This is Recovery. | A SBI Angst|

23

Proofread, short chapter because I got no motivation left in me.
The court day is in 4 months because the waitlist is long. Surprised we got in within this year. I won't be able to testify as a witness since I'll be gone after Sunday, but I'm sure they can pull enough evidence together.
Even if he's found not guilty and is released Schlatt and Ranboo will either have to go through the system like Tommy did or go live with other family because their parents are missing currently, we don't know if they're dead or in Mexico, who knows?
Tommy had to go to school today, and so did Ranboo. They only had 2 days left because it's Thursday, We have to do our exams today because we didn't yesterday. We already got our SAT's back we got over 1000 so we are graduating early. We already knew we were though because the principal told us plus we already got knew about going to Princeton on scholarship. Now we get to go one year early instead of next year when we graduate. The SAT scores let us know that we can graduate early and go to Princeton this year instead of next if we want to.
(I'm very aware that this is very Wattpad logic coded. Just let me live)
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We got picked up after exams and brought home. I decided I would write the letter on Sunday morning.
My day has been rough. School. The names people call me and Techno, the looks I get in the hallways, the whispering I get from the younger years. Sometimes the older ones or the same years. It pisses me off.
"Wilbur!" Dad calls.
"What?!" I yell back with a little more attitude than intended.
"Come get your stuff!" I groan.
"Oh my god!"
"What's up with all the attitude?" he asks calmly. I get pissed off more because I had just sat down.
"I can't sit down for one fucking second!"
"Watch your language! And clean up your stuff." he scolds.
"Fuck off! Oh my God, so fucking annoying! Can't you just leave me the fuck alone, damnit." I practically yell. I grab my shoes and bag and rush up the stairs and throw my shit in my room.
"Watch it, Wilbur! I don't know what's gotten into you, but-" I don't hear the rest because I've gone into the bathroom, lock the door, and turned the shower on. I sigh and mentally curse myself out for being an asshole for no reason.
I crawl towards the cabinet. I forgot my razor in my room, surely there's something that can substitute it. I search and search, but nothing. I go through drawers and still nothing. I give up and unlock the door running to my room quickly and grab my razor under the false bottom.
I run back to the bathroom and lock the door.
I wasn't crying, but I felt this horrible knot in my throat. I looked at the razor in my hand laying there lifeless, but full of so many memories.
I pick it up and inspect all the sides and the small hole in the middle where the screw used to be. Once the thought is there it's far too gone and I will end up doing it.
I take my sweater off, leaving me in a T-shirt. I also remove my trousers. I lined the razor up with one of the scars on my thigh. I drag the small, but sharp tip across my leg. It didn't hurt from how sharp the corner of the blade was, not till after when my clothes rub against it and the hot water make them sting.
I quickly scratch it across my thigh multiple times it was with just enough pressure it did something besides create irritated red marks.
I did two more that were deeper, I liked doing it on my wrist more. I liked that when I tried twisting my arm after making my arm completely covered in stinging red lines it hurts, a lot. It feels like my skin is being torn off. Or like the cuts are being torn open more just by me simply twisting my arm.
I move to my wrist. I covered my wrist in complete red. Along with my upper arm. It was steamy in the bathroom and it was hard to breathe. I felt like throwing up, but kept going. When the blood starts dripping I stop.
I wipe it up with my towel it wasn't enough blood to make a pool on the ground, but it was enough to drip down my arm and make a small bead of blood go on the tip of the razor. I throw the razor on the counter and remove the rest of my clothes, it hurts lifting my t-shirt over my head because it rubs against my mangled arm.
I step into the shower carefully. Holding onto the bar on the wall careful not to fall.
I sit on the shower floor. I wasn't crying till now. I watched as my dirty water goes down the drain and my tears mix with the water. I've never felt more alone. I just want to disappear. I don't want to see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. I don't want to be here anymore. In this house, this town, this world.
I want to be alone and never found again. I'm just so fucking tired.
They tell you life isn't supposed to be easy, but they never said it would be this fucking hard.
The water stings.
I stare at the cuts on my skin. I liked looking at them. My arm was barely recognizable as my own. It looks like something from a slasher movie. I get out of the shower and collect my belongings before I pass out from the steamy bathroom. I peek in the hallway to see if Phil was there I had a towel around me, but still, I didn't want him seeing my arms or anything. When I see he's not anywhere to be seen, I run into my room. I get dressed and lay down in my bed, tired as fuck.
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I'm getting lazy, sorry about that I'm just trying to get to Sunday as fast as possible to finish this story because there's this certain bit that was the whole reason I wrote this book just for one small bit.
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