Hopeless and Broken

Chapter 1

A/N: I'm new to this. The picture I used for the cover does not belong to me. I only added the text. Anyway... Come along with me. This is going to be a long journey, and I'm still learning. Enjoy!

___________________

Hopeless.

Broken.

These two words were the only way to describe Oliver Smith. The things he'd been through affected him in such a way that he could never smile again. His face was always contorted with such an angry, concentrated expression. Little did anyone know that he lived in a monotone world. Until one day, when he met Amber, and his life was turned around.

___________________

Oliver's P.O.V.

"Hey, Oliver. How's the little emo doing?" The familiar senior, Matt, hissed into Oliver's ear. Oliver knew best to ignore the haughty teenager, so he trudged down the school hall in the opposite direction.
"Look at that, Liam! Little boy's running!" Matt said to another male, cackling. Oliver heard rapid footsteps behind him, and he immediately figured that the senior and his friend were pursuing him. He sped up his gait, only to have the breath knocked out of him. He let out a grunt and stumbled to the ground. Dead weight settled on his spine.
"Get off, y-you douche." His voice trembled with effort.
"Why should I?" The voice snarled behind him. Oliver felt something sharp dig into his back. He let out a cry of pain. The pain subsided, but in only a matter of seconds, his attacker grabbed his wrists and dug his nails into the mutilated flesh. Involuntary tears streamed down his face.
"Stop! P-please.." The tremor in his voice made Matt snicker. Oliver felt hot liquid ooze from the self-inflicted cuts lining his forearms and wrists.
"Stop right there!" A male's voice rung through the hall they were in. The attacker stopped his slow torture immediately. Oliver took this chance to glance upward. He maneuvered his head so he could pinpoint where the voice had come from, and his gaze fell upon, none other than, the school's principal. The man was dressed in a suit and tie, and he was glaring none-too-fondly at the senior, Matt.
"Sir-" Matt spluttered, only to be interrupted.
"Get off of him this instant," the principal spoke, authority clear in his voice. "You're in big trouble, mister." The senior obliged, lifting his hefty figure off of the skeletal body that was Oliver.
"T-thank you, s-sir," he stuttered. He struggled, straining his weak arms so as to push himself up from the dirty school floor.
The principal approached him.
"It was nothing, kid." His hand rested on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up." He sent a glare at Matt. "You will come with us. We'll have to call your parents. You're nothing less than suspended." Oliver heard Matt groan behind him. When they arrived in the office, the principal pointed Oliver in the direction of the nurse, where she tended to his wounds. While she was bandaging up his forearms, he couldn't help but wonder to himself:

'Why do people hate me? Why do they feel the need to both physically and mentally destroy me?'

When she had finished, he stood up.
"Thank you so much," he spoke gratefully. The nurse only nodded, and he noticed her eyeing the bandages on his arms, where the cuts had been. He self-consciously folded his arms to his chest, and she quickly snapped her eyes away. He made his way out into the office, and he was met with a smiling principal.
"Hey, kid. How are you doing?" Oliver mentally shook his head. There were so many things he wanted to say. There were so many words to describe how he was doing, but he responded with only one, and it wasn't part of the list.

"Fine."

"Ah, that's good. Well, you should be getting home..." The rest of the words were lost to Oliver. He blocked them out. The boy didn't want to go home. He didn't want to be faced with that.
"I can walk, sir." He was going to stall for as long as possible.
"Are you sure? We could always call your parents and have them pick you up. If that doesn't work, we-"
"No, thanks," he interrupted in a snappish tone, immediately regretting it. "S-sorry," He looked down at his stained, black Converse. He felt the principal's concerned gaze bearing down on his head-full of raven-hued locks. When the principal gave his farewell, Oliver nodded and hurried out of the office door and pushed open the door at the entrance of the school. A sigh left his lips as the cool fall air caressed every inch of exposed skin on his body. He wandered around the town aimlessly for about two hours, his hands inserted in the pockets of his black skinny jeans. He didn't want to encounter his dad, who was probably getting stoned and chugging down one of the many beer bottles stashed on the coffee table. When he decided it was time to make his way back home, he pivoted on his left foot to face the opposite direction, the direction that would take him to literal hell. He began the long trek, hands still pocketed and his eyes averted to the ground.

___________________

Oliver stood in front of his house's door, dreading what was going to happen next. A drawn out sigh left him, and he opened the door.

'Brace yourself.'

A quiet but malicious voice hissed in his mind. He did exactly that. All muscles in his body tensed. He stepped into the house, closing the door behind him quietly.

Silence.

He let out a quiet breath. He hadn't realized it, but he was trembling.
'Ridiculous.' He thought to himself. 'I'm so weak.' He calmed himself, but soon terror ran through his body when a voice rung through the house.
"Is that you, Tyler?!" Of course. His dad still couldn't get his name right.
"Y-yes, sir," he spoke quietly, a tremor clear in his voice. He heard footsteps, but he couldn't pinpoint where they were coming from. He jumped when his dad whispered in his ear, "Ah, Ian. Welcome home."
"I-it's O-Oliver," he said, trembling when he felt his dad's breath on his neck.
"I don't care!" His dad shouted in anger, causing Oliver to move away. His dad grabbed his arm, his giant hand easily covering all of the gauze that covered his forearms. Oliver didn't register what was happening until he saw that his dad had his arm raised, beer in hand. Before he could react, he felt the glass penetrate the skin on his head. He let out a harsh cry of pain, wrenching his arm from the tight grasp and darting to his room. A choked sob sounded from his lips, and he fell to the floor. Oliver brought his hand to his head, gingerly pulling individual shards of bloodied glass off. When he finished, he pulled himself up from the floor. The raven-haired boy stumbled to his bed, every step getting heavier as he moved.

'You're worthless. There's nothing for you here. You should just end it.'

The familiar voice chimed in viciously. He shook his head, falling on the bed. One of his hands rested to the side, and the other hand rested on his forehead, covering his blue-green eyes. Tears streamed down his cheeks for the second time that day.

'What do I do?'

___________________

A/N: Well, that was trash! Thanks for reading this far. I hope you liked this trash. If you're somewhat confused, I may add some more information in the next chapter. I'll try and include some stuff about his past and whatnot. I'll also try and limit the chapters to one Author's Note each. It will most likely be at the bottom like this one. I'll try and upload as soon as possible, so stay tuned! c: