Another.

The blade wedged itself deep into her skin before being ripped right back out, beads of blood pooling in the wound and spilling out onto her wrist. A frustrated, exasperated breath left her—she'd gotten used to the pain, why had she gotten used to the pain? She wanted to—wanted to feel it, wanted to remind herself how badly she deserved all of it.

Pencil responded with a strike charged with wrath and desperation, stabbing herself in the arm and begging to leave a gash. As the blade removed itself from her arm, the mark left was wide and red— finally, something.

Again and again, she'd fallen into a rhythm, at last. The beating of her heart grew louder and faster in her head with each deep tear, her vision a blur of skin and blood. Just what.....what she needed...

Pained, ugly sobs rested in her throat, waiting to spill out of her as she lost herself in the dizzying ache of each wound. She just needed more, needed another, needed them up her arms and covering her being. Even—even though people'd see—they'd agree that she deserved it. Deserved the...deserved the...

With a sound of struggle, she broke out of her trance, her eyes widening and taking in the red, bloody mess of her arm. Raw, is how it felt—her arm felt open and raw. It stung. Badly.

One deep breath after another, the fog over her eyes passed, though her body remained trembling. She couldn't—couldn't move her arm, she was paralyzed in that position, sitting on her knees. The world was spinning slower than it was thirty seconds ago—it had'to've been.

A shaky exhale, and she licked her lips, raising the blade again. Was there even any more space on her wrist? Cuts drove up her inner forearm, scattered and inconsistent. It was hard to...hard to look at.

She picked a location on the backside of her arm and held the blade there wearily–she—she needed to do this.

With a blink and a sharp inhale, she dug it into her arm, maneuvering it in as deep as she could and dragging it along her skin before she tore it out, the gash left after nothing short of exactly what she wanted to see.

"There," she huffed, "yeah..."

She was ready for another—ready to take another injury and another dose of the drug. She positioned the blade onto her arm, mind already getting fuzzier.

Push it in....into her skin, and—

"Pencil?"

She gasped sharply, nearly dropping the blade— there it was. That annoying , choppy voice that made Pencil sick with every word. Anyone but her would've been fine. Anyone but Pin.

"What—why are you–Just—go!" Fumbling with the blade, she shoved it into her pocket and attempted wiping her arm, though it just smeared the blood.

"Pencil, I just—I can't let you isolate yourself like—"

"I don't care! I'm—ghh, busy!" She was tired of people pretending to care—Pen, Donut, even Golf Ball , in a way—now Pin was pitying her too? Why couldn't they see that–that she didn't need them? She—

"Pencil, I'm coming inside," interjected Pin, and suddenly the door of The Clubhouse of Awesomeness was wide open, a half-familiar red-haired woman standing in the doorway.

Any words Pin was going to say got visibly caught in her throat as her eyes landed on Pencil's blood-soaked, torn-up arm instantly.

Pencil swallowed, eyes blank.

Pathetically, she tried turning away, tried avoiding any more staring, but she knew it was too late by then. Whatever—she... she knew someone would see it anyway, didn't she?

Pencil stared into Pin's eyes bitterly, the shocked look on her face pressing shame into the depths of Pencil's soul. Pin didn't need to...didn't need to see her like this, not right now.

"Pencil..." she muttered, concern lacing her timid voice and tearing away at Pencil. No. Don't care.

"Pencil, I—"

"Just go, Pin," she spat, her lips pressing into a thin line. But Pin remained frozen where she stood, her expression shifting to meet Pencil's frustrated gaze as her own softened.

"I can't..." She looked away for a split second. "..I can't just leave you like this, Pencil."

Pencil barely repressed a scoff. "Wh—Are you joking? Why do you care?—You could be doing something else by now and leaving me alone!"

Pin's patience was thinning, and it was clear, but she was stubborn, "I—no, I can't , Pencil, I.."

She sighed, restraining herself.

"I don't forgive you for everything you've done, but..."

Slow, light steps, approached Pencil, and gently, Pin sank to the ground before her.

"I came here to help you—that's what I'll do."

Pencil threw a dirty glare at the annoying, overly-sweet act she was pulling—surely there was something Pin was gaining from this— but as Pin's gentle hand grabbed Pencil's and dragged it towards her, she felt herself defrost, just slightly.

"Listen, I..." Pin inspected the cuts that covered her arm, turning the limb around in her hand.

"I may not know your situation fully, but I...feel bad for you ."

Pencil tried her hardest not to spit out a venomous remark, tensing up again. Seriously—the same spiel again? When would people finally stop trying to fix her?

Pin released the arm in her hand, watching it fall slightly. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a cheap, tiny pack of tissues.

"You're lucky I keep these on me."

All she got was an exhausted huff in response.

A soft, papery cloth met Pencil's arm and absorbed the blood that covered it, the whiteness of the tissue dissolving into a bright, burning red. Pin glanced at it for just a second, her expression reading something along the lines of 'geez,' but Pencil just looked away, a blend of annoyance and embarrassment building in her gut.

A small container of what looked to be about ten band-aids was next out of Pin's pocket, snapping open with a click. Pencil's face creased. She didn't need this right now—didn't need the pity, didn't need Pin out of anyone to be acting this way. Like she was willing to forget everything between them for this....to—to help her.

Yet, carefully, Pin placed one along one of the deeper marks, trying to gauge which ones needed the 'most' help, curse her limited resources. As she retracted her hands quickly from the area, Pencil gasped, Pin's finger grazed over the inside of a— ghh!

"Could you—not?!" Pencil gritted out, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her arm out. "That hurts, you idiot!"

"Wha—I–" Pin's eyes widened in offense, her voice growing higher as she spoke. "I didn't even do anything!" She threw her hands out—who was Pencil to act like this ? —but—

—Pin's gaze caught onto Pencil's torn-up arm once again—not...

She took a deep breath, arms falling back down. Not helping.

"I'm not going to argue with you," she snapped, pulling another band-aid out and slipping it from the packaging. "I'm here to help you, okay?"

Pencil let out a huff and tried to sit still, Pin gently holding her arm and placing a bandage onto another wound. Stupid...it was stupid.

But soon enough, there it was, back to one after another. Pin would grab a bandaid out and find a new spot to place it on, a new cut to cover. A rhythm, they'd fallen into a rhythm..

It wasn't.. awful, anyway. The.. the attention was nice, wasn't it?

A few bandages later, and a soft tune hummed its way from Pin's lips. Pencil only took a deep breath, pushing down the anger. It wasn't worth it to get mad, not over this. Pin could be nice, could treat her sweetly even without a reason. Pencil could....probably...

probably not do that. She swallowed and bit her lip.

Pin turned her arm around and placed a bandaid on the underside, sealing a gash in the cozy fabric and hiding it away, like the next time Pencil would see it, it'd be all healed up. It was a nice.. empty thought to have.

Pencil let out a breath. Her mouth twisted into a frown as Pin covered up yet another wound—it was...it was nice, but why? Why was Pin there?—She had...had better things to be doing, Pencil didn't need this. She didn't...couldn't..

"When will you be done?" she asked, venom forcing its way through her tone and soaking in her words. Be rude, be bold, show Pin you don't need her. Show her that you..don't need the attention.

"Hm."

Pin blinked and took a deep breath, looking down at the last bandaid in the package, then looking back at Pencil.

"Soon."

Pencil grumbled—why'd she have to be so calm? Why couldn't she get mad, then leave, and realize Pencil wasn't worth helping? Why couldn't she be like everyone else?

Donut had (hopefully) given up on her a while ago, and Pen was—was just pathetic! No one ever did anything for her—all they were were obstacles in the way of her safety. Another enemy to take down, something standing in the way of immunity. They threw meaningless, stupid phrases her way—oh, "Remember the little things," or "Don't let the sadness consume you."

It was all stupid—everything they said went in one ear and out the other to Pencil. She didn't need them. Didn't need their help, didn't need anyone. Especially not..not Pin.

Pin discarded a band-aid's packaging for the last time that afternoon, her eyes glazing over Pencil's arm and trying to find another large wound, eventually landing on one on her upper arm. Her fingers moved softly, handling Pencil like she'd shatter—yet, that was partly due to Pencil's complaint from earlier.

Pencil's eyes narrowed, no, none of it mattered. Not to her... couldn't matter to her—Pin needed...

...needed to go. She took in a breath.

"There, all done."

Pin rose from the once-vibrant tile, eyes darting across Pencil's distressed body with concern. She sighed.

Pencil could only watch, an empty, stale gaze following Pin. Her expression read as something between a mix of restraint and despair, but, no—this is what she..what she wanted, what she begged for. Pin would... finally be gone.

"Please don't... do that again," Pin half-muttered.

Her voice was weak, pleading—like Pin was tired of everything. Pencil held back from giving Pin a piece of her mind and put away the glare that she'd been saving. Not... not worth it, was it?

"Listen, I..."

Pin's arm found its way to her shoulder. "I'm gonna go back to my team, but you could..." she fought away the hesitation, no, Pencil needed this.

"You could come if you want. I'm sure they won't, um, mind...too much."

Pencil looked into Pin's eyes for about a second, her mouth drying up before-

"No."

She'd responded too quickly—too fast, hadn't she? She felt her body tense up.

Didn't matter, now she'd—hsh, now she'd leave. A bead of regret began in her chest—but—no, no, that was...she'd already been too vulnerable. She needed nothing more from Pin.

Not anymore pity. Not anymore help, and she definitely didn't need to go spend her time with.. with DEATH P.A.C.T. Yeah, she made the... the right choice.

The concern didn't leave Pin's eyes as she slowly approached the door, hovering between the sunny day outside and the depressing atmosphere of the clubhouse. It slowly murdered Pencil—she needed that look in Pin's eye to leave, needed the feeling that some sort of worthy attention gave her to leave, needed...needed Pin to leave.

To leave and never come back, to never care about Pencil again. Maybe she'd run into Golf Ball, and she'd tell her how awful she was, o-or even better, Book, and—

"That's— fine then, just.."

Pin's words sliced through Pencil's train of thought and forced her to look into Pin's eyes. Her... stupid, worried eyes..

"Know I'm...um, here for you, okay, Pencil?"

She blinked. No, that... that ...

Pencil's face twisted into something sour, trying as hard as she could to prevent whatever Pin said from meaning something. Because... because she couldn't...

It was only seven seconds.

Seven seconds of silence, seven seconds of the guilt beginning to settle in her chest, seven seconds before—

Click.

The door shut, the last sliver of sunlight that dripped into the room fading before Pencil's eyes.

She let out the breath she didn't know she was holding, a lump instantly forming in her throat—no, that was— ghh!

A sniffle, and bit her lip hard, no, no crying. No tears, not over... not over this. Her eyes squinted down until they were nearly shut.

Why did Pin...why...

A weary hand reached for her eyes and rubbed them.

Pencil was truly pathetic now, wasn't she?

Why'd it have to be Pin? Why'd she have to be the one to take care of her? Why'd she have to be the bigger person and set their past behind, just to... just to....

She curled in on herself instantly, letting her face plant itself into her knees. It even wasn't a second before the tears streamed from her, only dampening her pride further.

Pin had left, finally, yet she only felt worse. Of course, Pencil had to turn away the only attention she had, the only person willing to help such a menace.

Nothing good went to those who didn't deserve it, right? Pencil was rude to everyone she knew, and karma had come to her—now she had no one left. Book was right to say that about her, and the others probably never wanted to see her again either. Why'd she... why'd she treat Match so badly before?

She cried a little harder.

Pencil knew she deserved everything that was happening to her. Ever since—since the beginning, she'd been doing something wrong, hadn't she? What'd she mess up to make them leave, why— why'd she have to get...

Dodging elimination was nothing but luck, surely Pencil was next—she—she'd never be safe, not with those numbers around and not with the lingering threat of elimination hanging over her head.

Pencil gasped sharply, an ugly, loud sob pressing into her skin—it was—she—no one would ever be there for her again. She just—

—Just wished she had someone. But no one wanted her, not anymore, why would they? She'd been nothing but—nothing but rude to everyone—she was stupid for thinking anything different. No one was left, no one but...

Pin had told her—told her she'd always be there for her—why?!

Why was it Pin? Why was Pencil proven over and over again that she was the only one who couldn't move on, why was Pin the only one to—to do something— to not leave after..after some dumb...

Pin helping her hurt so bad—why'd it hurt so bad? Anyone else would be disposable, a useless waste of time, but her..

Pencil needed someone, desperately, just—just—

Someone that—someone that wasn't Pin. Anyone but ...

...anyone but Pin.