hello! i have never read worm before, and now i am going to! well, probably at least some of it. my girlfriend really likes it (and all of the other ones too) and she has told me lots about it over time, so i do have a little knowledge going in (but really not much). she actually has told me that i probably would not like it lol!! but i think it would be fun to try, and that it would be funny to surprise her one day by telling her ive read the whole thing behind her back. and i think if i post about my progress reading it, i might be more motivated to continue! so, i hope that i will have fun reading and interacting with the people here! yay!
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In some circles, Declan was known as the Harbinger of Disease or, familiarly, Pestilence. Supposedly healthy, well adjusted friend groups would welcome him in, only for diagnoses to befall them one by one.
It wasn’t Declan’s fault, per se. He wasn’t quite old enough to understand when worried parents sat him down in a tastefully colorful office once a week for ‘arts and crafts’ with Ms. Kaminski. He’d caught on by the time he tried talk therapy and CBT, finally taught the vocabulary that came along with his conditions.
So was it ever such a coincidence that he recognized familiar behavior in others by the time high school rolled around?
He wore the title with pride, though. Before he was BurnaLive he was PestilencePlays, and the name still dredged up good memories. Pestilence brought people closer, in a way, when trauma-dumping finally died down into relatable complaints and comparisons. Finally, there were people other than his therapist who didn’t find it gross that he slept in his clothes and understood when he threw up all over his algebra final. And Declan didn’t care that they might leave him on read for fear of being a bother, or neglect to brush their teeth for a few weeks at a time.
Respect, however, never prevented a friendly debate.
“You don’t shower when you’re depressed?!” Declan’s voice had been squeakier back then and it flew across the table with sandwich crumbs in tow. “Sorry.”
“Uh, no? You think I have the energy for that?”
“The shower’s the only thing that makes it better!” he insisted. “Complete privacy, lights off, and you forget that life is supposed to be anything else. Plus, you can cry and people don’t come knocking!”
“You clearly never learned how to cry into a pillow.”
“For the last time, Sage, pillows are not breathable!”
Declan shuddered, snapping out of the memory. How long would it be until he gained the experience of being smothered with a pillow, too?
Water beat against his back in a warm thrum. He was supposed to be cleaning himself.
“Oh?”
Hasan had already tied him up the previous day when they noticed the bloody handprint on his thigh. He was surprised they hadn’t checked sooner, really.
“Now, we both know I haven’t broken skin for a few days, Dec. In fact, it was only last week that I did anything dramatic enough to facilitate this…” A hand swiped across bandaged ribs, the cuts no longer raw enough to sting. “Do I need to start worrying? Confiscating?”
“You really think I’d-”
“A papercut could’ve re-opened those on the second day. A fingernail, even.”
Declan squeezed his eyes shut. The handprint was still there because, after cleaning up the puddle of blood, it was finally a mark he’d left. That was it.
“I hate it when you do this.”
“You know that this is unacceptable, no matter when it happened. You should have showered since last week.”
“You know why I don’t fucking shower!” And that was the line. Hasan slipped that day’s knife out of their pocket and it wasn’t the butterfly. The curved blade of the karambit flipped out instead.
His gasp stuttered. It dug into his side, under his armpit, before splitting the bandage and playing his ribs like a güiro.
“Haah, ghh!” Declan folded forward for protection but the deed was already done. The new cut slashed through the four he’d nearly healed and, though it stopped before his hips, he already knew he’d be scrubbing the floor.
“I expect you to be clean by the time I’m home tomorrow.” They wiped the knife clean on his cheek and leaned in close. “Anything else I should know while we’re sharing secrets, darling?”
The water went lukewarm for the third time. The handle was already cranked to the max so Declan let it run colder and colder, waiting for the misery to shock his system into action. Old habits died hard, it seemed. Depression showers had never been for washing himself.
That’s where Hasan found him hours later, still waiting for relief to come.
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