#and that his nose is not so ugly or grotesque to make him unlovable‚ not even hard to love

[longagoitwastuesday]

Truly the José Ferrer version of Cyrano de Bergerac is the best by far because by the end of the film he has you convinced he's the most attractive man ever, even if he still doesn't believe it, and that is at the core of what the play is about

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

I relapsed again :( can you do some self harm!john and Freddie finds his blade one day and tries to help him stop

Content Warning for mentions of Self Harm

It was a mistake.

A stupid, stupid mistake. 

Freddie wasn’t supposed to be home. Freddie was supposed to be gone until the late afternoon.

If everything had gone to plan, John wouldn’t be in this mess.

John sat on the couch, head in his hands, his thigh throbbing. Stupid, stupid, he thought. Not only would his life be a mess, now Freddie would be intolerable. Just the cherry on top he needed.

He cringed as he thought of what had just happened. He was in the bathroom. It wasn’t locked. Nobody was home. He was doing what he always did when he was alone. 

His pants were tossed aside and so was his shirt. It felt humiliating and depraved, but that was just another source of pain to dull his heart. 

He was sitting on the cold toilet seat, his body erupting into goosebumps. A hand shaking with anticipating reached for the safety razor, undoing the clasp that released the blade.

And then John did what he always did.

He shivered and hissed, biting his lip as he went about this grotesque ritual. 

Why did he do it? He didn’t know. It felt good, maybe. It made his mind go blank. It didn’t help a damn thing but it was the only thing he had control over. The health of his body. The integrity of it. 

While they forced him to pose for photos and cake makeup on and wear stupid clothes and preform night after night for scraps, he had this. This was his thing, his choice. 

It didn’t do anything, but it was John’s and that was enough.

The excitement of the act sent blood rushing all over his body, making his ears roar so loudly, he didn’t even hear when Freddie got home. Or when he opened the bathroom.

“John!! No! No!” Freddie yelled, rushing in, slapping John’s hand away from his thigh, the razor clattering to the floor. John paled, eyes growing as he leaned away from Freddie, a wave of embarrassment flooding his stomach.

He wasn’t supposed to be home. Why was he home? He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be here!

“John, what in the hell are you doing?” Freddie said, clearly more frazzled then upset. He knelt in front of the bathroom cabinet, fishing for the first aid kid under it. He opened it, his eyebrows furrowed, shaking his head as he mumbled, “No, no, no, no,” over and over to himself.

John stayed still, unable to move or talk. He couldn’t defend his actions. He couldn’t defend himself from Freddie’s tirade.

Freddie used tissue to blot up all the red, going over the area with an alcohol wipe which made John whine. Freddie didn’t acknowledge him, pretending to not see the older scars all in different stages of healing. 

He slathered ointment onto John’s thigh before finding the biggest bandaid he could find, pressing it firmly over the wounds. He paused, eyes closing, taking in a deep breath. John watched him, hugging himself.

What was this leading up to? Would he be kicked out of the band? Forced into an institution? Shipped back to his mother’s house with a return address?

Freddie straightened up, standing back up. He tossed John his clothes and said quietly, “Meet me in the living room. I need a minute.” He left without another word, the noises of pots and pans rattling from the kitchen following his exit. 

John slowly dressed himself, his mind a tornado of thoughts and questions. The thought that kept popping up was, did I hurt Freddie? John looked up to Freddie. If he had hurt the older somehow...he’d never want to show his face around there again.

Shakily, he made his way to the living room, sitting down and hunching over. This was unreal. He’d done a good job of keeping this a secret for 2 years. One sloppy move and it was over. He didn’t know what exactly was over, but something was and it wouldn’t be pretty.

He looked up from his lamenting to Freddie entering the room. On a tray, two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits. Freddie swallowed hard as he set the tray down on the end table, sitting next to John in a delicate manner. He looked at his hands before looking at John. 

“Sorry for my reaction, darling. I wasn’t prepared to see or deal with that. But, I’m calm now. Okay? We can talk about this,” he said, his brown eyes soft.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” John said without really thinking. He didn’t want help. It wasn’t fun, this mental state he was in, but it worked. 

Freddie nodded, reaching over for a quick sip of tea. “That’s fair. I’ll talk then,” he said with a forced smile. “That thing you were doing...I’m sure you know it’s wrong. You’re very bright, Deacy. So, what led you to do it?”

John shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about this. He shoved a whole biscuit into his mouth.

“Fine. That’s okay. I don’t need to know all the details. I guess I’m just confused is all. Not to say what you’re doing is illogical. I know many people do it when they’re hurting very deeply. I understand that. I want to know what’s hurting you, I suppose. See if I could help,” Freddie said, tension in his tone. 

John shrugged again. He wasn’t going to make this easy. Not even on himself.

Freddie grabbed his tea cup, sipping, nose wrinkled. He was bad at making tea. 

“That’s fine too. Um..well, John. I have to let you know a few things. One being that, if you’re going to live here with Roger and I, you can’t do that. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing you’re doing that. The p-pain you’re in,” he said, eyes misting up. 

He cleared his throat continuing, “So uh, we’d have to throw all that stuff out. The stuff you use to do that. Are you okay with that?”

John nodded. He didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t afford a flat on his own anymore. 

“Okay, good, good. Um, then uh, next is, I need you to talk to someone. Roger, Brian, a therapist, someone. I get you may not want to share with me about all this. I’m a bit like a mother hen, hm? I get it, I get. But you need to open up. Maybe we could change things around, do stuff differently, anything to help...”

The thought of telling anyone about this secret made his guts twist up. He didn’t want to. This was his. This was John’s shame to carry alone. But John knew Freddie would see to it that he did.

“And finally, I want you to know, that you..are such a wonderful human, John. You’re funny and witty and smart and sweet. You’re so loving. I know you’re in agony right now. I wish I could take it from you. Someone like you doesn’t deserve this burden. You don’t deserve to hurt yourself like this. You’re...You’re light, Deacy. You’re light and you don’t deserve to be in the dark. You’re too precious for that,” Freddie said, his hand resting atop of John’s knee.

John looked away, his throat getting thick. What did Freddie know? John wasn’t any of those things. He was a blight. A stain. A splinter. He didn’t deserve anything more than the red lines he gave himself. He deserved worse. 

“I’m not,” John croaked, his eyes beginning to leak. 

How could Freddie have seen him in that state and think fondly of him? He was in his briefs, mutilating himself. He was disgusting.

“Oh, but you are, sweetheart. I may be the planet Mercury, but you’re the goddamn sun, John. You have so much good in you but you’re drowning in it. I just want to rescue you. Because you’re worth it. John, you’re worthwhile,” Freddie said, his hand going up to John’s shoulder.

“I’m not,” John hissed between grit teeth, his hands turning to fists. He couldn’t look Freddie in the eye as more tears streamed down. 

Disgusting. Unlovable. Ugly. Marred. Ruined. Broken. 

“John, you absolutely are. You’re so good. So so good. So good, you can’t even see it. But you are, dear, you are,” Freddie said, nearly cooing as John collapse into himself, almost like a star. 

John sobbed, curling up, letting Freddie hold him against himself.

It hurt. It hurt so much. Nobody knew how much he hurt. It’s like he walked around with holes in his chest, holes in his heart. It was like he swallowed coals. He ached and ached and nobody knew. 

He cried into Freddie’s chest, Freddie arms around him tight. He felt so vulnerable and empty and he felt loved, which hurt worst of all. He felt so loved and seen and understood it made him sick. He wailed, holding onto Freddie like he might slip off the earth.

“I need you, Freddie! I need you! I need you!” he yelled, pressing into Freddie so tight his skin felt raw. Freddie continued to whisper to him, wiping his tears away.

He needed an anchor, something steadfast, something whole and tangible. He’d been sinking for so long and now John could breathe and it terrified him. 

“I’m right here, John. I’m right here,” Freddie whispered, holding onto the trembling boy. He didn’t know what he’d do. But he had to do something.

♚

“Freddie?” a meek voice said. 

Freddie opened his eyes, squinting at the crack of light that invaded his otherwise pitch black room.

“Hmm?” he said blearily, propping himself up onto his elbows.

John slinked closer to Freddie’s bed, chewing on his thumb nail. “I..I don’t feel, um, good,” he said hesitantly, eyes on the clock on Freddie’s beside table. 3am. Maybe he should try and deal with it himself.

“Not feeling well? Do you feel like you’re going to...” Relapse is what Freddie wanted to say. He didn’t have to. John nodded.

“Thank you for telling me, Deacy. Let me get up and-” Freddie was interrupted, John stepping closer.

“N-No. I don’t wanna talk or anything. I just, uh..c-can I sleep with you?” John said, his thumb beginning to feel sore.

Freddie smiled, scooting over for John to join him. This wasn’t the first night John had done this. He said not being alone helped the thoughts go away. Being with someone and feeling them made the itch go away. It’d been a month and it seemed to have worked. And Freddie could never say no to a sleeping Deacy in his bed.

John crawled under the covers, nestling up close to Freddie.He preffered to be the big spoon. He said it gave his hands something to do.

John nustled into Freddie’s shoulder, his hands grabbing onto the fabric of Freddie’s pajamas, like a kid clutching his blanket and immediately relaxed. With Freddie’s warmth and slow breathing, every worry faded away. 

“Goodnight, John,” Freddie said after yawning.

“Good night. Fred,” John said back, his voice soft.

“And thank you,” he said even softer, hoping maybe Freddie wouldn’t hear it.

Freddie grinned, letting his eyes flutter shut.

[redditnosleep]

The Little Melting Girl

by CynicHappy

When I was eight years old, I was badly burnt in a car fire. My single mother had been driving me to school when she lost control of her Toyota Camry on the icy January road and went crashing into a ditch. The car caught fire, and Mum managed to drag me out, but the damage had already been done. I had sustained second to third-degree burns on fifty percent of my body; my limbs had gotten the worst of it. Mum herself was unharmed, save for bruising on her ribs and a cut across her nose.

I spent the next four months in the burn unit at British Columbia Children's Hospital, and the place quickly became a second home. Doctors worked tirelessly to save me. I underwent a total of fifty operations, including skin grafts and the amputation of all five fingers on each hand. I had an endless stream of visitors, but rarely was my mother among them.

One morning, about a week into my hospital stay, my dad stopped by with a bouquet of colourful tulips and a blue balloon. His girlfriend, Jenny, came with him. Dad had been divorced from Mum for two years, but it had been an amicable split, and he was still very much involved in my life.

"Daddy, why doesn't Mummy come see me?" I asked. My words were garbled, given I could barely move my burned lips, but Dad seemed to understand.

"Oh, honey." He sighed, ruffling what was left of my charred hair. "Mummy loves you, more than anyone else in the world. That's why she doesn't come by very often; it hurts her to see you hurt."

"But I miss her."

"She misses you too, honey. But Mummy... well, Mummy has some problems. It's difficult for a girl your age to understand."

"Is she sick?"

"No, no, honey," Jenny piped up. She bent down and kissed my bandaged cheek. "Just... well, like your daddy said, it's hard to explain."

I knew, even back then, that Mum wasn't quite right in the head. I believe that's why Dad left her, but he still cared about her a great deal; not once since the divorce had I heard him say a single negative word about her.

"Will Mummy get better?" I asked.

"She might never be quite 'normal', Julia. But she'll get better. She will always be your mummy."

I never resented my mother for her absence. I guess I was a lot more understanding than most kids my age. Besides, Mum more than made up for it, sending me care packages and letters saying how much she loved me. She promised to throw me a party when I came home, complete with cake and dancing.

I believe it was Mum's love that got me through the pain.

After four long months, I was finally allowed to go home. My burns were still healing, leaving me with tight, warped skin that itched and throbbed every minute of the day. My hands had been reduced to bulbous stumps at the end of each arm, I was stuck in a wheelchair, and had to wear compression garments to reduce scarring. Still, I was home, and that made it all worth it.

As promised, Mum threw me a party. Family, friends, and neighbours all came to celebrate my recovery. I couldn't dance, but I had a great time anyway. Mum kept kissing me and telling me how much she loved me. "Julia, you are a fighter. I am so proud of you."

She smiled, her blue eyes glittering, but I had noticed the blue half-moons beneath them, as well as her hollowed-out cheekbones and threads of silver woven into her shiny auburn hair. She was still so beautiful, but looked older than her thirty-five years.

That night, I woke up in pain, my skin itching as if I had fire ants crawling all over me, a deep phantom ache in my amputated fingers. I opened my mouth to call out for Mum, but the compression mask on my face and the taught skin beneath made moving my lips painful. I tried to sit up, but it hurt too much. A whimper escaped me, and salty tears rolled down my cheeks.

Then I sensed a presence, something watching me from a dark corner. It didn't feel malevolent, but it made my spine tingle. Glancing nervously over my shoulder, I was shocked to see a dark figure standing in a corner, motionless save for the gentle rise and fall of their chest as they breathed.

Quickly, before I could lose my nerve, I reached over and switched on my bedside lamp. A weak yellow glow broke through the shadows, and there was a sharp intake of breath as the figure shrank back at the light.

It was a little girl, no older than myself. She wore a yellow T-shirt and flowery pink shorts. She was grotesquely deformed. Her flesh appeared to be melting off her body, hanging in heavy folds and bags. It was blackened in areas, pink and raw in others. She was completely bald, and not only that, but her scalp had been charred away, revealing a pearl-white skull beneath. Her eyes were impossibly large, lacking eyelids, and had such heavy cataracts her pupil were invisible. Her arms were shrivelled and curled up grotesquely at her sides. But the worst part was her mouth. Her lower jaw hung down at an impossible angle, and seemed to have fused to her chest, leaving her face in a permanent scream.

I nearly screamed myself. I had never seen anything so horrible, and it scared me shitless. But before I could make a sound, the girl raised a shrivelled hand and brought it to her gaping mouth, as if trying to shush me. I shrunk back against the headboard, shaking, as this mysterious apparition approached me. It appeared she was trying to speak, but her frozen jaw made that physically impossible. She placed her hand on my shoulder, and when I forced myself to look into her eyes, I saw compassion. I saw love.

"Who are you?" I whimpered.

She gently pushed me back into a reclining position, tucked the covers around my scarred, wounded body, and smoothed back my hair. Then she turned and walked silently out of the room, leaving the door open just a crack.

I was shaken. But the pain was gone, replaced by the pleasant sensation of being bathed in warm water. Somehow, despite my fear, I fell asleep.

I never told Mum what I'd seen. She was already so shaken up over my accident, and I didn't want to give her more to worry about. But I couldn't stop thinking about the little melting girl, and part of me wanted to see her again.

Days later, I returned to school. My friends were all delighted to have me back, but many kids avoided me, and some were downright mean. I was still learning how to perform everyday tasks without fingers, which only added a new layer of challenges to the adjustment. During this time, Mum seemed somewhat out of touch with reality. I often caught her staring into space or humming to herself. Sometimes, she would look at me and cry. Dad and Jenny came over a lot to help, and Dad tried talking Mum into seeing a therapist, but she always refused.

Three years passed, and I made remarkable progress. I began walking again, and my burns healed better than my doctors expected. Mum met a wonderful man named David, and they got married when I was eleven. I now had a stepfather and stepsister, and adored them both. By then, I had mostly forgotten about the little melting girl.

Around that time, I was entering puberty, which can cripple the self-esteem of even the most beautiful girls. As well as my injuries had healed, I still had a lot of scarring, and was missing my left breast. My appearance made me a prime target for bullying. One day, when I was walking home from school, a group of older girls followed me home and threw rocks at me. I ran into the house, crying, and shut myself in my room.

I sobbed for over an hour, feeling like a total freak, hideous and unlovable. As I lay on my bed, face buried in a pillow, I felt a hand smooth back my hair.

Mum and David were still at work, and my sister Ava was at band practice. Alarmed, I rolled over and met her cloudy gaze.

The melting girl. She still wore the same outfit, and hadn't aged a bit. Her appearance wasn't nearly as shocking the second time around, but I couldn't stifle a frightened squeal.

"It's you," I gasped.

She nodded, before reaching into the pocket of her shorts and removing a tissue. I sniffled and blew my nose. "What are you doing here?"

The melting girl walked over to my desk and scribbled something on a sheet of notebook paper. She held it up so that I could read: Kids can be cruel, it said.

"I'm so ugly," I whimpered. "I'm a monster."

She shook her head, then jotted down a second note: A few scars mean nothing. You've got beautiful blue eyes, gorgeous, shiny golden hair, and the perfect bone structure. You are amazing.

I suddenly felt pretty shitty for sobbing over my own deformities to this girl who barely looked human anymore. "Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

She shook her head, then placed her hand over her heart. I didn't know what that meant, but I guessed it must be a sign of her sincerity.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "Are you a ghost?"

Once again, she left my room without a word. I tried chasing after her, but she was gone.

After searching the house top to bottom, I figured she must be a ghost, and that she had died in the fire that warped her appearance. But who was she? What had happened? Why did only I see her?

This time, I told Mum. I left out most details, but stated I believed a little ghost girl was haunting our house. She went whiter than the moon, and her eyes grew shimmery with tears, but she forced a laugh and said, "Oh, Julia. Such an imagination."

She seemed so upset that I didn't dare press the matter. But the following day, after school, I made a surprise visit to Dad and Jenny's place.

"Julia, hi!" Jenny greeted me at the door, her two-year-old baby girl on her hip. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"Is my dad home?"

"Yes, he's in his office. I'll go get him." Dad worked from home as a graphic designer, and often became so engrossed in his work he forgot to eat. But I knew he would want to see me.

After catching up over iced tea, I told Dad I wanted to ask him a question about Mum. I reminded him that I was almost twelve years old and had a right to know, and that he had to be honest with me.

"Okay, Julia. I'll do my best. What is it?"

"What happened in Mum's past?" I asked him. "Why is she so... strange sometimes?"

Dad hesitated, biting his lip, and I lost my temper.

"Tell me, dammit!" I snapped.

"Julia! Calm down." Jenny put a steadying hand on my shoulder. Dad flushed and rubbed his temples. "Baby, I'm sorry," he said. "I'll tell you everything I know, okay?"

"Okay." I took a deep breath. "Okay."

Dad poured himself more iced tea and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Even I don't know a whole lot about it. When I met your mother, she was an orphan at twenty-one, and claimed not to have anyone except her grandmother. It wasn't until a whole year into our relationship that she finally confessed there had been a terrible accident in her childhood. She refused to elaborate."

I sank back against the couch cushion, defeated. "So you don't know either?"

"No. I'm sorry, honey."

"Would she tell me if I asked her?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Julia," said Dad. Jenny, sitting next to me on the couch, nodded.

I left their house in a frustrated daze, feeling even more confused than before. The mystery of Mum and the little melting girl was like a constant itch that couldn't be scratched, and the idea that I might never get any answers infuriated me.

This time, five years passed before I saw her again. At sixteen, I my confidence had improved. I had friends, good grades, and a serious boyfriend who accepted me as I was, scars and all. That said, I still had to deal with bullies on a regular basis. But now, I could stand up for myself.

One day, at lunch, my friends and I were discussing the upcoming school dance and what we would wear. Rachel Newton, one of the resident mean girls, sneered at me as she and her friends walked by. "You better not wear anything too short, Crispy. Nobody wants to look at your ugly legs."

"Leave her alone, Rachel." My friend Clara stood up, hands on her hips.

"What? Don't pretend it isn't true."

"You're such a bitch, Rachel," I snapped. "Ever considered seeking professional help?"

She scowled. "Ever considered plastic surgery? It would make looking at you so much easier."

I punched her in the nose. She began screaming as if I'd just gutted her with a butcher knife, alerting a teacher. She sent me to the principal's office, and while Mrs. Radcliffe was sympathetic, she wouldn't let me off the hook.

"Striking another student is against the rules, Julia. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to punish you."

She then told me I would have to clean up the football field every day after school for a week. I understood that I'd been in the wrong to hit Rachel, but I was still pissed. That afternoon, the sky filled with dark grey clouds, matching my mood. As I toiled away, picking up garbage and stuffing it into a large plastic bag, Rachel and her little posse approached me.

"Julia, you bitch!" Rachel's nose was purple and swollen, dried blood crusting her nostrils. "Look what you did to me!"

"Aw, you upset over losing your precious modelling career?" I taunted. Rachel's eyes flashed dangerously, and she lunged at me, knocking me to the soggy grass.

"Rachel!" one of her friends yelled. "Back off!"

I rolled onto my belly and tried to push myself into a kneeling position, but Rachel kicked me in the ribs, knocking me down again.

"I don't think picking up garbage is punishment enough, Crispy." Rachel brought her foot down on my back, pinning me in place. "What do you think, girls?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Get her, Rachel!"

"Stop it! She's had enough."

I began thrashing beneath Rachel's foot, trying to throw off her balance. Dirt filled my mouth. My spine felt seconds away from snapping. I sensed Rachel's fury, her intent on hurting me.

She stooped down and grabbed a handful of my hair, wrenching my head back, and raised her fist, ready to land a punch. I was alone, at this girl's mercy, and I couldn't fight back.

"Help," I whispered.

Rachel's grip suddenly fell away. She staggered back, her eyes the size of dinner plates, mouth hanging open. Her friends looked equally stunned.

"Oh, my God. What is that?"

I followed her appalled gaze to a melted, deformed figure standing twenty feet away. The little melting girl's cloudy eyes were blazing with anger, and her blackened fists kept clenching and unclenching. I was so overjoyed I wanted to cry.

"What the fuck?" Rachel shrieked again. "Who is that?"

The girl let out an enraged scream and charged like a raging bull.

My tormenters took off into the mist, shrieking like banshees. The girl walked over and helped me to my feet.

"Thank you," I breathed.

In her eyes, I saw her words: Let's go home.

She held my hand until we were a block away from the house. Then she hugged me and walked away.

This time, I told Mum everything. When I described the girl's appearance, she burst into tears.

"Oh, God... oh, my God... Julia..." she sobbed.

"Mum! What is it?"

She pulled me into a crushing hug, her chest heaving as she fought for air. "That girl... she's my sister."

I was frozen. "What?"

Mum wiped her eyes. "Oh, honey... I guess I can't hold back any longer."

Finally, after sixteen years, I got to know my mother.

She grew up on a farm in Saskatchewan, with her twin sister, Sarah, and their parents. They lived a happy life until an arsonist set the barn on fire. The girls were inside at the time. In a frantic attempt to escape, Sarah fell and broke her leg. Mum ran to get help, but by then, it was too late. The fire had spread out of control, and Sarah couldn't be saved.

The fire completely broke Mum. She didn't speak for almost a year, and four years later, her parents were killed in a car accident. Mum never recovered emotionally. To this day, I can only imagine what she went through.

"When you got hurt... it brought back so many terrible memories. I couldn't face it. I was a coward, Julia. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." I kissed her cheek. "You're the best mother, and I love you."

She wiped her nose. "I've seen Sarah a few times since she died, but I convinced myself I was dreaming. But it seems she's been watching over you too."

"Like a guardian angel?"

"She is a guardian angel."

That night, I prayed for the first time in years and thanked God for sending down Sarah.

Twenty-one years have passed since that day. I have a successful career; I'm married; I have children. I still see Sarah every now and then, but I don't need her protection so much anymore. I've grown strong and confident. I've come a long way.

I can't explain Sarah's presence in my life, and I guess I don't need to. I'm just so thankful to have her around. She's been there for me during my darkest hours, protected me from a cruel world when I was at my most vulnerable.

My only regret is that Sarah, unlike me, never got a second chance at life.