They Found Out | C.F. & O2L

Chapter 4

Connor's P.O.V.
When I finish watching other youtubers, I upload the video I post on Mondays. I edited it yesterday, so I was quite happy when I finished it, meaning I had some more free time to spend.

I wait for the video to be online and I post the link on twitter with the simple lines I put on there, when I upload another video. I look around the room, noticing a few things. Sam and Trevor are done filming. Sam is editing at the second dining room table that is viewable from both the kitchen and living room, Trevor is doing nothing on his phone, most likely on twitter as I see the little messages appear on my own phone, Ricky is probably still upstairs, Jc is eating something in the kitchen, I can hear him chew and Kian is sitting in the lounge chair opposite me.

He is on his laptop. He's looking really focused, but I'm guessing he's just doing some stupid game. My thoughts are confirmed when he throws his hands up desperately, while asking his laptop why he can't finish a normal game of patience.

Opening up youtube and twitter once again, I look through the messages people are sending in as a response to my video. I slowly scroll through them and I can't believe what I'm reading. There is so much hate. Why do people hate me so much? What did I do to them, to get them to say such things to me? Are my videos so bad, that they all take their time to actually watch it, just to comment some hateful thing on it? I know I'm bad, but having so many people do that, it's just confirming what I thought. I don't deserve youtube, I don't deserve the subscribers, I don't deserve the guys, I don't deserve the life I have.

"Connor? You okay?" Kian asks me. "You look kind off pale." He adds. I look up at him. "Yeah, I'm fine." I tell him. I don't want him to worry about me. I softly shut the lid from my laptop, after locking it. I changed my password, so the boys can't get on it without me putting in the password and make my way up. I get into my bedroom, locking the door. I walk through to my bathroom, also locking the door. Just to be sure. I roll up my sleeves and softly caress the old cuts that are still visible, and the endless amount of scars. I open up the cupboard and get out the little box with my six blades in them. I decide to throw out the three blunt ones, won't be using them anyways. I get one from the two okays and sit down on the bathtub. I am still tracing my wrists. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this towards the guys. I just can't . I won't be able to watch their sadness when they find out that I did it again.

I silently start to cry and the tears roll down my cheeks. I get so angry and upset with myself that I just do it. I just start to cut up my left wrist placing the blade on my wrist, getting used to the coldness, the numbness and put it on it's side with the sharp edge on my wrist. I slowly start to drag it to the other side of my wrist. At one point I accidentally go a bit deeper than normal, so I hiss out in pain. When I finish that cut, I make a lot more and after that, I switch the blade to my left hand and do the same to my right wrist.

I stop cutting, as I can't see very clear anymore through the tears. I get up and slowly make my way over to the sink to prevent myself from getting dizzy. Not working really well. I turn on the faucet and put my left arm under it first. I wash the caked blood off a bit and keep my arm there to stop the bleeding. The water gets more clear every second and I switch my arms and do the same with my right arm. When I finish cleaning them up, Dry my arms with my red towel and I clean my face with some water and dry up with a different towel. I watch my cuts carefully to see if they are clean and if some are too deep. I might be cutting myself, but I don't want to die from being neglecting. If I die, I want to have made the decision myself. None looks really bad, and I put some gauze over them. Of course it looks bad, it's not normal, but I'm not normal. No one is.

I take another look in the mirror and miraculously there is no evidence whatsoever from the crying. I laugh at myself and talk some to see if my voice could tip them off. My voice cracked a bit in the beginning, but got normal very quick. I pull down my sleeves over my hands to make sweater paws and unlock my bathroom door. I do the same with my bedroom door. I walk downstairs looking at my phone. I just see more hate, but I can't cut again, if I do, I know I end up in the hospital today. The boys have gathered at the dining table and are playing a game. Guess they were really, really bored. I sit down at the table and watch them finish their little card game and I mend in with the next round. We have a lot of fun and a lot of laughs.