"Travis!" Tom's voice rang out shrilly in the narrow hall, followed by the shattering boom of his fist against the door. "Travis, you little fuck, you've been in that shower for 20 minutes. C'mon, man, I've reeeeally gotta piss!"

Tom bared his teeth in a feral snarl as his complaints were met with silence. He pounded on the door a few more times, half-heartedly rubbing his reddening knuckles. "Travis, come ON, man. What the fuck are you doing in there, having a jack-off marathon?" Even his crude attempt at humor was ignored. "That's it, dude, I'm fucking unlocking this door."

He went to the kitchen for a paperclip and smoothed out the twists, then bent it double and jammed it in the tiny hole in the door handle, twisting until with a small *click!* it pops open. (a/n: I've opened way too many stuck door at my house this way.) Tom tossed the paperclip unconcernedly over his shoulder and pushed the door in hard enough to hit the other wall.

He expected cries of surprise, annoyed shouts, even a startled scream--the silence was eerie. The mirrors were swathed in steam, the glass shower door cloudy with it. Tom hesitated, weighing Travis's outrage against the uneasy feeling in his stomach, and finally pulled the shower door open.

"Oh, fuck."

Travis was sitting on the tile floor, knees drawn to his chest. His arms were covered in scratches, a few deeper cuts still trickling blood under the warm water. His back was shaking with quiet sobs; at Tom's words, he let his head fall forward to touch his knees, and the shuddering increased.

Tom sighed, fighting back tears, and leaned in to shut off the faucet. He stepped into the shower, hesitated, then gently grasped Travis's upper arms. The younger man's head lifted at the touch; even through the water running down his face, Tom could spot the tears. Tom leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his brow, then urged him quietly to his feet. He led him from the shower, picking up a fluffy towel and carefully wiping the bloodstains from his arms before drying the rest of his body. He towel- dried Travis's short brown hair until it stuck out in wet spikes from his head. Travis kept his eyes fixed on the ground, numbly obeying whatever directives Tom gave him.

Tom frowned, touching a finger to Travis's chin and tilting the other man's head up to look him in the eye.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" he whispered. Behind the dullness in his eyes Tom saw a spark of guilt flicker to life.

"I don't know," Travis replied. It was an answer he'd recited many times. It wasn't good enough for Tom tonight.

"Yes, you do. You know it's bad for you, you know you're fucking yourself up, but you do it anyway. Why? What makes it worth all this?"

Travis closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He was still feeding off the euphoria, but it was fading fast. He grasped at the memories before they disappeared. Tension clenching every muscles in his body, energy racing through his veins like he could play for hours and never tire. He couldn't sit still, had to move, had to do /something/, but it was too internal, he couldn't find an end to the spiral of his thoughts. Hands clenching, teeth gritted against the need, but he was going to die, he was going to go insane...just a little cut. If he could just open a vein it would all come spilling out and he could rest, he could just...be. It didn't even hurt, the sting was reassuring, triggering the high. He watched the blood begin to well and flow and his eyes slid closed, suddenly heavy, suddenly exhausted...

"I'm so tired," he whispered at last. He leaned into Tom and the guitarist wrapped his arms around him almost instinctively. Tom closed his eyes, hiding his face against Travis's neck and inhaling his warm, clean scent. "I know, baby," he whispered, his embrace tightening a little as his voice broke. "I know."

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws