Suicide ↠ Kellic

Kellin

Edited✔️

Song: blush- wolf Alice

K E L L I N

"Your fucking worthless!" he growled, gripping the collar of my shirt. His face was red with anger, and I swear I could almost see steam coming from his ears, "you fucked up gay piece of shit, who the fuck is suppose to carry on the family if your as straight as a fucking roundabout and my only child!? If I knew my kid was going to be a homo I would have never of even tried to fuck your slutty Mom."

Ouch. I grimaced as he made fun of my sexuality, and how being gay could never make me have a real 'Bostwick' child.

"Heard it all before, Dad."

I heard the sound of heels on wooden floor and braced myself as my mother walked into the room. She looked at me in disgust as she raked the bruises on my feeble body and scowled. In her six inch stilettos and promiscuous dress, she strode over to me and grabbed me by the t-shirt, yanking me towards her.

"You're a disappointment to this family, boy," she sighed, "no wonder your father hates you."

She quickly left the room, leaving me alone with a six foot something, drunk, angry and abusive man.

"You heard her, your a waste of space, Kellin. You never should have been born," he hissed, swinging his fist and hitting me in the jaw. I winced slightly, but I knew better than to fight back or fall down. I let the punches come at me until I was lay on the floor, now taking kicks to the ribs and stomach. He wrapped his hand tightly round my fore arm, his fingernails dug deep into my wrists, reopening cuts and letting them bleed out. His calloused hands grabbed me by the neck, gripping tightly around my throat. My air flow was cut off and I struggled beneath his grasped. Choking and sputtering I clawed at his arms, digging my nails deep into his arms looking for some sort of release.

And then I gave up. I let death succumb me.

-:-:-:-:-

'I have a headache,' that was my first thought. I couldn't quite open my eyes, but I could hear pretty clearly. Some unrecognisable voices from around me were discussing something, my condition? I groaned. What the fuck? My eye lids felt like weights, but somehow I managed to open them, however, shutting them the moment the light of the room beamed at me.

"He's awake!" Said the unrecognisable voice once again. "Mr Bostwick, my names Dr Carter, I'll be your doctor for the time your here."

It was only at the word Doctor, did I remember what happened previously. My eyes shot open, permanently this time.

"We're going to run some quick tests, if that's alright, I need to make your getting enough oxygen, and your breathing okay." Dr Carter chuckled, rubbing his hands together before snapping on some rubber gloves.

"Everything seems to be okay," he hummed, he took a swab of my saliva and set it down and turned to face me.

"What's your name?" He asked.

I looked at him funny, "my names Kellin Bostwick."

"When were you born?"

"April 24th."

"Okay, no memory loss that I know of, better keep him here for another day for safety precautions," he seemed to be speaking to himself, however it could have been a way for remembering all of this information.

Dr Carter left the room after jotting down brief notes. A nurse dropped off a tray of food. I was famished, so I quickly dug into the food. It may have tasted like cardboard, but it was something to fill my stomach.

Afterwards, due to my tired state I was not prepared to move around, instead I pulled out my phone and began watching Death Note on Netflix, occasionally taking sips from the plastic cup of water from beside me.

"Mr Bostwick," Doctor Carter entered the room, making me jump a little, "we need to keep you until your parents sign you out, sir. If you don't mind me saying, the staff members and I are slightly worried about the cuts on your wrist, we've come to the the conclusion that we should i from your parents of St. Johns mental health hospital. It could definitely help.The decision is completely up to you and your parents, which I will have to have a talk with when they arrive."

I froze. No way could my parents learn about my self harm. Imagine how much of a 'weak pussy' I would seem to my dad. He would beat me until I'm dead.