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The itch was always there, a quite hum following everywhere, whispering sinful solutions until it starts to roar- and then, he couldn't say no.
The itch followed him everywhere-his room, the kitchen, the bathroom-even when his family and friends were near. He wished for it to stop, but deep down, he knew there was only one way to silence it.
That’s how he found himself sitting on the familiar bathroom tiles, ready to do something he’d regret later-but something he deemed necessary. As always, he had prepared everything for this moment.
The blood dripped and dripped onto the grimy tiles, pooling beneath him. Even with tears steaming down his face, he never felt more relieved, the itch was quiet once again, truly, it was never gone but he could allowed himself a fleeting moment of silence.
He remembered the first time he gave in. Frustration had consumed him, clouding his thoughts until he couldn’t think straight. The exasperation had dragged on for too long, leaving him desperate. He hadn’t known what to do—until the itch came, whispering promises of relief. It offered him an escape, a fleeting dream he couldn’t resist. And so, with trembling hands, he grabbed his kusarigama and got to work.
The euphoria was immediate, intoxicating. For a brief moment, the weight lifted, his mind unclouded. But as the high faded, shame flooded in. How could he have done this? He was a ninja, for god’s sake. What would his family think if they ever saw?
That thought sealed his resolve: they could never know. They could never see the marks-the scars of his shameful acts. From that day on, he wore sports bands over his right wrist. No one ever questioned the placement, and for that, he was grateful.
It was a monumental memory of some sort. Sure, he had to be careful to hide it, but he found a way to silence the feelings that always followed. And then, it took on another purpose.
A punishment, as he liked to call it. When he messed up a mission, when his mere presence annoyed his family, or even when one of his brothers got angry for touching his things in the lab (how could he not? There were so many incredible things there). It became a reminder: he would always be the screw-up, and he would have to fix that.
He never seemed to learn his lesson. The marks kept multiplying, each day adding more, and the itch was becoming harder to control.
Sometimes, he wondered if this was what addiction felt like-something you couldn't stop, but couldn't give up either, because without it, you'd be consumed by desperation. But then he reminded himself: he wasn't a drug addict or an alcoholic. He could stop whenever he wanted. He was sure of it.
In fact, he would prove it. For the next week, he wouldn’t give in. He wouldn’t even think about it. He’d make sure of it. With a determined expression, he stood up, cleaned his wounds, and prepared for the week ahead.
Day 1
Michelangelo woke up early, he was feeling really motivated today, he changed his bandages around his wrist and when to the kitchen to start cooking.
The kitchen smelled of sizzling bacon and eggs, but there was an underlying scent of oil and old pizza boxes piled up in the corner. It felt like home, but a home that had seen too many battles, too many days of hiding from the world outside
His brothers came to the kitchen at the same time, Donnie was usual, looked really exhausted. Leo cathed him before he fall over and Raph was looking grumpy. They and Mikey sat down and he decided to start a conversation, hopefully doing that doesn't bring their spirits down, he wouldn't want to be around himself most of the time.
"So, how did you sleep bros." He started a casual conversation, he hoped nobody would bring up his screw up yesterday in the mission.
"As good as I can when I'm tracking the mutagen you let go with those Krang," Donnie said bitterly, his tone sharp. He wasn’t in the mood to talk, clearly still irritated by the whole mess.
And of course, someone had to bring it up. Mikey’s shoulders sagged as he muttered, "I didn’t mean to do that…"
"You always say that but never learn," Raph snapped, crossing his arms and glaring at him. His voice was laced with frustration, the same frustration Mikey had been feeling all day.
"Yeah... I know." Mikey’s gaze dropped to his wrists for a brief moment, the familiar bandages a reminder of the mess he was in—both physically and mentally. He quickly looked away, deciding to start eating before the silence became unbearable. His brothers followed suit, though the tension in the air didn’t dissipate.
Mikey didn’t notice they were in the training room until Leo called his name, his voice carrying a mix of concern and annoyance from yesterday’s mission. Mikey glanced up, feeling the familiar gnawing itch creeping in again. But he couldn’t lose today-not so early. He needed a distraction. A good workout, something to burn out the frustration, would do the trick.
So, he threw himself into it. The training room became a blur of motion, his nunchucks swinging with practiced ease, but his mind wasn’t there. The itch clawed at him, distracting every movement, every thought. His wrist throbbed under the bandages, a constant reminder of the temptation he was trying to avoid.
His movements were sloppy, not at all like him. Even Donnie raised an eyebrow, noticing the difference. Mikey’s focus was shot. It was like he couldn’t think of anything else-just the itch. It was maddening, so frustrating!
Wait. He couldn’t keep spiraling like this. He would lose control again, and this time, in front of his family? How embarrassing!
He forced himself to push through, gritting his teeth and trying to concentrate on anything other than it. Even Splinter, who had been watching quietly from the sidelines, seemed startled by Mikey’s newfound intensity. That meant he was doing something right, right?
Minutes turned into an hour, but the frustration never eased. Mikey wished the training would have lasted longer. The itch was still there, buzzing under his skin, reminding him that no matter how hard he tried, it wasn’t going away.
As soon as Master Splinter dismissed them, Mikey headed straight for the TV room. Maybe some mindless television would take his mind off it.
He plopped down in front of the screen, remote in hand, but his thoughts were miles away. The show blared on, but the words were just noise to him- transparent, meaningless. His legs bounced restlessly on the floor, an outlet for the nervous energy he couldn’t shake. His wrist burned beneath the bandages, the pressure growing tighter with every passing second. The itch was spreading, crawling under his skin.
“Mikey.”
Leo’s voice cut through the haze. Mikey glanced up, catching the concerned look on his brother’s face. But Mikey forced a smile, hoping it would be enough to reassure him.
As it didn't, he added “I’m fine, bro. Just... tired,” his voice more strained than he intended.
Leo didn’t look convinced, but Mikey quickly turned his attention back to the screen, hoping the distraction would hold.
Maybe Leo had left, or maybe Mikey had just tuned him out. Either way, the next time he came to his senses, it was much later. The show was still on, but the images on the screen barely registered anymore. His mind was elsewhere, still gnawing at him, still itching.
The distraction wasn’t working. It never did for long.
Mikey’s eyes flicked to the door, the one that led to the outside world. He knew what he had to do, even if he hated himself for it. It was the only thing that ever quieted the itch, even if just for a little while.
Sneaking out.
He moved carefully, making sure not to make a sound. The last thing he needed was for one of his brothers to catch him. He wasn’t ready for that conversation, not yet.
He slipped out of the lair, the cool night air hitting him like a slap to the face. It felt different out here-more freedom, more space to breathe. But even as the city lights flickered in the distance, Mikey couldn’t escape the feeling that he was only running away from something he couldn’t outrun.
He settled himself in a rooftop, gazing out at the city. The twinkling lights and the distant hum of the cars usually calmed him down, but tonight, nothing could drown out of the noise in his head. He tried to think of anything else- anything but it . But-
His wrist pulsed again, a dull throb that wouldn't let him forget. The hidden kusagirama in his nunchucks was calling him, inviting him, it promised relief, an escape from the torment that had followed him all day. He wasn't even in the lair (this time), no one would see. It would be so easy.
Just one cut. One moment of bliss to end, the feelings that clung to him even in the presence of his brothers. The itch was promising so nice things- peace, quiet, freedom from his pain. How could he say no?
And with that, Mikey was sold, he pulled out his nunchucks from his belt and got his kusagirama from the secret place, his hands shook as he gripped it in his left hand, anticipation going through him. He can already taste it- the sweet relief, the silence.
Mikey lowered the blade and dragged it across the still not healed scars carefully. He sighted, the tension leaving his body in waves. God, it felt amazing. For a moment, he was free.
He was about to go again- just one more, he needed more so bad- when a voice shattered the moment.
"Mikey" a voice sounded behind him. Mikey froze, he turned around slowly to see his three brothers, standing behind him, their expressions were a mix of shock, anger, and something else- something that made Mikey's stomach twist in shame more than anything-
Horror
"Mikey" Raphael started, his voice screaming angryness, "Why were you cutting yourself?!, are you stupid?!!!" He screamed more angry at himself for not noticing.
"I-" Mikey started, but he stopped because he had no words, he was speechless. Raph was going to demand more questions but Leo beat him.
"You-" Leo was baffled as well, "Mikey we followed you, y'know going to topside alone is dangerous, but-" Mikey was apparently not the only speechless guy. "Little brother- why were you hurting yourself" he asked with tears in his eyes.
Mikey never felt more shame in his life, he was basically cornered, he was so embarrassed and the awkward conversation was not helping.
"Mikey let me see those injuries" demanded Donnie, he slipped into Doctor mode, he only did that when he was stressed, "c'mon Mikey, let me see them, they could get infected if I don't treat them" he insisted.
Michelangelo wanted to help his brother feel better but- right now- he could only focus on how useless and annoying he must be for getting them to worry, this was his little secret, and now his family found out about it, he felt so guilty.
"Mikey" said Donnie with a soft voice, "we'll talk later, but right now, we need to get back to the lair and treat those cuts" Mikey didn't realize he was crying until Leo dried his tears with his fingers, he looked sad and devasted.
They got to the lair and Mikey knew he was in for a long conversation and explanation.