Here's Chapter 1
Warning: Contains Self Harm Scenario and angst. If you are uncomfortable with this, then skip this chapter.
Side-Note: Sorry online users if the picture is huge. I need to edit it to make it a little smaller.
Worthless. Stupid. Ungrateful. Selfish
These hurtful words kept repeating themselves in Mark's head as tears began to fall from his eyes. He throws his head on the edge of his bed, letting a small cry escape from his lips.
Annoying. Weak. Useless.
"Stop," Mark whispers as he brings his hands up to his face. "Please make it stop."
He grabs hold of his hair and lets out another whine. The voices in his head won't stop. He hears the voices of his teachers telling him he can't do anything right. He hears the voices of strangers asking him about him bruises. But the voice that ring the loudest in his head is his father's saying the most hateful and disappointing thing he has ever heard. "You gay piece of shit! Get out of my house! I never want to see you again!"
Mark cries more as he gets up from his sitting position and walks into his bathroom, hoping to find his sense of relief.
When he walks into the bathroom, he locks the door and takes a quick look at himself in the mirror. God, he's a mess. His eyes are and his brown hair is a mess. He stares into his brown eyes. "Why am I like this?" he whispers as more tears fall from his eyes. He wipes them with the back of his hand and opens the mirror to reveal the contents of his medicine cabinet. He stares at the shelves before reaching out and grabbing the razor blade from the middle shelf. He places the blade on his left wrist, but hesitates when a familiar, clam voice enters his head.
"Don't do it, Mark." He hears his friend's voice plead. "Call me, I can help you. Please Mark, don't do it."
He almost puts down the blade. He almost runs out of the bathroom to call his beloved friend... but he doesn't
He puts the blade back on his wrist and quickly makes a small cut, watching blood rush out of the fresh wound. He doesn't cut deep enough to scar, but it helps him release the pain he feels and stops the evil voices in his head. He makes three more cuts before he feels the tension in his chest disappears and his tears stop falling on his cheeks. He turns on the sink and washes of the small blade. He cleans the blade with the towel then lowers his wrist under the faucet, watching the blood run under the drain and biting his lip at the small pain that travels up his arm. He grabs the towel hanging on the wall and cleans up his arm and the outside of the sink. He grabs the blade and puts it back in the cabinet and shuts the mirror, catching a glimpse of his relfection. His eyes are still puffy and red and his expression is robotic. He frown at himself and makes his way back to his bedroom.
He enters and walks over to his nightstand and turns on the lamp. He walks over to his dresser where his bandages are, surprised at himself on how calm and robotic he feels. He grabs the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and dabs a little bit on his cuts, wincing at the sudden stinging sensation. He puts the bottle back and grabs the bandage roll and starts wrapping it around his wrist. He looks up from his arm and stares at the framed photo of Jackson, his best, and almost only friend.
Mark feels a rush of guilt wash over him as he remembers Jackson's words. "Promise me that you try to get better. Promise me you won't do this to yourself again."
Mark frowns. "I'm sorry Jackson," he whispers at the picture before continuing to wrap up his wounds. When he finishes, he puts the roll back and walks over to his bed, letting his body drop on the mattress . He takes of his shirt and reaches to turn off the lamp when his phone goes off. He looks at it and smiles when he sees Jackson's ID on his screen. Mark unlocks his phone and reads the text.
"Do you want to hang out tomorrow? If so, do you want to hang at my place or yours?"
Mark can't help but giggle when he thinks of an excited Jackson on his phone, waiting for Mark to respond. "My place is fine." Mark texts back.
"Cool! See you tomorrow!" Jackson responds back.
Mark smiles and locks his phone and sets it back on his nightstand. He moves to turn off his lamp, feeling nervousness and excitement rush through him. But then guilt comes back, making him feel scared. He turns on his back and looks at his wrist. "It shouldn't be noticeable by tomorrow," he says as closes his eyes and falls into a dreamless sleep.
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