This story is copyright to bnstorymaker
all rights reserved ©2013
This is to all the boys and girls who:
"Starve. Cut. Tried to kill themselves. Burn. Bruise. Purge. Hate their body. Wish they were dead. Feel hopeless. Compare themselves to others. Cry themselves to sleep. Are abused. Are alone. Are scared.
You aren't forgotton. Not by me."
~Anonymous
The white, sterile bathroom echoed faint, small sounds. The sounds resembled ripping paper and little whimpers.
Faint cuts were carved into Trevor's pale skin as he began to count to himself how many he could make before he passed out.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Six perhaps? He lost count as his body begin to go limp leaning against the tub, and he squinted his eyes. Finally, it was going to end, his pain, his suffering, his life. Tears began to stream down Trevor's chin as the door burst open and slammed against the shower. Trevor looked up at the dark figure lifelessly, before he passed out. He knew it was his mother who had found him. After all, it hadn't been his first attempt.
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