Ceiling Fans and Idle Hands

We quit.

"...Tyler?"

Tyler looks up at Nick and Chris, his best and only friends. They seem concerned. "What?" he mutters. "We're sorry but we just don't have the time, with basketball practice and all...". "It's fine, really," Tyler tries to hide the hurt from his face. "I mean, we're still friends and this doesn't change anything but we just don't have time for it," Chris continues. "Yeah, you said that already," Tyler says, a bit more harshly than he intended. "I really have to go," Tyler starts to walk away as Nick says something. Tyler is too busy trying to fight the tears threatening to spill from his eyes to pay attention to what it is.

As tyler closes the bathroom door he feels the tears start to run down his face. How could they quit? After all the time they spent working on the songs, after they were starting to get really good? Tyler lets out a shaky breath as he buries his head in his hands. This is all your fault, you drove them away. Tyler is too tired to argue with that. He rubs his thumb over the scars on his arm. All your fault.

"Dad?" Tyler calls out as he closes the door of his house. No answer, relief flows through him as he sprints upstairs to his room. He sits down in front of his keyboard, running his fingers lightly over the keys. He spent all summer working at a diner to pay for it, along with his ukulele. His dad was pissed when he found out but his dad was pissed at him most of the time anyway.

All the keyboard did was remind him of Mark and Chris and what they told him at school earlier. He had seen it coming but still, it felt like a betrayal. He wished he had tried out for the basketball team with them but he wasn't a fan of sports and he didn't think he'd get in anyway. He sat down on his bed and tried to comprehend what this would mean for him. Music was his escape, his best coping mechanism. Whenever his dad would yell at him or kids at school would treat him like shit he would compose and write. Now there was no one to play his songs with, and no reason to even write. It didn't matter. He didn't matter.

When Mark and Chris agreed start a band Tyler was thrilled but after the guys got into the basketball team and slowly started spending less time with him and more time with the jocks there didn't seem to be much time to play music anymore. It didn't take long until Mark and Chris were hanging out with the popular kids and barely bothered to practice with the band at all. Tyler didn't mind it too much at first, he and the guys still hung out and played Mario cart a few times a week. They sat together at lunch and talked to each other in the classes they had together. They had been best friends since middle school and they didn't seem to have any plans on ending that friendship. That is until recently, as Tyler started getting more depressed, he guessed he wasn't as fun to be around anymore and they couldn't be bothered. As his friends grew distant his depression became ever-present.

Do it. No. Do it you worthless piece of shit, grab our blade and do it. Tyler sighed, he knew it was hopeless to fight it. Blurry would win in the end, as he always did. He reached into his bedside drawer and grabbed the single edge razor blade. His hands were shaking by the time he finished rolling up his sleeves. He paused to look at the scars lining his wrist, most were white and faded but there were a few still red from the last time. He brought the blade to his skin, held his breath and quickly ran it across his arm. Deeper, you coward. Again and again Tyler complied until there was blood running down his arm and staining his black jeans.

He heard the front door slam. "Shit" He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his arm, ignoring the flaring pain. He sat down at his desk, hurriedly opened up a notebook and hid his wounded arm in his lap. A few seconds later his bedroom door was thrown open. "What the hell are you doing?" Tyler's dad half slurred, half yelled. "N- Nothing, I'm studying,". Tyler's dad glared at him for a second, Tyler could smell the alcohol from where he was sitting. "You better study, try to get a little less fucking stupid". Tyler looked down at his notebook and flinched as he heard the door slam followed by his dad's footsteps trailing away from his room.

Tyler's head was spinning as he clutched his covers and cried silently until he finally passed out. He prayed to God tomorrow wouldn't come.

Author's note: Hey there, this is my first ever fanfic and the first story I've ever posted online. English isn't my first language so I would really appreciate some constructive criticism. If I make a typo, please correct me :) I know this is a pretty depressing start but please stay tuned if you like it. Let me know what you think and thank you for reading.