Saving Justin (BoyxBoy)

Babysitter

Justin’s POV

      I quickly walked into school, my thoughts distracted by Jason. He was so confident, the way he swaggered up to the car without any second thoughts. His looks made me completely and utterly insecure about myself, he was a damn sex god. I was so caught up in my thoughts I didn’t notice one of my many bullies Mark Evans stalking behind me, that is until he smashed my head into the locker, kneeing me in the stomach. I whimpered, tears pricking my eyes as I gripped my stomach and sank to the floor, trying to stop the immense pain and nausea.

    “Awww is wittle baby bieber gonna cry?” Mark cooed teasingly, gripping my hair and jerking my head up, forcing me to look at his cruel face.

   “You’re nothing but a fag, no wonder why no one likes you.” He whispered harshly to me, making the tears I’d been trying to keep in trickle down my face. By now a crowd had formed, and many people were egging him on. It’s times like these that I wished my brother didn’t have to be in the senior building, but he doesn’t even know how bad the bullying is. I don’t want him to worry.

    

    ‘Why hasn’t he killed himself yet?’

 

    ‘Ew, he’s so ugly.’

 

   ‘He’s so fat’

 

  ‘Worthless cunt.’

 

 

   More tears ran down my face as I heard more terrible comments thrown at me. Finally, Mark let me go and I bolted to the bathroom as fast as my legs could take me. I looked in the mirror and absolutely hated what I saw. I’m gross. I pulled at the fat on my thighs and arms, wishing I wasn’t so fat. Are boys’ thighs supposed to touch like this? I think it’s just me. I cried heaps, looking at my stupid reflection. If only I looked like Jason, or Luke. Maybe I would be liked more, even popular, if I was an attractive tall jock like they are. Maybe then dad wouldn’t have left, and I wouldn’t be contemplating suicide.

     I couldn’t take all these overwhelming emotions at one time so I did the only thing that helped me relieve stress. I grabbed my razor. I watched how the sleek silver blade seemed to glimmer underneath the artificial bathroom lights, before pressing it down on the top of my right wrist, sliding red lines over and over again, until the blade was a ruby red color and my wrists even more damaged. I sighed as I felt some off the stress leave my body, as I cut more into my pale skin, a harsh comparison to the irritated red scars. Hearing the bell ring, I quickly cleaned up— sliding my blade back into my sock and cleaning my arm off, pulling my sweatshirt sleeve over my hand to make sure the scars were covered. I grabbed my MCM backpack and quickly scurried to class, my arm throbbing just a bit from all the slices I just made.

      

     “Mr. Bieber, why are you late to my class?” My first period math teacher, Mr. Greene, questioned, making me cringe a bit.

   “I-I’m s-sorry sir, I-I woke up l-late. It w-won’t h-happen again.” I squeaked, making him sigh tiredly and dismiss me to my seat. I quickly walked to my chair in the back of the room, trying to block out cruel words and avoid foots that shot out to try and trip me. This is the longest Monday ever.