Weirdo

15

Warning: This has a bit of gore in it. If you don't like gore, you can skim it. There are also major trigger warnings. If you are sensitive to the topic of domestic abuse, please don't read after 'I flutter my eyes open'.

Trigger warning for the following topics: Domestic Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, and Attempted Suicide.

If you don't like reading that type of stuff, I will be posting a new chapter on Saturday that will give you a quick rundown of the dream so that you won't have to read this chapter. Thank you for your attention.

Y/N's P.O.V.

People saw me and backed away as I walked down the halls. They were scared of me. People whispered about me. About my family. About what I've done. I walk down the halls with my head hung low. My backpack felt heavy. I put it in my locker and I toss my backpack in.

I grab all of my things when a bag falls out of my backpack. It was a white bag tied together with a drawstring. I didn't open it but instead, put it back into my backpack.

The cloth it was made out of became covered in sharp, aluminum barbs as it stabbed my hand. I could feel everyone's eyes look towards me as the bag threatened to kill me if I stopped paying attention to the pain.

I held it to my heart. I couldn't control my arms as the bag stabbed my heart. I fell to the floor as a maniacal coughing fit took over. I could feel the sharp barbs rip my chest into shreds and tearing my heart out. Mocking laughter filled the air as the thick blood pooled in my mouth, only to be coughed up onto the floor.

I cried as it ripped open my heart and shoved it down my throat. I was choking on my own heart. My coughing grew more violent and horrible with blood spilling out of my mouth and chest. The metallic taste was one I knew quite well. I slowly woke up.

I flutter my eyes open to see that I was not in my home, but my house. I was sitting at the table eating dinner when my Dad threw a plate. It hit my mom in the head. She continued eating and smiling as if the porcelain didn't cut her face into pieces as blood dripped onto the floor.

My dad yelled at me, "Y/N! What are you doing! Do your fucking job dammit!".

I grabbed some disinfectant spray and a rag and started picking up the blood that was falling to the floor. My dad yelled at me again, "Finish your fucking food first dumbass! It's gonna get cold retard!".

I scrambled up from the floor when I was smacked to the floor by him. My father yelled at me about using my brain. He smashed my head into the table face first.

I could taste the blood that seeped from my nose as he kicked my stomach in. I coughed out some blood. My dad holds my jaw shut as he calls me a disgusting brat that deserves death for existing in his mere presence and that I shouldn't be coughing so much. I didn't speak. I just wished for it all to end.

Dinner ends and I walk into my room. I couldn't control my actions as I look around. I see a rope. My fan's strong and sturdy. My bed's tall enough. Or I could go for a more dramatic approach and get a kitchen knife. Nobody would care anyway. My death would be my father's wishes.

I decide against it. It would be too easy. I would be a coward to take such an easy route.

I wait until midnight to creep downstairs. I pull out a drawer. I search for a certain one in general. There it was. A steel knife about three times the size of my arm. I run my finger across the edge. It was dull.

I grab the knife and with shaky hands, I gather up the courage. Then, I hear a voice slowly fade in. "Y/N? Y/N?! Y/N!!"