another MHA angst story

middle school

TW FOR THE WHOLE STORY:
Verbal abuse
Physical abuse
Mentions of SA
Bullying
Self harm
Suicide attempt(s)
Mental disorders
Disordered eating (with no ED)

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Early middle school:

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It was a normal day at school. Well as normal as his day could get. He was currently stuck in the middle of his parent's vicious feud.

It wasn't pretty.

It was violent. It was yelling. It was hitting. It was alcohol and unconsciousness. It was the smell of rotting food in the fridge and vomit. It was niether of his parents cooking or cleaning. Not talking to eachother for days, even weeks.

It was up to him, a middle schooler without a quirk who was dealing with enough outside of home already to keep his family from completely falling apart. He didn't realize that this wasn't parenting. He didn't realize that his dad bursting into his room in the middle of the night in a drunken rage and beating him until he was nearly unconscious wasn't normal. He didn't understand that parents werent supposed to be violent towards you.

He didn't understand not crying daily. He didn't get how kids did it. He assumed he was just weak like all the kids said he was. He just wasn't as strong as anyone else.

No one cared enough about him to help him. Not even heroes. Everyone thought he was a worthless piece of shit. That's what he got for being quirkless.

It took his parents physically yelling outside his middle school for someone to finally realize something was off. It was the first time police were ever involved.

All they did was calm his parents down, and then sympathize with them. Having a quirkless kid was just so difficult in this day and age. He went home and cried that night.

He cried for hours.

He cried so hard he threw up.

He couldn't stop crying. Is this really what he deserved?

He locked himself in the bathroom, sat on the floor, and rocked back and forth, holding his knees close to his chest. He hated himself. This was all his fault. It was his fault his parents weren't happy. It was his fault they didn't love eachother.

He scratched at his arms. When he looked down they were bleeding. There was scraped skin under his nails from where he had scratched over and over. He rummaged through his drawers. He wasn't sure what he was looking for.

He found a pair of scissors and immediately pressed the blade against his arm. Hard. It stung and sliced his wrist open. He did it again, next to it. He did it over and over until there were were thick streams of blood dripping onto the floor.

He looked at his arm. Scabbing, bloody, bleeding. His masterpiece. For some reason he felt so happy with it.

He smiled. He felt sick. His stomach twisted as he stared at his gory arm.

Why did he like this? He was so confused. But he liked the blood streaming down his arm. The way it hurt to move it. He was finally getting what he deserved. It made him feel better.

He itched for more, but a knock came at the door before he could complete his task. He whipped his head over, frozen on the floor, refusing to move.

It was his mom.

"What's taking so long in there!? You forget this is the only bathroom in this house?" She yelled.

"Stomachache." He responded weakly, silently pulling down the sleeve of his hoodie, letting blood begin to soak it and cleaning the floor.