Aaron Warner Short Fanfics

Warnette's daughter gets bullied without them knowing about it part one

slight trigger warning: s3lf harm, injury, bullying,

Leila's POV(Warnette's daughter. Age 16 in this fic)
A group of girls at my school that are super popular treat me like absolute garbage. They don't like me and so they bully me for it. Usually there is a few groups of girls sometimes new ones but mainly the same group always. Three of the main girls are Brittany, Camila, and Scarlett. The leader of the group is most often seen as Brittany. Today, after my last period class, I am about to go the bathroom and I see the three familiar faces standing in front of the stalls. I try to step past them, muttering, "Excuse me." Brittany pushes me against the stall, "Not so fast, dork." Eventually the three corner me and Brittany demands me, "Get in the stall." I try to object and defend myself but the other two girls push me inside. I fall on the floor. Scarlett runs to me and acts like she will help me up and I reach for her outstretched hand and she drops her hand and laughs aloud and exclaims, "Oh my god. You actually think I would help you! Ha-ha." She whispers something to Brittany and Camila. Brittany covers a hand on her mouth and suggests with a high pitched voice, "Oh my GOSH guys! Since nerd fell on that disgusting contaminated floor we should totally give her a nice little treat." Camila snickers beside her, "Oh my gosh. Brit, you are a genius. We tots should." I back against the wall but I knew I was cornered. And I know if I didn't let them do whatever they were going to do to me they would do so much worse. I watch anxiously and I am mortified as Brittany shuts the stall door and turns on the bathroom bathtub. I coward away from the girls, "Please! I need to use the bathroom!" Brittany bats her eyelashes at me, "Does it look like I care." I yell," Leave me alone!" Brittany snaps at the other two girls, "Pick her up and put her in." I struggle against their grips as Camila grabs me by my shoulders and Scarlett holding my other side. As I'm in the air, Brittany starts to tickle my stomach repeatedly . I attempt to break away from them but I can't. I restrain the great urge to pee. I want to cry in humiliation as a dark color arises in front of my pants area. The popular girls scream and snicker behind and in front of me, Brittany pointing, "She is peeing on herself, guys. Oh my god." As if I wasn't already embarrassed enough, the girls place me into the freezing cold water. My pants were now completely soaked. I want to curl in a ball and die. Brittany, Camila, and Scarlett continue to laugh and chuckle in amusement. After a few more minutes of practical torture, the girls finally leave and i immediately climb out of the tub when they leave. I quickly finish going to the bathroom and I look at the mirror and my wet pants are very obvious. I take my jacket and I tie it around my waist. It doesn't do much. But I was going home so it wouldn't make much of a difference anyways. My father, Aaron Warner is a doctor, he would be working right now but he usually arrives a little after I arrive home. My mother, Juliette as well, though she isn't a doctor. She just runs a lot of errands. Most of the time she stays at home . But today she has errands. When my school bus arrives home, I go inside and go straight to my bathroom. I remove my dirty soaked pants and I start to cut my thighs with my hidden knife. Fresh red blood seeps down my legs. I stiffen a cry as I take my razor blade and bring it across my thigh once more. I perform a small cut on my right wrist but I put a long sleeve hoodie on over it so it isn't visible. I wrap some tissue paper on my leg to stop the majority bleeding but it won't stop bleeding. Frustrated and tired, I pull up the new pants I got from my dresser drawer and button them. I heard the doorbell ring and I take a deep breath and go open the front door. My dad was probably home by now. I call out, "I'm coming!" I rushed to the door to let my father inside.

Aaron's POV
When my daughter, Leila, opens the door it brings a huge smile on my face when I see her. I open my arms wide for a hug, "Hey, sweetheart." Leila replies, softly, "Hey, Dad." I feel uneasy. I sense something is wrong almost immediately. I frown and say, "Is there something wrong, love?" My daughter looks at me in something that looks like fear. I ask her again this time gently but a little more disputably, "Leila. Baby, Is there something wrong?" She stays silent. After a moment, her face fails her and tears start to fall down her face and my father instincts instantly kick in and I ask her imperatively, "What is it, love?" She starts to cry in front of me. My heart just about shatters. I pick up my daughter up like she's the lightest thing in the world and place her on the kitchen counter. I search her eyes back and forth and repeatedly inquire, "Show me, love. Tell me something, love. What's wrong." My daughter acts as if she was going to say something but refuses to. I look her in the eyes with the most genuine love and concern I can muster. I say, "Show daddy what hurts." Leila shakes her head, her voice cracking,"I don't- I can't." I reply, "You can." Suddenly, I notice that she's gripping her long sleeves pretty tightly. I tell her, "Roll up your sleeve." She doesn't. Carefully, I reach out for her hand. Leila shakes her head continuously and pulling away when I try to. I calmly say to her, "You need to breathe, sweetheart. Don't give yourself a panic attack." I rub her back and tell her to take deep breaths. When she calms down a little, I explain to her, "Now. I'm going to roll up your sleeve. Don't fight me please." Her eyes are red from crying and she doesn't try to fight me this time. I roll her sleeve up. I am conflicted with many various emotions right now but I am appalled and startled and shocked but I remain calm. Leila says, sniffing,"I'm- I'm sorry. Don't-don't be mad." I say, my voice turning hoarse with emotion, "Don't apologize, my love. I'm not going to punish you for doing this to yourself. But I must ask and answer honestly. How long have you been doing this to yourself?" She answers, "A few months." I said, "This looks recent. When?" I squeeze her hand, "I promise you I'm not mad." My daughter blinks away tears and swallows, "Today." I question, "Is there anywhere else you need to show me?" Leila starts to cry but pulls herself together, "M-my thighs and my legs." I say, "I'm going to carry you to the couch." Leila's face looks like she wants to object my statement but I tell her kindly, "You don't have an option, love. I'm carrying you." I gather her in my arms and she wraps her arm round my neck. When I place her on the couch, her mouth twitches as she tells me, her voice cracking again, "It's bad. It's bleeding a lot too." My heart drops when she removed her pants exposing her cuts. My face is probably the face of a heartbroken man. I say inaudibly, "Oh, love....."

Continued in part two