I want to say thank you to those who have responded to the bit I shared last chapter. I am so thankful that I am able to help at least a few of you with my story. I just want to say that I am in a much better place now and I really hope you are, too. If you ever need to talk, please don't be afraid to message me. I would be so happy to talk with you. Thank you so much, please stay safe, hon. You are loved and you are worth it *insert all my love here*

Back to the topic of the story: this is going to diverge from the original plot soon, so if you're just now tuning in, the next few chapters is the right time to do so. I'm really hoping to have these out soon, but honestly, I'm not making any promises :,) And this took a lot longer than I had expected. I had the majority of this written and done by the tiChristmasmas rolled around, but then I got really really sick before I could finish it. Seriously, it was like my body had straight-up forgotten what an immune systen was for a week and a half. Now I'm back in school and my classes take up most of my time, and the next few weeks will be extremely busy. But after that, I'm going to do my best to get these out in a reasonable time frame.

I'm exited for how this is all going to turn out ^^

Thank you for sticking with me, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

xxx

If the following tags are included in this chapter, they will be in italics and underlined.

DISCLAIMER: THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT LANGUAGE, DISCUSSIONS AND DESCRIPTIONS OF DEPRESSION, ANXIETY, GRAPHIC ANXIETY/PANIC ATTACKS, GRAPHIC SELF-HARM, SUICIDE, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, MENTAL ILLNESS IN GENERAL, (MENTIONED) PHYSICAL ILLNESS (EMETO), AND DISCUSSIONS OF DEATH. DO NOT READ THIS STORY IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THESE TOPICS.

xxx

Edward had tried to stop - he really, truly had. The 'scene' at the hospital was an eye-opener as to how bad it had gotten for sure, and he knew he couldn't let things continue any further than they had. He wasn't stupid; he knew the situation was already bad. But he didn't see just how dangerous it was. But Mustang's confrontation just made him feel all the more guilty and weak which was adverse to how he thought he would feel. He was weak because he couldn't stop even with help, even with someone knowing. Wasn't he supposed to feel better about this all, wasn't the problem supposed to go away?

He still couldn't believe the Colonel knew. How was he ever supposed to face him again? How were they supposed to speak, to act around each other? It would be awkward and strange and... Grossly intimate. Because this man knew his secret and watched him cry and hugged him. He knew and saw it all. And after that, things would never be able to turn back to the way they were. That isn't to mean he didn't enjoy it. He did even though he would never admit it. But now it filled him with pure dread and anxiety. Edward didn't know how to act for the first time in his life and it freaked him out.

And then the thoughts came that it was all fake. Perhaps spur-of-the-moment affection. A part of him was saying that Mustang was making it up, saying stupid, useless things that he didn't mean. The other part of Ed didn't want that to be the case. He was so internally divided. Half of him was grateful for the attention and the care he had received. The other half was regretful, embarrassed, and wished the conversation had never happened. Even throughout the inner debate, they weren't the only voices in his head. He couldn't really tell between the good and bad voices because the line between blurred into a murky grey. The thoughts confused him, disoriented him. Most of the time, though, the 'bad' voices won.

When Alphonse finally showed up to the hospital, Mustang had already left, being called off for some emergency at Central Headquarters. Roy had called him after Ed cleaned up his emotions, figuring that it would be worse to wait to notify the younger Elric. Edward was grateful for his absence. He couldn't let anything slip if he wasn't there, right? Alphonse was beside himself, nonetheless, which only made Ed feel worse about himself. Al didn't even know the whole story and he was already blaming himself. Once he had been informed about his brother's condition and hospitalization he was a mess of guilt.

"This is my fault, brother, I'm sorry," he said, voice quaking. "I should have known, I should have reminded you to eat more. I'm sorry, brother."

No matter how much Ed told him that it wasn't his fault, that it was no way related to him, the Al continued to let the misplaced guilt eat at him. Edward was only more and more confident in his choice to keep quiet, even as the guilt chewed him away. If he felt so bad about this, how would he take the depression? The self-harm? There was no way that he was going to tell his brother about it. Even though a part of him, a very, very small part at that, wanted to.

He did his best to reassure Al, wanting anything else than for him than to worry himself senseless.

"It's okay, Al. This isn't your fault, I swear."

"It's nothing, really."

"It's me, not you."

"I'm fine, stop worrying about it."

"Look, I promise to eat more."

"Alphonse, I'm fine."

The suit of armor didn't seem convinced in the slightest. He seemed suspicious along with the guilt, unlike his usual trustworthy nature, which set off warning bells in the fifteen-year-old's head. He could not find out about this.

Ed wouldn't have it any other way.

xxx

It was six days after he had gotten back from the hospital and he had only just gotten Alphonse to stop fretting over him so much.

Six days of keeping himself clean and he couldn't do it anymore. There was no other option. The urge had built, burning underneath his skin until it was sensitive to the touch, sending firey-hot goosebumps up his arms. It was unbearable. Ed couldn't focus on anything anymore; not his studies, not sleep, not even his brother. The urge overwhelmed his brain and senses, rising and falling in waves. This wave had lasted for a solid day without release.

He had to do it.

He had to.

"Hey, Al," he spoke, voice low and rough from unuse. The pair of brothers were sitting around their small dormitory table which was swamped with books and papers. He pulled away from his chair, hands shaking. It had gotten to the point where he pretended to read in his lap, just to hide the tremors. "I'm going to the bathroom."

Alphonse looked up from the journal he was writing neatly in. "Okay, brother."

He knew he shouldn't do it for his brother's sake. He loved his younger brother, loved him so much, and he knew that this was not something Al would want. But there were only two options now: try to resist and have an inevitable panic attack, or take a few swipes to alleviate the pressure humming underneath his skin. It was an obvious choice to him.

Ed tried his best not to full-on sprint into the adjoining bathroom, quickly shuffling inside and locking the door behind him. He could feel his heartbeat in his fingers, hear it in his ears, and his breath was coming in pants that were too quick and too deep. Lightheadedly, he dove for the cabinet underneath the sink and fumbled for a familiar box of bandages. It was like he was on autopilot. He couldn't control it anymore, he couldn't. Soon enough he was gripping the box of bandages, a box he knew so well, and was dumping the contents out before his knees which had crashed to the tile hastily. Ed knew he would have bruises later.

Sifting frantically through the mess, he shakily grabbed one of the small blades he had stowed in the bottom of the box. There were a series of them from a shaving razor he dismantled a while back for his own, demented, personal use. Without hesitation, he gripped it in between his fingers and slid down the bathroom wall behind him, rolling up his sleeve in desperation.

I can't take it anymore.

It was an addiction now, there was no other word for it. The rush he got, the pain, the disgusting excitement - it truly was a drug. And now he knew the horrible symptoms of withdraw.

He didn't do it because he hated himself (not that he didn't) but it gave him such a relief that he couldn't find anywhere else. The rush of seeing his own blood was unlike anything he had ever felt.

Holding the blade up to his arm, he was milliseconds away from making the first swipe - then he remembered.

Mustang knows about my arm.

Without missing a single beat, Ed kicked his shoes off and frantically ripped off his sleek leather pants. If he couldn't do it on his arm, he'd find somewhere else. It didn't even matter, he just needed to do it. He needed to.

As soon as they were off and he was only clad in boxers and socks from the waist down, he grabbed the blade from where he had discarded it on the floor. His hands were shaking and his breaths were coming in uneven puffs; the only thing he could think about was how much his skin burned from the urge. Edward didn't hesitate as he held the blade up against his thigh, only pausing to take a breath and prepare himself for the immediate relief.

The blond swiped the metal across his own delicate ivory skin, scraping it across the length of his thigh. The pressure inside of his chest was instantly lessened and the fire on his body died down significantly as he watched the blood pool against the cut. Adrenaline rushed through his system almost immediately, effectively numbing the sting across his leg.

The mark itself wasn't deep; it was barely a line of red, only collecting the smallest beads of crimson along its exterior. He hadn't done it hard enough for his liking. So he poised the blade again, this time making two swipes, swift and deep. The effect was immediate, both physically and mentally. He could actually breathe again and the fire had developed into the smallest urge that itched at the back of his mind as the blood dripped down the length of his thigh. Ed watched, entranced, as the liquid fell onto the white tile, staining both the floor and his skin. The beads pooled over slowly, soothing him.

At last, he could think again. Leaning his head back against the bathroom wall, he sighed, satisfied. From the corner of his eye, he could still see the wounds actively bleeding, pooling in little droplets. In the back of his mind, he wondered why he wasn't crying or something. Weren't people supposed to be emotional when they did this?

He had never cried when he did it. Not once, not even the first time. Back when he used scissors instead of blades, back when the marks were the size of papercuts. He chuckled bitterly inside of his head. Back when he was still new at this, still figuring it out.

Ed remembers the first time. Everything had happened all at once and it was too much to handle without some sort of coping mechanism. He and Al were still getting over the Tucker incident, even months later. It seemed like all of their research was coming up with dead-end after dead-end. His insomnia was acting up, only allowing him odd hours of sleep at the most inconvenient times. He had reports due, so many of them that it made his head spin. All of it was piled upon his shoulders, which wasn't the best feeling in the world but he could deal with it. Really, he could. If he could force the anxiety and the depression down to a reasonable level, then he could handle it.

But then Maes died. And he couldn't handle it anymore.

Now his skin was crisscrossed with scars and healing cuts, but this time they weren't from an outward battle. They were from an inward one.

How had all of this come from something the size of a papercut? He was so high off of it now, so addicted. At first, he couldn't go a day without thinking about it. That turned into every half-hour. At first, he couldn't go without doing it once a week. That turned into several times a day. It was a losing battle with his addiction and he knew it.

Letting his eyes wander back to his thigh, Edward let a small, sick smile pull at his lips. It didn't matter as long as he got the relief, the rush. None of it mattered.

But then a flash of panic overtook his system.

Mustang. Mustang knew about it, he would know. He would find out.

Edward couldn't let him know that he wasn't able to stop. He could not. He made it clear that if it got any worse, any more out-of-hand, that he would involve Alphonse. Pure fear and anxiety swelled inside of his chest, breathing coming in short pants once again. Wasn't Roy knowing supposed to help? Why wasn't it helping? Wasn't he supposed to feel less panicked, not more? Everything that had happened in the last week proved otherwise. He had only felt more guilt, more fear, more doubt. Only the slightest bit of comfort. Why was he still so afraid?

He was weak, he was so weak. He couldn't even figure himself out, so how was Roy supposed to? What the fuck had he expected?

He couldn't breathe now and the anxiety was making his head spin.

Heartbeat thrumming in his chest, Ed gripped the razor tightly with his shaky hands and blindly swiped at his leg. Blood smeared on his fingertips as he went one, two, three, four times. Five, six, seven - again and again until he couldn't feel the panic anymore. Adrenaline had fully rooted itself in his system, dulling the sting. His thigh was a mess of blood, soaking into the hem of his boxers and freely dripping onto the tile. The blond leaned against the wall, panting, as he watched himself bleed, tossing the razor aside with a clink. Blood flowed and pooled from his leg, more than he had expected. It didn't matter, it had gotten the job done. He could breathe again he could think.

It would be fine. He could keep this a secret. No one would know.

Slowly, his breathing began to even out as the blood calmed him down. Although Ed would have preferred to watch the blood for a little longer, he knew he had to clean up. Al would be suspicious if he took any longer.

Scooting over against the wall, he grabbed the roll of toilet paper from its holder and tore off a copious amount, taking it and beginning to mop up the mess on his thigh. Once most of the blood was gone, he could see each mark more clearly than before - there were twelve in total. Blood continued to ooze from them, beading and dripping. Holding pressure down on the wad of paper against his leg, he fumbled onehandedly through the box of bandages he dumped on the floor until he was gripping a roll of gauze.

Blood had soaked through the thin paper and was warm and wet against his hand, almost pleasurably so. Ed tossed the mess into the toilet beside him, unrolling even more toilet paper to properly clean up. Once it was wiped fairly clean, the blond began wrapping the gauze around the length of this thigh - simple bandages weren't going to do the job this time. He went several times around, grimacing when it pulled at his wounded and marked-up skin. Little spots of red still bled through the bandages, so he went around one more time and tore the rest off with his teeth, tucking the end back into the bandages.

Whatever. If it bled through, it wouldn't matter very much. His pants were black and the blood wouldn't show through it. He had to get back to Alphonse soon and he didn't have time to fix it even if he wanted to. Edward stood and stumbled back into his pants and shoes, wincing when it pulled at the bandages. The adrenaline hadn't worn off quite yet, but it also wasn't as strong as it had been previously.

Still, he didn't mind, though.

Gathering up the remaining wads of bloody paper, he flushed the mess down the toilet; putting it in the trash can was much too risky. Before he touched anything else with his blood-smeared hands, the teen flipped on the sink and washed away the crimson, erasing the evidence of his previous indulgence and turning the water a light shade of red. Leaving the sink on, he wet a few paper towels and scrubbed at the tile where blood had dripped, dropping it in the trashcan and burying it underneath several other used towels once he had finished. Quickly, he stacked the bandages and blades back inside the box and stowed it once again underneath the sink, which was still running. As he washed his hands off once more, just to be safe, the young alchemist glanced around the room. All evidence had been destroyed or hidden efficiently and there were no traces of blood to be seen anywhere.

Edward sighed and turned off the sink, rolling his sleeves back down.

It would be okay. He could do this and he would be fine, it would all be fine.

He was afraid to think any differently.

xxx

If you feel like you are in a crisis, please call one of these numbers according to your geographic region. I apologize if your region is not included below. My chapter stats give me graphs according to geographic location, and these are all of the ones listed. If you can not find your country, please feel free to look it up or message me privately. Please stay safe.

United States: 1-800-273-8255 (1-800-273-TALK)

Canada: 1-833-456-4566

United Kingdom: 116-123

Australia: 13 11 14

France: 01 45 39 40 00

Japan: +81 (0) 3 5286 9090, 20:00 - 06:00, 03-5774-0992, 9am – 11pm

Russian Federation: 051 (or 8495051) is a 24 hour emergency number for Moscow residents, Samaritans (Cherepovets): 007 (8202) 577-577

Ireland: Samaritans ( ) is a registered charity aimed at providing emotional support to anyone in distress or at risk of suicide throughout Ireland

Poland: 89 19288 or 89 527 00 00

Philipines: (02) 804-HOPE (4673) or 0917 558 HOPE (4673)

Brazil: Centro de Valorização da Vida is an emotional and suicidal prevention support. It offers voluntary and free support, with all communications being confidential. Contacts can be made through the phone number 141 (available 24/7), personally (in one of the 72 centers around the country), chat (via their website), VoIP (via Skype) and e-mail.

New Zealand: 1737, need to talk? ( www. .nz) is the national mental health and addictions helpline. Free call or text 1737 any time for support from a trained counselor.

India: 91-22-27546669

Argentina: (54-11) 4758-2554.

Mexico: (55) 5259-8121, available Monday to Sunday 9:00 to 21:00

Estonia: 7pm to 7am at 655 8088 in Estonian and 655 5688 in Russian.

Hungary: 116-123

Belgium: Stichting Zelfmoordlijn 1813 ( ) provides a 24/7 national suicide prevention phone line and a webchat every day from 18:30 to 22:00 for the Dutch language.

Zelfmoordlijn 1813 limited webchat can be found at /chat-met-zelfmoordlijn-1813.

Stichting Centre de Prévention du Suicide ( .be/fr/) provides a 24/7 national suicide prevention phone line for French language.

The Center for the Prevention of Suicide website and Forum can be found at . .

Greece: 1018 ( ) is the national emergency number in Greece, 166 is the number for ambulances, 199 for the fire department, 100 is for police.

Denmark: Livslinien ( .dk) offers telephone support 11am-4am on 70 201 201, or online chat

Finland: 010 195 202 (Finnish) or (09) 4135 0501 (foreigners)

Spain: 717 003 717

xxx

Please stay safe, lovely.

xxx