Don't Ever Let Go of That Smile

Kellin decided to go home and attempt to freshen up before 7pm. But he could hardly function. Every step he took pained him more than life itself. How did life even get this way? Three days ago they were both living a normal, happy life. What did either of them do to deserve this? He couldn't understand it.
He unlocked the door to his apartment and walked in, tears streaming down his face. He felt numb. Every part of his body felt like flames, burning, paining. He didn't know what to do. He threw himself onto his bed and let it all out. There he sat for two full hours just crying; life had no meaning anymore. Knowing his luck Austin was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. Austin was his life, his whole entire life, what was he going to do without him?

He stood up and brushed himself down, still crying. He noticed his legs were shaking and so were his hands; why? He realized he was barely breathing and gasped for his breath. His head was dizzy. He, in a panic, sat back down, scared. He had to release this pain somehow. Everything was his fault. He had almost killed his best friend and it was his fault, his fault...

He noticed a small gleam from over at his desk. Feeling angry at himself, he walked over and picked it up. A plastic pencil sharpener. He hadn't self-harmed in years.. He wasn't going to relapse now, was he? No. Of course not. He couldn't. Although...
He wasn't feeling any better.
"Just one cut...," he thought. It wouldn't get bad again. He wouldn't let it. He stepped on the plastic, sending shards of it across the room within a 3 meter radius. Oh well, he thought. Memories flooded back as he sat on his bed with the blade in his hand. Flashbacks of his teen years, crying in his room, parents yelling downstairs.. Bullies.. Fights.. Broken hearts.. and now this. After almost 7 years being clean from cutting he was back holding this blade. The blade that had once been his best friend and his worst enemy. The blade that made him feel better but oh so much worse. The blade that had confined him to an eternal damnation in hell.
But he still held it.
Slowly, oh so slowly, he dragged the blade across his wrist. Once, twice, as he started to notice faded scars of his past, it all seemed so real again. The crimson liquid dripped down his arm, as his tears followed. The blade fell out of his hand and fell to the floor. FUCK, he thought. Too deep. Why did he go so deep?! He should have known better!
Blood pumped out of his arm yet he remained calm, it was all going to be okay. It's not that bad. It's not that bad...
And for the second time that week, all he could see was black.