Fall For You ~Muke Clemmings~

Chapter 24

Author's Note: TRIGGER WARNING, TRIGGER WARNING (Self-Harm)

I get off the swing and stand in front of them, wanting to run but not sure where to run to. I look at Michael with pleading eyes, but he looks away. "You sure that you're not a faggot?" One of them asks, and Michael nods.

I felt so betrayed, I wanted him to do something.

"It isn't a joke. I was at his house earlier. He let me touch his.. thing." I confess, my anger for Michael getting in the way of my rational thinking. I wasn't going to let him do this to me. I was not going to let him hurt me.

"You're such a liar." Michael says to me, looking at me with wide-eyes. He didn't seem surprised, either. It was obvious he was scared but he didn't want to show it. I was scared as well, being completely honest, but I wasn't going to let him let me take the fall. We could get out of this together, away from these homophobic people. I was so used to physical violence towards me and I shouldn't be. I was used to it because of Michael.

"I just realised something Michael - you still bully me. Tell me you like me, tell me you have changed. But when it comes down to it, you're still throwing me under the fucking bus! You are going to let me get beaten by these guys for what? So you can get away scotch free than help me clean up my wounds later? Tell me how sorry you are for letting them beat me? I am not going to handle your bullshit, Michael!" I scream, and the three boys are almost in shock at my outburst.

"I'm not a fag like you, gay boy." Michael sneers, and in that moment I want to cry and I wanted to punch him at the same time.

"We're just gonna go." One of them says and they all basically run. They did not want drama, they were homophobic but most guys would feel uncomfortable with a couple fighting.

"I hate you." I tell Michael. Right before I told him that he looked relieved that they were gone, but then looks guilty and hurt when I say that. "Before you say anything, or try to fix this - I'm done. So fucking done. I put up with your shit for too long and I thought, 'wow! he's changed so much.', but you haven't! We spend a nice day together, having fun, then you were just prepared to watch me get my ass kicked." I continue to yell and insult him. "I fucking hate you, you're nothing but a douche. I wish you nothing but loneliness." I say, and turn around.

I just walk from the park, and down the street. I wish I brought my ear buds, but I just had to listen to the wind and the sound of cars going by. Michael didn't follow me, not that I expected he would. I felt a heavy weight on my chest, and I felt sick to my stomach. I ate more than I was used to today, but I decided to try and keep it down.

I tell myself not eating isn't a good thing, but whenever I eat I feel guilty. I want to puke it up. I don't want to feel like that. It was involuntary.

The weight on my chest though was familiar. I wanted to go home and take out my blades. I wanted relief. I needed relief. I promised Michael, I promised myself. But what does that matter? I am nothing. Michael was probably using me for something. I don't know what, but he probably never liked me. I am nothing. I wished I could be popular and well-liked. But nobody wants to befriend a cutter. Nobody wants to befriend someone with a low self-esteem.

My entire walk home, the topic of cutting filled my mind. The thought of it calmed me down, and as I ride the elevator to my floor I feel excited. I almost rush into my house and see all the lights are off. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion and turn the lights on. I see a small piece of paper on the kitchen table.

'Luke -

I went out with some friends tonight, and I won't be back until tomorrow afternoon. I left you dinner in the fridge.

Love Mum xx'

I smile and open the fridge, seeing a paper plate with some chicken and white rice on it; the plate was covered in saran wrap. I take it out and take the saran wrap off then move some of the trash and dump the food in. I cover it up then put the plate in the trash.

I wasn't hungry, but my Mum would think something was up if she thought I didn't eat.

I go to my room and close and lock my door, even though nobody's home. It made me feel safer doing it.

I had recently hid my razors well just in case somebody came across them.

So, I pick up my desk chair and place it my the window. I stand on it and move a small wooden piece that says 'Luke's Room' on it. Behind was a white envelope, and I grab it and place the wood back on the top of the window. 

It was a good hiding place.

I then bend down and grab the shoe box under my dresser and pull it out. I place it on my bed and open it.

I see bloody materials right away.

When I don't do it in the bathroom and clean them with toilet paper and such, I use old cloths and old shirts I haven't worn in forever to clean them. I take a cleaner one out and lay it down on the bed, folding it in half. I get on my bed and sit crisscross in front of the shirt. I grab the envelope and pour out my razors onto the bed.

I examine them to see which one was the cleanest, so basically, which one would cut deeper.

I see one that had a couple blood stains on it and decide to go with that one. I put the corner of the blade to my wrist and close my eyes, whispering to myself to do it.

And I break my streak of being clean.