Antebellum.
Hamlet was cutting himself. Horatio knew it without even having to look for himself. The frequent trips to the bathroom, the loose bandages, long sleeves, and flinch at every motion towards his arms was evidence enough.
He wanted to say something about it, he truly did, but Horatio was the type of friend that was meant to be seen, not heard. Although Hamlet didn't care about anything Horatio said to him, but the masses did. Hamlet was an idol-- a role model. He was to make his own choices with no judgement from others. He was unworthy of criticism because he was never meant to have it.
It was when Horatio and Hamlet were cooped up in Hamlet's room working on their AP Psych homework Hamlet said, "I'm cutting."
Horatio tried to be surprised, but he was a horrible liar. Hamlet noticed and chuckled at him, but it was devoid of proper humor. "I see you're not surprised. Always the perceptive one, Horatio."
The younger of the two didn't know how to respond, so instead he asked, "Why are you doing this?"
Hamlet chewed on his lip in thought for a long minute. "I don't know," he admitted.
"Does it feel good?" Horatio asked, almost instantly. Hamlet didn't need to think about it. He shook his head.
"No," he said, "it's horrid."
"Then why are you doing this?" Horatio repeated, looking straight up at Hamlet who hadn't bothered to look up from his textbook.
"Because I want it to feel good." Hamlet shut his textbook, stood up from his bed, and left the room for the bathroom without another word.
©SelfTitled, 2017