It's Too Late (Septiplier)

4.

~Jack~

I feel something rub soothing circles on my back as I lay on my side whimpering. These feel just like what ma used to when I was sad. She used to hold me and rub my back and sing lullabys to me.

Without thinking I called out to her and told her exactly what I was thinking.

"Mom? Is that you? I thought you were dead. Does that mean that they finally killed me? Does is mean that I never have to go through hell ever again? Does it mean I'm in heaven with you, mum? If it's true then why do I still hurt?"

I paused for a moment to try and regain my thoughts.

"Mom, if I'm here with you why do my wrists still itch? Why am I still depressed? Why can I still feel the slap from father? Why can I feel bruises on my jaw and stomach? Why did you have to leave me?"

My voice cracked as the sobs pushed up my throat. I wept as a voice began to sing a song. Wait, no, not just any song, but the one I had been singing earlier. I lied there trying to convince myself that it was a coincidence, but I couldn't.

Once the song had finished, I turned to see who it was. My eyes widened at the person sat next to me. It was Mark. Tears started to well in my eyes. He was going to laugh at my problems if I stayed here any longer. I pushed myself up off the ground and dashed.

I wiped my eyes and I thought how much worse everything was going to get. He now knows what is going on in my life now and can use it against me. He has seen me crying and can tell all his friends what their teasing has done to me. He heard my singing in the art room. My art room, he could tell everyone about it. It won't be mine anymore and-and...wait.

I slowed my run down and realized that he was being nice to me. He was trying to comfort me. 

No, no he isn't. It's just a dare probably, either that or he was forced to by an adult or something.

He would never care for someone like me. A screw up. A mistake.

I approached the house, I walked inside. I ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. An ugly face stared back. My own.

My skin was pale. Dark circles were imprinted underneath my eyes. My once bright blue eyes were foggy from time, looking almost grey. My lips are extremely chapped and my hair is a green mop atop my head.

I sigh and lean against the mirror. The cold glass pressed up against the bruise on my jaw. I close my eyes and try to think straight. But everything always seems to get twisted together. I grunt in frustration and I pull my face off of the cool mirror.

I walk out of the bathroom and drag myself to my room. I then open my closet and dig through it. Somewhere in here, I keep something very special. It's my mothers favorite sweater. It's kept in a box in my closet.

Soon I find it and pull the box out of my closet. I sit on the floor and take a deep breath and lifted the lid. Inside lay a simple green sweater. I carefully lifted it out and slipped it on.

It was loose on me and a warm, happy feeling washed over me. I sat down on my bed and laid my head down on my pillow and drifted off to sleep.