble up. It coagulates. He hates when it does that. He wants to see it run down his arm. He cuts more. Not too deep.
It hurts enough. He doesn't clean it up.
He rolls down his sleeve, the thick material soaks up some of the blood, but he let's it hang off his skin.
He doesn't eat for the night, sleeping on their living room couch without checking his phone.
The clip of B storming into his room has went semi viral. Rumors of him cheating has spread across Twitter.
That's what he sees when he wakes up.
He quickly logs on to Twitter and states it's a misunderstanding.
He is faithful. He will always be faithful.
Most understand, but some are skeptical, waiting for a proper explanation.
He says he will stream again tonight to make up for yesterday's mishap.
His friend texts him, asking for the truth.
A restates the same thing. He will always be faithful.
He streams again that night. Different game. He easily forgets the situation, immersed in the game. He's playing alone.
He reaches for his water bottle with his injured arm. His sleeve hitches down.
He nearly chokes as he quickly brings his arm out of sight of the camera.
But its too late. They saw.
'What the **** was that?'
'A, did you get hurt?'
...
'Are those self-harm cuts?'
People go back and screenshot that frame. They repost it on Twitter.
It's clear, in nearly HD quality. Nearly mutilated skin where clean, pale skin should be.
A sits there, hesitant. He's not sure what to do.
He continues the game. Acts like nothing happened.
A lot of people piece the puzzle together. The blood, it's his. That should've been obvious. But the way the tissues were rolled up made it seem like it was a girl's.
It doesn't take long for the screenshot to reach Bs Twitter page.
She sees it. And she can't believe it.
She calmly enters A's room. He's once again deep into the game. It's one of his favorite games. He's making offhand jokes, mere attempts at commentary.
He's trying to cover up his mistake. It's not working. He avoids looking over at chat.
Chat is screaming. Positive comments flood the pop up. Some are worried. Some are wishing well. A lot are shocked. Very few are criticizing. Calling him a teenage girl. Those people get banned immediately by the mods.
B comes up behind A, she gently takes off his headphones, her hands back on his shoulders.
"Lets say bye to the stream love, we need to talk"
He's startled, but understands. It's over.
He says sorry and ends the stream
B turns A in his chair to face her.
She holds his left hand gently, and rolls up his sleeve.
The inside of it is bloody, she ignores it.
His arm is covered in scars and cuts. She's never noticed the scars before. She guesses they were very old. Faded.
The cuts are somewhat deep, having been run through again and again. But they're not infected.
She kneels down, and looks up at him. His eyes are glossed over. He's not here. His mind is far away.
She tips his chin, caresses his cheek. That brings him to look at her.
"Do you want to stop?" She rubs his arm, gesturing to the cuts.
He shakes his head.
"Can you talk?"
Again, no.
"Okay bud, let's talk tomorrow. Come, we can go to bed. Unless you're hungry?"
A subtle shake.
"Alright then. Let's go."
She holds on to him, bringing him up to stand. She leads him back to their bedroom.
He curls up in bed, away from the center. She climbs in after him. One arm hung over him, gently holding his hand.
He rests, uneasy, his secret uncovered. How can he continue now? Now that everyone knows?