Cut

by Altero

Rating: mature
Tags: Romance, Anthro, Slice of Life, Dark
Length: 1930

Button Mash's insecurities start to get the best of him.

Button Mash hasn't left his apartment in a week. He can barely manage the energy to get out of bed in the morning, and sometimes not even that. Eventually, he turns to something that most wouldn't even consider an option.

As an aside, I'm very disappointed that Button Mash doesn't have his own character option. Very disappointed.

Inspired in part by this: http://stedilnik.tumblr.com/tagged/button-mash

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-11-15 23:10:07 UTC

Chapter 1

Button Smash sat alone in his apartment. It was nearly noon, and he'd only recently dragged himself out of bed. The last few hours had been spent desperately trying to avoid consciousness, a loosing battle. The thought of another day made him want to curl into a ball. His stomach grumbled at him. Functionally, he was hungry. It had been... How long since he'd eaten last? Two days? Three? A while.

The thought of food, however, made his stomach churn, and the effort he'd have to go through to actually cook made him sigh. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Just another failure. First, he couldn't drag his sorry ass out of bed at a reasonable hour, despite all intents to the contrary. Now, he couldn't even muster the energy to cook for himself. Pitiful.

Button scrubbed his face. What an ass he was. He hadn't even left the apartment in several days, just moping around. He clenched his jaw and ran his fingers through his hair. Of course, it wasn't like he was really going to do anything, anyway. His accomplishments for the week amounted to Skyrim. Fifty hours of fucking Skyrim. His stomach churned and he balled his hands into fists.

Of course, that was really the only thing he was good at, right? Video games. That was his cutie mark. Video games. His destiny and usefulness to equine kind could be summed up in those two useless, idiotic words. Video games. He was destined to be a bum, a low life with no real skills. He'd be lucky if he could ever find a job, much less one that he enjoyed.

He was lucky he wasn't living in his parents' basement.

He leaned back in his chair, stared vacantly at the ceiling. What kind of 'special talent' was video games, anyway? Normal ponies had useful things like mothering, or magic, or building.

Or boxing.

He wasn't even that good at video games. Better than the average player, maybe, but nowhere near major league. He'd never have the twitch reflexes that the big league FPS players had, or the swift, tactical cunning of the RTS and MOBA players had. He rubbed his eyes, ground his palms into his eye sockets. Colors blossomed under his eyelids.

He should have had a cutie mark for stunning mediocrity instead.

Button took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. That's all he had, wasn't it? He wasn't smart. He wasn't tough. He wasn't outgoing. He was useless. Destined to be a drain on everypony for the rest of his life. He was the pitiful little shit that they kept around as a pity project, or an example of what not to do with your life.

He looked ever at the desk he was sitting at, contemplated it's contents. He probably should, shouldn't he? He deserved it for being the fucking looser that he was. He didn't matter. Nobody cared.

And the few that did care were wrong.

His hand closed around the drawer handle and slid it open, and the other rummaged around inside until he found what he was looking for. He pinched the small, square razor blade between his fingers and held it up to his face.

It was just a normal razor. Grey, square, identical to the billion others that were stamped out every year. There was a box of fifty more in the kitchen cabinet, but this one was his. He'd hidden it away months ago, convenient and innocuous in his desk drawer.

He'd used it before.

It was still sharp, though. Button dragged a thumb across the edge. It's not like flesh held much resistance, especially when it was as soft and weak as his.

With his jaw clamped shut, he watched the little blade, turned it over and over in his fingers. The edge glinted in the dim light, inviting.

He brought it to his neck, slid it under his fur, pressed the razors edge against his skin. A vein pulsed and struggled against the steel. He pressed a little harder, dug in a little deeper. Pain blossomed at the corners or the tiny blade. Button took a breath and yanked it across his flesh. Skin parted and blood began to drip down his neck.

It felt good.

He only wished he had the will to push just a little bit harder. Finish it. End it. Stop being such a pitiful ass wipe and get it over with.

Button's neck burned as he looked down, resting his arms on his knees. Slowly, he leaned forward and brought the razor to bear on his arm.

He was better at these. Not such a pansy. He dug an edge into the crook of his elbow and dragged it to his wrist, skin sliding open and blood seeping out. It wasn't so hard as long as you cut with the fur. Fur was surprisingly hard to cut. Another line, this time on the outside of the arm. Button had tried cutting across his fur once. It left a bald patch that made his work glaringly obvious. Luckily it was during the winter, so he was able to wear a sweater until it grew back and avoid most of the awkward questions.

Button moved up to the shoulder and cut one, two, three times. Again and again he slid the razor across his skin, opening his flesh to the world. Most of the time he couldn't say why he cut where he did. It just felt right. Down the elbow, following the bone. Down the top of the bicep. The back of the wrist. Knuckles.

Blood was starting to mat his fur, hot on his skin. His lacerations burned, ached. He wondered how much blood it would take before he start to feel cold. He'd never gone that far before.

He just might this time, though.

He brought the razor to the inside of his wrist, right next to the first cut he'd made, and slowly started to drag it to the crook of his elbow, pushing deeper, harder than he normally did.

It felt good.

Button clenched his teeth, pushed even harder, and the pain became even deeper. He was at his limit, hands shaking, nerves screaming for mercy. He pushed on. He was going to finish this cut. He didn't care about the pain, didn't care about the damage. He was a fucking screw up in everything else in his life, but by the Immortal Throne, he would not screw this up.

Button was halfway there. Blood began to drip from his wrist onto the carpet; he'd have to clean that up later. Pain beat at him, railed on his nerves, turned his stomach. He clenched his teeth. Just a little farther...

The bedroom door slammed open. "Guess who's back, lover boy, and ready for some..."

Button's stomach clenched. Babs stood frozen in the doorway, halfway through taking off her shirt. Jacket, luggage, and hat made a trail to the front door. His hat. She'd taken it with her for good luck. Her mouth hung open as she stared at him. She had a split lip and a black eye.

"Button?"

Button's cheeks burned and his heart pounded in his chest. His hands shook. His mouth was suddenly dry. Another drop of blood fell from his wrist.

"Button, what are you doing?" Her voice was small, barely above a whisper, and shook around the edges.

Button tore his eyes away from hers, focusing on their bed, hiding the razor behind his back. He shifted in his chair, uncomfortably aware that he was wearing nothing but his socks and his boxers.

"You weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow."

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?!" she screamed at him. Her shirt hit the floor with a quiet whump.

"I... I didn't want you to see this," Button whispered. The words stuck in his throat. He wanted to say more. Tell her that he was sorry. Explain why. Tell her that it wasn't a big deal, he wouldn't have gone all the way.

Tell her that even if he had, she would be better off without him.

Instead, he just sat there, mouth hanging open uselessly.

Babs moved closer to him. "Button, give me the razor blade." Her voice was surprisingly steady.

Button felt his fingers tighten around the slim piece of metal.

"Button, I need you to give me that razor blade." Button opened his eyes and saw Babs kneeling in front of him. He looked away, shifted the arm behind his back.

Babs reached around him, pressing their bodies together. He felt her fingers wrap around the blade. "Give. Me. The fucking. Razor." She punctuated each word with a tug, the metal finally sliding free of Button's fingers. She turned and tossed it into the trash can where it landed with a hollow thunk. Slowly, Button moved his arm from behind his back and grabbed his shoulder. The fur was slick under his fingers, and the cuts burned from the sudden pressure.

All at once, Babs wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. Her shoulders shook as she squeezed him painfully. She ran her fingers though his hair again and again as she quietly cried against him. At first, Button just sat there, unsure of what to do. Eventually, though, he slid his good arm around his lover and held her tight. Tears burned the corners of his eyes, but refused to fall.

The two sat there for a while, holding each other, gently rocking back and forth. Eventually Babs sniffed and pulled away, grabbing Button by the shoulders.

"Hey. Look at me."

Button glanced up and only met her eyes for a second before turning away, stomach knotting. This time she grabbed his face and pulled it close to her own. "Look at me."

His eyes flicked up to meet hers again, before falling, focusing on her nose. She tried to follow, dropping her head, looking up at him. "We're gonna get through this, ok? Ok?"

Button nodded numbly.

"You know I love you, right?"

"You shouldn't. You could do better than a looser like me."

Button hadn't meant to say those words. He really hadn't. They'd just slipped out. He'd thought them over and over again since the day he and Babs had gotten together, but he'd never come out and said them.

Suddenly, Button's head snapped sideways. His cheek stung and his head spun. Before he'd had a chance to recover, Babs grabbed his head again and pressed their foreheads together.

"Don't you say that, don't you fucking say that. Don't you say that ever again. Don't you even think that. I love you too much to let you throw it away like that. I. Love. You. You got that? You got it?"

Button nodded quickly, raising a hand to his cheek.

"Good. Now don't you forget it." She shook him as she spoke.

Button rubbed his cheek.

"You hit me."

"Yeah, well, you was being stupid, and I reserve the right to slap you around whenever you's being stupid, remember?" She gave him a playful jab in the chest.

Button flinched away, more out of reflex than pain, and smiled for the first time in a week. "Yeah, I remember."

Babs smiled back. "Good. Now let's go get you cleaned up, lover boy." She kissed him on the lips and wrapped an arm around his waist.

Button nodded shakily. "Ok. I love you, Babs."

"I love you too, Buttton."