Sweaters || Malum

Chapter 16

Song for the chapter: Broken Home by 5 Seconds of Summer (they're so perfect nobody don't you understand?)

Trigger warnings: Self-harm, offensive language, abuse

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I felt so numb.

Everything I do does not give me joy, it does not even bring me pain. It brings me nothing. I felt so emotionless as of late.

Michael left after about an hour, which was okay I guess. He hung around me even after finding my razors. Now I was sitting in my room listening to music, wishing I was somebody else. That I could have accomplished more with the short life I have lived so far, that I could have been born to a different family.

"And my scars remind me that the past is real, I tear my heart open just to feel." I sung quietly with my music blaring. Suddenly I heard a loud bang and I mute my music, listening intently. I heard stomping and banging from things downstairs.

"Calum Thomas Hood, get your ass down here!" My father yells. Grabbing my sweatshirt, I throw it on and go downstairs. I nervously go into the kitchen where I assumed he would be and he was obviously drunk.

"Hello father." I greet politely, trying to give him a reason to not do anything to me. Not that he needs a reason. 

He shakes his head with a smile on his face, "I asked," he begins, hiccuping but then continuing; "I asked Mr. Walker to keep an eye on you. He told me he saw a boy come into the house today. Apparently when he left as well you guys hugged and you kissed him on the cheek. I am so disappointed, now the neighborhood knows that my son is a fag." He slurs, wobbling a bit. He was dripping the marble counter tops, trying to keep himself standing. 

He calls me a disappointment yet here he is, cursing out his son while drunk.

"Fucking faggot." He angrily whispers and I begin taking small steps back away from him. Just in case. My father was a belligerent drunk, he would drink his days away while destroying his body and life. Sometimes I wish he wasn't around, or I wasn't around.

"He was going through some difficult things, you know? We're not dating, Dad." I lie to him.

"Do not call me Dad, you fucking idiot faggot!" He yells at me. He comes towards me and before I could react he punches my jaw. I cry out and fall back from the unexpected blow. I begin crying and mentally cursing myself out for calling him Dad. He began telling me four years ago that he deserved more respect and would like to be called father, or maybe even sir. I would never call him sir, though.

"Father I-I'm sorry." I cry, trying to back away from him while on the ground. He stumbles a bit and has to lean against the wall. I quickly get up and try to run away, that is until he grabs my arm and pulls me back. I scream from the pressure on the cuts and I move back to stop it. He lets go of me and continues the abuse by forcefully pushing me against the wall.

He presses his body against mine and I felt completely trapped.

"What are you doing?" I cry out, as I hear his belt unbuckle. 

He grips by dark hair and pulls my head back, as I begun hyperventilating with absolute terror. He then pushes my head against the wall and I hear a thump as my forehead hits off of it. Then his hands grip my unzipped sweatshirt. He moves back a bit, stripping it off of me.

But then he doesn't move near me again. I turn around to look at him, tears running down my face and my eyes heavy and stinging. He tosses me my sweatshirt and says; "You're even more of a disappointment than I thought."

His words were heavily slurred and he stumbled as he walked away from me. 

I go back up to my room, roughly putting my sweatshirt back on my body. I slam my door and lock it. I go over to my desk and pull out where my razors were. I open it and find emptiness, remember Michael's actions from earlier. I begin to worry as I go to the bathroom and grab a shaving razor. I almost run back to my room and I throw the razor onto the soft material. 

I felt like an attention whore even though both incidents were accidental. 

I grab a tack from the wall and go back and sit on my bed. By this time, I had stopped crying. I was just worried that if I didn't self-harm soon then I was surely going to break. I quickly begin breaking it apart, slicing my thumb in the process. I watch the blood trickle from the tip of my finger and I was already feeling relief.

Think of Michael, what are you doing?

Just do it, you're hated anyway. Damage yourself some more, you deserve it.

I had two conflicting mind sets but I also was able to comprehend the fact that Michael probably won't be with me for the longest of times. We just started dating, I am not going to depend my mental sanity on him.

Once the plastic comes off the razor, I am left with three thin pieces of metal. I grab the biggest one and go to my bathroom. I liked new razors.

They cut deeper.

I shoved off my sweatshirt again and looked down at my healing arms. I avoided the arm with 'failure' written on it, as I may not be able to handle cutting over it. My other arm was better though. I placed the corner of the sharp metal into my skin, mumbling to myself over and over to do it.

I press deeper, and I keep applying pressure until I feel a small shock in my arm.

It was scary, but I liked it. I swiftly made a cut to make sure I didn't lose the depth I was out. I cry out as I watch the single cut begin bleeding rapidly. I watch as the skin still peels open to reveal how deep and wide it really was. My arm twitches a bit and I watch as the warm liquid falls to the ground.

It wasn't even dripped blood, it was an honest flow.

I was scared as hell I might have cut a vein, but then again it was horizontal. I would probably be okay. I continue watching the blood flow, placing my razor on the sink. I breathe in relief, and I look down at the puddle of blood that has formed from the single cut.

It does stop bleeding, though.

I am not sure how long it bled for, but I felt dizzy as hell. I grabbed an ACE bandage and wrap it around the cut tightly to make sure the bleeding stopped. I maneuver around the puddle of blood and grab some paper towels. The puddle wasn't too large, but the fact that it was from the one cut terrified me slightly.

I spent a while cleaning up the bloody mess, making sure it was completely off the floor.

I wash my hands thoroughly and grab the razor, going back to my room. I take the pieces of the broken razor, tossing them in the trash - I now knew if my father saw them he wouldn't give a shit.

I do grab the three small pieces of metal and put them in the box I did previously with my others. I shove them in my desk drawer, feeling a lot calmer.

But then I felt extreme disappointment in myself. Disappointment because I probably let Michael down; but also because it was one cut. One single cut, be it deep. I should have done it more.

I felt sick to my stomach and my head was pounding. "Remember Calum, you deserved it."I whispered to myself. Suddenly my phone buzzes and I reach to get it. It was from Michael.

Hey Cal, hope you're doing okay. Have a good night love :) xx

And then the guilt kicked in as I texted him back:

i'm fine, no worries. Sleep well x