Hypocrisy (Austlan Cashby)

Chapter 1

Guys, this story can be triggering so please be aware of the condition you're in before reading it, I never ever want to be responsible for someone harming themselves. Hey, even better make me a promise you won't do it, no matter how it may make alan feel. Also, this story has symbols in it.

- means a little bit of time

--- means flashback

* means start of a triggering scene.

** means the end.

I love you so much, don't forget to smile and have a wonderful life. I love you.

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SECOND A/N

When i wrote this story, i was about 12-13 years old. Now, i am 20 years old.  While it is natural to not agree any longer with things written when you were a child, this story crossed some new morals that i have. No matter the warning that i gave, this story is at times unnecessarily triggering. I wrote it to be that way because this story was VERY loosely based off of a relationship I had in middle school, and was 100% based off of emotions i felt during that time period. While reading it, I found myself being triggered even after being clean from self harm for 7 years. I also found comments of people saying that my fanfiction provoked a relapse. Even one person relapsing because of this story reverses all good that this fanficiton could have brought. I'm now going through it and removing unnecessary triggering parts that should have been saved for my diary, not for others to see. I'm gonna keep the editing simple because 1) I was probably a better writer in middle school than i am now and 2) rereading this as an adult made me realize that some thoughts and feelings i've been having date all the way back to middle school, which makes me feel better and i don't think that now i could put into words how a mixture of being chronically on the internet since age 10, bad mental health genetics, and the overall mentality that being in middle school provokes, affected me as well as so many other people. I would hope that after editing, the message being taken from this story, especially to my newer younger readers, is you are not alone. And while you don't gotta listen to the old lady telling you that things will get better, i'm gonna say it. While it most certainly was not linear, things got better. Do i still struggle with my mental health? of course. I am still diagnosed with what i was diagnosed with in middle school. now, i have a different, much healthier way of dealing with things than i did 7-8 years ago. anyway, continue to enjoy the story but hopefully, while it still will be triggering due to self harm being so prominent to the plot, i hope it will be much better to get through.

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It started with name calling; Fag, emo, gross, ugly, anorexic, boney and so much more names that permanently scarred their way into my thoughts. Names that most people would brush off, but I kept as I reminder of who I was. What he told me was the little source of identification I ever had. Although, clearly the only kind I needed. But it was then that he laid hands on me. On December 19th of 2011, Austin Carlile gave me a black eye. The rest of that week consisted of wearing sunglasses and my moms expensive concealer. People asked. They asked a lot about the bruise displayed on my face. Of course, I gave them answers. They were all lies but it feed there nosiness until the bruise faded away.

My mom was a bit concerned at first. But, I fed her apart of the lie and she took it, asking if I needed pain medication or ice. It hurt like a bitch and the normal thing to do was to take up her offer on medication, but I refused to do anything to take away the pain. Weirdly enough, that was the thing I liked the most, how it felt. I would press my fingers to the bruised flesh and smile at the aching that followed it. The ache would ring through my nerves and numb my thoughts for just a second.

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On December 29th of 2011, Austin Carlile did it again. This time he kicked me until blood was coming from my mouth. I begged him to stop but every shred of mercy he had left was taken away by every kick he threw at me. His eyes never locked with mine and he never looked at my face when he was hurting me, only at the place he was hitting or kicking. It's been two years, and Austin Carlile beats me up everyday.