Chapter Text
Planet knows it's wrong, but it feels so right. Taking pictures of himself to send to older people, showing off their body. It's wrong, and he knows it is, but it feels good. It shouldn't, and maybe he knows it shouldn't, but it does. He loves the praise, loves the attention. What's so bad about that? It's not like they're hurting anyone! He enjoys it, the people getting the pictures enjoy it, there's nothing wrong. Nothing!
So maybe he's getting especially attached to one guy. There's nothing wrong with that. There's nothing wrong with it whatsoever. He still has boundaries. He can say no. He's allowed to say no whenever he wants.
Even if it feels so wrong to do so.
Even if the guy is like a decade older than him.
He always feels so bad for saying no. He shouldn't be saying no. He should do what Branzy wants, because he's been nothing but adoring of him, and why should Planet hide anything from him? Saying no just feels wrong, and he finds himself doing more and more things. Every time he sends a new picture, they feel a sickening sense of revulsion, but he swallows it down, calls it butterflies in his stomach instead because they're so obsessed with the praise he doesn't know what he would do without it.
It's so wrong, and he knows it deep down, but they can't admit it to themself, because admitting that might just be a fate worse than death.
Everything's fine, really. Everything's fine, even when he's told to do more and more things, things they really don't want to, things he feels sick doing, but it's for Branzy, so it's okay.
It's getting worse. Slowly. Slowly enough that Planet doesn't really realize in the moment.
Branzy is demanding Planet's attention more frequently - at first they didn't talk very often; once or twice a week, but now Branzy expects them to respond every day.
Every day turns into every time he sends a message.
Every time he sends a message turns into 'if you don't respond in an hour I'm going to assume you're ignoring me.'
Ignoring Branzy turns into it's own fate; a new layer of hell.
Planet can't breathe anymore. He can't do anything. He doesn't get to be alone for even 40 fucking minutes. He can't even get an hour to himself anymore, and it's more than exhausting. Planet isn't alive anymore. Barely more than a goddamn puppet. Little does he know it's only just begun.
It doesn't even matter if they're at school, if Branzy texts he needs to respond.
(Later, they'll realize they don't even remember 8th grade. Sometimes, though, it's better to not remember.)
Planet isn't allowed to say no. To anything. If they do, it's met with "don't you love me?" or "after everything i've done for you?" or "please, just this once, just for me?" or some variation.
Planet is cold and tired and their body isn't their own anymore. It hasn't been for a long time. They have no choice anymore; everything they do and say is what Branzy says. They don't know what's real anymore. Nothing is real anymore, every day is the fucking same, and Planet wants to die more with every hour that passes. Nothing is real anymore to Planet. Except for Branzy. Only Branzy matters. Only Branzy is allowed to matter.
There are blades on the desk next to Planet's bed. He falls asleep looking at them. Every night he wants to use them. Every night they want to end it because there's no fucking point anymore. They have nothing left to give. At this point they are ripping themself apart and handing the pieces to Branzy one by one.
It's easy to start drinking, just for the hell of it. Not even a goddamn teenager and they're fucking drinking, it's almost kinda funny.
The first time they get drunk isn't so bad. Thank fucking god Branzy is asleep. Planet instead drunk texts his best friend, who he realizes he hasn't talked to in... months. Fuck. Fuck, what the hell? It's been months? Planet very suddenly does not feel giggly or drunk at all. Instead, all he feels is a cold numbness and heartbreak through his whole body. He hasn't talked to anyone in months except for Branzy.
It shouldn't be so shocking. He hasn't been allowed to talk to anyone in months.
Planet is so cold.
They've stopped eating almost entirely as well. Food makes them sick. Everything seems to make them sick. Stress affects the immune system, right? No wonder Planet is sick all the time.
Maybe if Planet breaks enough, Branzy won't want him anymore. Maybe if they lose enough of themself, break to the point of no return, finally fucking shatter, maybe Branzy will finally leave him alone.
Maybe breaking would be better than living like this.
They haven't talked to anyone in months. They're angry and scared and tired and so done with fucking everything. He's cutting almost every day at this point, because they need something to feel other than fear. Cutting is the only thing they have left.
Until Branzy takes that from him too.
"Carve my initials into your thigh. Send a pic."
Planet does what he's told. The wound bleeds and pulses in a familiar way, a way that they've found safe for so long, but right now all he can feel is disgust and horror. If everything else Planet has done was bad, this is the worst. Sending half-naked pictures of himself was almost permanent, but those never left a mark on his body - only his mind. This is a permanent reminder of Branzy. No matter what happens, Branzy owns him.
(He never looks at himself the same way. Even when he finally gets away from Branzy, seeing that scar is enough to send him spiraling.)
Nothing is ever enough. Planet is ripping himself apart physically and mentally and it's still not enough. Planet is going to die like this. Except he's not, because he's not allowed to die, because Branzy wouldn't like that. Everyday, something new breaks him. Everyday, they get worse. Every single fucking day, Planet dies a little more.
They're too young for this, at the end of the day. They were 11 when it started. Barely 14 when it ended.
And he lives with the knowledge that the fucking creature who took advantage of him is still out there, still likely abusing people and still getting away with it.
Every time Planet thinks about it, they die again.
They will never be warm again.