True Identity { A H2OVanoss Story }

Chapter Six

Please read author's note at the end. Trigger warning, don't read if you are sensitive to cutting.

3rd Person POV

5 months flew past, with sideway glances from the girls and abuse from Evan and his friends. Jonathan, quite frankly, was sick of it, and had said that to Evan a few times but he dismissed it. He met up with Evan as Delirious once a week, which was pretty good. His online friends were teasing him as usual, but they never went too far, it was all fun and games.

Evan was annoyed at his friends, not the virtual ones. Annoyed was an understatement, Evan was furious. They've been egging him on to keep harassing Jonathan, and Evan knew he couldn't say no because his friends would turn against him. He quit calling him scarface, because most of the girls were saying Jonathan is actually hot, which he is. Every time he threw a punch or nasty comment Jonathan's way he always swore it was the last, but it never was. He found himself falling in a deeper love with Delirious, even though he has only seen his eyes. His heart would beat faster everytime he met up with him.

Jonathan's POV

"Alright Jonathan, I have to go back down to North Carolina for a few weeks, you'll have to clean, cook, and the rest. I'll send you up money every week." My mum explains to me. I nod. She hugs me. It feels nice, comforting, warm.

"Are you sure you'll be alright? I'll miss you darling." She squeezes my cheeks.

"Yeah mum, I'll be good."

"Oh, and one more thing, no parties in this house! You can go to parties, but none are here. Got it? And no getting drunk or having sex!"

"Mum!" I exclaim, my jaw smacks the ground. She throws her head back laughing at her own hilarity. She's better without dad. I agree to her rules. She puts all her bags in her little, green car, gives me one last kiss on the cheek and drives off. I slouch my shoulders once she turns the corner. I am exhausted. Not to mention sick of all the crap Evan's been giving me. Maybe I should've just said it was me straight off the bat, but it's way too late now. Like, waaay too late. I've noticed that he's been a bit hesitant with what he's been saying lately, like if he says something I'll break like glass.

Who knows? Maybe I will, I feel like I'm falling apart at the seams. I'm leaking out at every crack, going to be drained entirely soon, too soon. I wolf down some toast, grab my bag, lock up the house and rush off to the bus. I take a seat near the front where no one else is around, and stare out the window for the whole trip. The trees blur into one another like my thoughts.

When the bus pulls up at school I step off with weights on my shoulders, sinking me into the damp ground. I trudge to my locker, where I see the word FAG spray painted across it in all capital, red letters. I flinch at the slur. No one knows how true it is, but have they guessed? Am I too obvious with my infatuation with Evan? I open my messy locker, put everything in it and shut it. I turn around to see a large group of people behind me, bystanders, and Evan standing in front of me holding a pocket knife. One of his friends push him forward, as if Evan doesn't want to do what he is about to. Or at least, that's what a part of me deep down wants.

"Hello Jonathan. I heard you're a fag." I catch his eyes, they are misty, and not meeting mine. I'm right, he doesn't want to do this, but it doesn't make it hurt less. "So here's a knife, use it whatever way you want to. Slit your throat, slash open your wrists and thighs. No one cares, not even your dear old dad." He flashes me a sick grin before turning around and walking off, the crowd following him. His friends slap him on the back, whooping and making a ruckus.

I feel like someone's thrown a brick at my head. Not just one, two hundred. I fall to the ground and hug my arms around my knees and droop my head. What is going on? Why are they doing this, what have I done to them?

A lone tear falls down my cheek, no one is around to see it. Does that mean it really happened? Does no one care?

***

When I get home that night, I throw my bag down, race upstairs and collapse on my bed. I cry my eyes out until I shrivel up like a prune. Once I finish crying I notice the weight in my chest, the pounding of my head, my heart. A pressure is waiting to be released. I don't know how to release it. Not yet-I spot the shiny handle of the knife sticking out of my pocket. Maybe I do.

I stare at it for a minute before stumbling to the bathroom. I shut the door behind me. I look up at my hideous reflection, huge scars running down my face, puffy, red eyes and trembling lower lip. Pathetic, no wonder no one likes you. I pull the knife from my pocket, turning it over a couple of times in my hand. What if I-. Am I going to do this? No stopping-. Yes, I am.

I put the blade to my wrist and slice, feeling pain shoot up my arm. I gasp. Of course it's going to hurt, idiot. I run it over my skin a few more times, letting it sink in what I'm doing. Wait, what am I doing? This is stupid! STOP!! I wash my bleeding arm and collapse, tears flowing freely again. I can't wear short sleeves. I'll have to be careful about everything I pick up. I start sobbing. I'm weak. I'm useless.

What have I done?

A/N: Please don't hate me! I almost cried writing this, I hated writing it. But yeah, I know this chapter is short and I'm sorry that it's short. If you are a cutter, please stop. And I know that's easier said than done, but you're wrecking a beautiful body. If you don't think you're beautiful, get a better mirror. There is beauty in every person, including you, whether it be your personality or laugh or natural ability to make others feel better. And just like Jon, you won't be able to wear t-shirts anymore! There are several hotlines you can ring if you need someone to guide you, they are free and confidential. Please, I believe that no human body should be hurt if it can be helped.

PEACE OUT!