savior ≫ z.m. [completed]

8

A/N: "how was your day" STRESSFUL BEING IN THE ONE DIRECTION FANDOM IS GOING TO KILL ME ONE DAY I VOTED FOR THE 1939030 THINGS THEYRE NOMINATED IN AND I HIT TWEET LIMIT FOR THE 3RD TIME IN 24 HOURS

my summer in 2 words: tweet limit.

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**Warning**

Sensitive and mature content in this chapter, please don't read if you're not comfortable with issues dealing with self-harm.

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When I get home, I spot my brother sitting at the dining room table, eating a pizza and drinking beer. I grab a slice and sit down next to him.

“So, what brings you back home?” I plan to drill him with questions about his messed up life.

“I ran out of money,” he says simply.

“How?” I drill him.

“That’s not important,” he mumbles.

“So you’re home to get more from mom,”

He says nothing, so I take it as a yes.

“There’s something wrong with you,” I say seriously. “If you think we’re just gonna give you money to gamble away and buy alcohol with, you’re insane,” I glare at Jake and he stops laughing.

“Well, I guess I have to stay here then,” he says after a long silence.

“You’re so broke that you lost your home?” I gape at him.

“Oops,” he says with a shrug. The way he’s acting, like he didn’t just fuck up his life, is pissing me off.

“I can’t believe you,” I say. “You’re not my brother. You’re not the Jake I know,”

“People change, Callie.” he shoots back, repeating his words from the taxi. I ball my fists up.

“Well I guess people do, but you changed for the worse, and your life is so fucked up, I doubt it’s gonna get any better from this point on” I spit. He narrows his eyes at me, obviously angered.

“Why the hell do you care about my life so much?” he shouts. I wince at his loud tone.

“Because I care about you!” I shout back.

“You don’t control me,” he fires back. “If I want to have a drink, I’ll have a fucking drink,” This is not the Jake Montgomery I know. This is not my brother.

“You know what?” I say softly. “You’re right. I don’t control your life. You can go do whatever the hell you want. I don’t care,”

I get up and storm out of the room without saying another word to him. He calls my name multiple times but I ignore him.

I run upstairs and shut myself in my room, locking the door and putting a chair under the handle. I grab my phone and plug it into my speakers, smiling slightly as the music fills my room and drowns everything else out. This music, this band, has saved my life in more ways than one.

I head over to my laptop and open it, scrolling through Twitter and Tumblr. I get bored and head over to Facebook. Thirty seven notifications.

That’s weird. I never get notifications.

I open the notifications and gasp.

‘Callie is a fat ugly whore’

‘Go die in a hole, loser’

‘Nobody likes you’

Posts like this litter my wall, full of hateful words and spiteful comments. I slam my laptop shut. Tears start falling down my cheeks. I head over to my phone and shut the music off.

Why does everyone do this to me? What have I ever done to them?

I run to my sweatshirt, searching for my blade, before I remember Zayn threw it away the first day I met him. Damn it, I need something sharp and I needed now.

Cutting is the only way I know to relieve pain. I’ll go insane without my blade; I was foolish. I should have gone back and gotten the blade, the one that’s been with me and helped me for the longest time.

I run to my desk, opening the drawer and searching for a spare blade. I didn’t have one. Cursing slightly, I grab a pair of scissors. Before I know it, I’m sitting on the cold tile floor of my bathroom, using scissors to reopen my four wounds located on my wrist.

“Callie?” a voice shouts on the other side of my bedroom door. I gasp and throw the scissors in the bathtub, quickly grabbing a towel and pressing it over my wounds. I take a deep breath and make sure my voice isn’t too shaky.  

“Y-yeah?” I say.

“Are you okay?” Jake asks. I don’t respond.

What’s it to him anyways?

I sit there for fifteen minutes, thirty minutes, and when one hour passes, I finally get up and compose myself. I peel the towel off of my bleeding wrist and throw it in my hamper. There’s dried blood on my wrist, so I walk over to the sink and run cold water on my scarred wrist, also splashing my face, trying to cover my red blotchy eyes.

When I walk out of the bathroom, I flop down on my bed and grab my phone. I turn my music back on, this time, louder. Another knock at the door.

“Callie, you’re music’s too loud,” he shouts. I ignore him. All I want to do is to be alone. “Callie?” he shouts. “Callie, are you in there?” I turn the music up at full volume and ignore him.

For the rest of the night, I stare at the blank wall in my room, running my thumb over my wrist, thinking about the life I live.

I wonder, is this life I live really worth it?