You're too late// c.h + l.h ✅

5

"David I'm over it!" I hear my mom yell from downstairs.

"I didn't do anything! It's your son that's a fuck up not me! Why the hell did we decide to have a son? Why did he have to be a fag?" My dad yells. I put my phone down at his words. I can't believe he said that. My dad was so supportive when I came out. I'm at a loss for words while they keep arguing.

"David shut up and stop yelling he's going to hear you," My mom pleads to my dad.

"I don't give a fuck if he hears me or not. It's nothing new to him, he heard it from everyone in high school. He's a fag. We should've disowned him when he told us!"

"David calm down. You're drunk, you don't mean any of this."

My parents continue to argue, but I can't take it. I can't do this. Not right now. Instead of rushing to the bathroom to grab my razor, like I want to. I go into my closet and grab my jacket, I put my phone in my front pocket and try to calm down. My dad is still continuing to rant about me, I can feel the hot tears running down my face as I make my way down the stairs.

"You worthless piece of shit! You're a fucking fag! I can't believe I ever called you my son! You're a disgrace. You are going to hell! You deserve to die you pathetic bitch. Don't think of coming back we don't want you-" My dad screams at me while I run down the staircase. I try to ignore him and make it to the door as fast as I can.

"Calum, I'm so sorry. You know your father doesn't mean any of this. He's just drunk. He loves you. I love you. We-," I cut her off. I wipe the tears from her face and look her in the eyes, trying my hardest to stay strong.

"Drunk words are sober thoughts," I tell her giving her a tight and quick hug before placing a kiss on her forehead and walking out the door.

I continue to walk down the dimly lit streets ignoring my mom's desperate calls from my doorstep. I don't turn around until I'm at the end of the street. She is at the end of the driveway on the floor, her face in her hands. It breaks my heart to do this to her. I want to run back and hug her and tell her everything will be okay, that I'm okay but I can't. I take one last look at my mom before I keep walking. I walk down the empty streets and try my hardest not to cry. I wipe the few tears that manage to escape. I keep walking, two blocks, four blocks, six, eight, ten blocks. I stop. I scream. I fall. I cry. I pull up the sleeves of my jacket and scratch at my wrist. I scratch and scratch. I keep going until I feel previous cuts re-opening. My dad's words are repeating in my head. Everything he said. It's just like high school, just like Ashton. I let my arms fall and I lean back against the street light and I cry. I have hot tears streaming down my face, in anger and in pain. His words are haunting me. I can't forget them. All my memories of him being so caring washed away by his drunk words. I pull my knees up to my chest and lay my head in my knees and try to focus on breathing. I hear them in my head, the voices they're back. I hear all the taunts from high school, the words from my dad, the insults from Ashton. I can't do this. I'm done. I need to go. I'm ready. I've been ready for a while but this has pushed me over the edge. I try to stay calm and I feel myself being surrounded by darkness as I fall deeper and deeper...

I wake up and I don't know where I am. I sit up and I see Ashton sitting in front of me. His eyes are red. I know what that means. I recognize that look, those eyes. I wish I was back in whatever place I was in.

"You had a panic attack," Ashton says neutrally.

"I know." I respond in the same tone.

"Why?" He questions

"My dad. He was drunk and he started making comments that people said to me in high school." I whisper not meeting his eyes. When I finish I took a quick look at him to see Ashton sitting there with a smirk on his face. Ashton stands up and begins to walk around me. Around the street lamp, laughing quietly to himself. I sit in the same position I was in from before, too scared to move knowing when Ashton was high he was reckless.