Don't Wake Me Up || Septiplier

Chapter Six

[hopefully edited. thank you humans for 1k followers :) I would be more excited but of course as soon as I find out, my mood went to shit a couple minutes before. but thank you guys, I really really appreciate it.]

When we finally reached Mark's house, I had calmed down a bit. My crying had stopped, but my mind was a mess. So was my hoodie, it was covered in my tears and a slight bit of the ice cream that's splashed out during the drive.

His words kept lingering in my mind. I had never thought of that, because I didn't think it was true. Being skinny had always been attractive to me. The skinnier, the better.

That's how I viewed things after all these years. I hated my body because it wasn't skinny enough. But Mark saying that I was skinny, too skinny, that made me a mess.

Mark stopped the car and got out, walking around to open my door. Reaching over, I undid my seatbelt and handed Mark ice cream, which was now a liquid.

Getting out of the car, I followed him sluggishly into his house. When I walked in, I was instantly greeted by a cozy living room. One couch was against the wall, a television on the other. It didn't have much, but it had more than I had.

Which was a broken couch, broken television, and a broken mother.

He walked through a door, which led to what looked like the kitchen. When he returned, the ice cream container was gone.

I felt misplaced in his house. I was a mess from a broken family. Bruises covered my body, along with a hoodie that I wore every day.

But from the looks of his house and his clothing, he's from a family who loves each other. They don't abuse one another, the only thing they share is love. He wore nice clothing as well, and never the same shirt over and over again.

Grabbing my hand, he led me down a hallway. I was taken into his bedroom. A simple queen bed was pushed against a wall in the centre of the room. A dresser was on the wall opposite from his bed. And his walls had multiple pictures on them. Posters of bands and pictures of friends.

I smiled slightly at it.

He brought me over to his bed and sat me down on it. I brought my hand up to my face and wiped my tears on my sleeve.

Mark walked over to his dresser and opened a drawer, pulled out a random shirt, and walked back over towards me. He tossed the shirt next to me and said, "Hold your arms out."

I did absentmindedly. I didn't care what he was doing, I couldn't focus on what he was doing. My mind was too much of a mess for me to fully understand anything going on. Everything was a blur.

He pulled my arms out of my sleeves, and as soon as I realised what he was doing, my hoodie was already pulled off of me.

The day I didn't wear a shirt under it.

Mark was staring at the bruises along my arms and chest, along with my stomach that was barely there due to my lack of eating. I watched him grow angry, and I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting him to yell and hit me as well. "Who did this to you? And how come you don't eat?!" he asked me in a gentle tone, yet I could tell he was covering up his anger.

Snatching the hoodie back out of his grip, I covered my body with it. "No-nobody! Nobody did this! I, er, fell down the stairs! And I, I do! J-just not a lot!" I rambled out panicked.

"Did Tony do this to you?" His knuckles were white from squeezing his hands too tight.

"No— Yes— I can't say!" I said quickly, standing up. "I... I need to go home."

Mark shook his head. "Before I took you here, you said you couldn't yet. And I'm not going to take you home until you explain this."

"I can't! I told you, I fell down the—"

"Sean, you didn't fall down the stairs! I've fallen down the stairs before and the most I got was a scratch! You have bruises all over your body!"

I shrank backwards, on to the bed. When he lifted his arm up, I flinched backwards and covered my face. I didn't feel a hit, though. I felt him grab my wrist and pull my hand down.

"Sean," he asked in a worried whisper. "Are those cuts?" Opening my eyes quickly, I yanked my arm back towards me. I forgot about those. He sighed and looked at me. "Sean, please tell me what happened," he asked softly.

"I-I can't," I mumbled out.

I should tell him. I know I should, it could help me. But I can't just tell him. Who knows what could happen. He was the first person who had ever seen my bruises, aside from my parents. He could tell the police, and then I'd be taken somewhere.

I couldn't just leave this place. It is hell in my eyes, but leaving to go somewhere completely different would make my whole situation worse.

"Sean, please tell me. I can get you help," he said with a small amount of encouragement.

Help? There's no helping me anymore. I'm so close to being completely broken, and no amount of help will fix me. "Mark, I can't tell you! And I don't need help! I'm a lost cause, I've told you that! No amount of help will fix this!" I yelled out before squeezing my eyes shut and running my hand through my hair. "I didn't mean to yell, I'm sorry," I whispered out.

Mark sat next to me and wrapped his arm around me. "It's fine, okay? Don't apologise for anything. You didn't do anything wrong."