pretty boys don't cry

terrified

I looked away from the preps like they weren't there.

"Gay boy. We're right here." I hear a jock say and I immediately stand up.

"Before you start calling people gay, choose a sport where you aren't rubbing up on guys bodies." I walk away and feel a pull on my backpack and suddenly fly back into the crowd of preps.

"Listen here faggot. Its called tackling and if you weren't so gay, you'd probably know what that means." he pushes me back with a shoulder bump and they walk off slowly. I stand there for a minute on the verge of tears.

"Steven. Are you okay?" I see gabby behind me and I walk off away from her. "Stevey. What's going on?"

"Godammit gabby. Leave me the fuck alone. Im so sick of you following me around and bossing me around and telling me that I need help. Get the fuck away from me." I yell at her and run off not wanting to hear what she has to say.

I find myself at the very end of the English hall in a small corner where most people come to make out. I sat there and just cried.

"Stevey." I can hear gabby call but I push myself more into the corner so she won't see me. "I know youre in that corner, I saw you running here." her voice sounded softer than usual, probably because students were taking tests. "What was that about? You've never got upset with me ever and if youre acting sad because of me, tell-" I stop her in the middle of the sentence.

"You think this is acting? This isn't acting. Im hurt. Im depressed. I feel like I don't belong here anynore. You've helped me so much but im tired of you acting like you care when you don't." I get up and run away quickly but can hear her yelling my name loudly.

I ran home not giving a fuck about what the attendance lady would say.

When I arrived at home, my parents weren't home which was an absolute dream. I sat on my bed crying.

This is happening. Im going to do it.

I pull out a box from under my bed. I call it my suicide box. Everything in the box makes me feel real and not so sad. It includes a gun with only 2 bullets, 4 used razors, a bottle of pills, weed, and two beer bottles. I have used the razors many times before and smoke weed basically every night but never actually used anything else. I stare into the box, pick up the pills and the razors and head to my bathroom.

I get into the tub and cry. Just like I always do.

I slit my wrists, not too deep but just how I like it and open the pill bottle.

I stare at the running faucet and take deep breaths. I never knew what death would feel like but I've always wanted to feel it.

I take about 15 pills and a cup of water.

I cry harder as I place the pills in my mouth and swallow them.

I waited.

And waited.

The faucet was beginning to view blurry and the sound muffled.

Was this death?

My eyes shut and I was at peace.