Suicide ↠ Kellic

Vic

Solitary isn't as bad as people made it out to be, the food wasn't as good, but I don't really eat the food here anyway.

However the Michael guy who was down here was an asshole.

He'd take the piss out of me because I was gay.

"Oy, fag," I sighed heavily, as Michael called me out, "you gonna eat that?"

I shrugged, pushing my plate of food towards his body.

"You anorexic or something?"

I sighed, ignoring his question.

"Oy," he shouted, "fag, I asked you a question!"

Once again, I sighed, shutting my eyes.

"I'm just not hungry, take the fucking food," I mumbled.

He sat silently for a while, which honestly surprised me, he'd been talking none stop since I got here, which was a few hours.

The room was narrow and dark, four beds evenly placed around the room, no windows, meaning the room was dimly lit by a flickering light bulb, which was placed above the table in the centre of the room where Michael and I sat, him obnoxiously chewing the food I'd given him.

"So fag, wh-"

"What do you have against gays?"

"I don't know," he frowned, "it's just wrong."

"But you probably get off to lesbian porn, right?"

"So what? Loads of guys get off to that," he shrugged.

"So what's the difference, then?"

"Lesbians are attractive, you're not," he chuckled, grimacing at me.

"But that doesn't mean you have to be mean to me."

"Well what else am I suppose to do, kiss you?"

"No, the least you could do is not acknowledge that I'm gay, let it pass, you don't have to insult me."

"But it's just wrong," he looked down weirdly, "boy on boy."

"What's so bad about it?"

"I don't know, just stop asking questions."

I sat silently again, waiting for something, anything that wasn't silence.

Because when it's silent I think.

And when I think I think to much.

I worry.

I hate myself more and more and I'm not really sure what to do.

Lately I never feel sure on what to do.

I never seem to make my own choices anymore, it's always the hospital, either doing things for me or forcing me to do them.

"I'm not homophobic," Michael suddenly says, causing me to snap out of my thoughts.

"Well it sure seems like it."

"I just don't like gay," he said, shrugging it off as if it were nothing.

"That's homophobic to me," I muttered, "trust me, I'd know."

"So," Michael paused, running his hand through his lengthy black hair, "what are you in here for?"

"Solitary? I ran aw-"

"No, in the hospital."

"Oh, I, I er..." I didn't know if I wanted to go on, he'd probably just make fun of me even more.

"Go on," he pushed, "I won't judge."

"I attempted suicide," I rubbed the back of my neck shyly.

"That's it?"

"You didn't let me finish," I sighed, "I attempted suicide around 8 times."

"Shit," Michael muttered, "you gonna ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

"Why I'm here?"

"I was, but I didn't know how you'd react," I felt like I should've been scared, but why? "Why are you here?"

"I'm what people would call a sociopath," he told me, that didn't phase me, most people in here where psychopaths, sociopaths or any of those.

"I kill people for my own enjoyment."

And then my heart felt like ice, my breathing sped up and my blood ran cold.

Would he kill me?

I don't want to die.

I've been trying to kill myself for the last few years, why wouldn't I want to die now?

Because Kellin.

Kellin is making me want to live, he's making me feel like I belong somewhere, like someone is relying on me for once, instead of me relying on someone else. I've finally got a shoulder to cry on, someone to laugh with, someone that makes me feel generally happy.

I've never felt all around happy.

Yeah, I've been happy, but it's always gone back to this dark feeling in my gut which I have come to recognise as sadness.

But now I'm happy.

I feel sad but my whole aura is sort of happy.

I'm still broken but I'm getting fixed slowly, with the help of Kellin.

"Y-you kill people?"

"I kill people because I like the feeling of power, which makes me happy."

"Why does it make you happy, why would you even do that?" I gasped, feeling threatened and scared to elope into a conversation as dark as the one I'm currently in.

"We all have our own fucked up ways of making ourselves happy, yours happens to be the cuts on your arms."

Self consciously I hid my arms.

"You're just like me," Michael spoke, "however instead of killing others, you'd rather kill yourself."

I chose not to say anything, I was scared of saying somethings wrong.

"Will you kill me?"

"I like you, I think," he paused rubbing the back of his neck, "so no, not unless you want me to."

"Oh, okay."