Bonding: A Boyf Riends Fanfiction [Completed]

•~twenty-two~•

Tw: More slight blood and suicide mentions

~Michael's POV~

I weakly climbed back onto my bed and broke down. My world was emotionally and physically crashing down around me, and there wasn't much I could do in protest. It felt like I'd fallen into a deep void, and despite my desperate clawing and grasping for a vine or rope to pull me back out, I was stuck forever. Even though my teenage problems were unimportant, they seemed like life and death.

Wait.

Life and death.

Death.

I scrambled to grab my phone from across the room. Brushing off dirt and grime, I reopened the messages app and stared at the last text sent.

Oh God.

I jumped off of the floor and fiddled with the door handle of my room in a panicked frenzy. The lock clicked but didn't move. I twisted the handle harshly and yanked on the door, yet it still didn't budge.

"Why won't you open?" I growled, pulling and poking at the door handle. Something was caught in the door; it could only be opened from the outside. I slumped back, defeated. I cast a glance at the window, although it would be a death wish to try and climb out it. My room was at least twelve or thirteen feet in the air, and there wasn't a branch or ledge to grab onto.

I let out a weak whimper and slid down to the bottom of the door. Jeremy might be killing himself and there was nothing I could do about it. I pounded my fist against the ground in frustration and began to cry quietly. It wasn't very productive, and it was quite immature, but it was the only reasonable thing I could do at the moment. I felt broken, internally and externally. My hand was bleeding again.

       I winced and grabbed a tissue, attempting to soak up some of the blood. God, the day had been horrible. As I tenderly fixed up my hand into a makeshift bandage, I sighed and wiped at my teary eyes. The small droplets turned pinkish as they mixed with the blood on my fingers, and the metallic taste casually oozed into my mouth. I coughed and wiped my mouth off, attempting to avoid getting any more blood on myself.

       My phone buzzed again, and I flinched. I'd begun to consider swearing off texting for at least two years. Snatching up the device with my good hand, I opened the messages app for the zillionth time that day.

+1-836-867-5309: I can help you.

I scoffed through my tears. What, was this unknown person trying to apologize?

Player One: I'm not gonna accept your apology, if that's what you're doing. You've ruined my life already.

. . .

+1-836-867-5309: excuse me?

Player One: You know what you did.

+1-836-867-5309: I'm sure I don't know what you mean.

Player One: Scroll up, genius.

I waited in confusion. This didn't seem like the same person, yet it was the same number. I shook it off and continued to pick at the door, looking for any possible way that I could get out. My phone buzzed once more, and I looked down at the screen.

+1-836-867-5309: oh god

+1-836-867-5309: I'm so sorry, that really wasn't me.

+1-836-867-5309: But I know who it was, and I can help you, I promise.