I'll die without you (Skylox)

So, this is another one of my skylox fanfics, but, I haven't written very many. Please don't judge, and if you want to leave hate in e comments, just screw off, k? If you have honest opinions on what I can do better, without being mean, then I appreciate it, thanks. ♡♥♡♥♡♥

Ty's POV

Fag. Bitch. Freak. Waste of air. Useless.

The voices of my peers echoed through my head. I walked down the halls, with my ears flat, my tail in between my legs, my hood over my head, and my gaze cast downwards. I heard snickers, and people muttering to each other. Just like everyday. If they ever saw my wings, they would never let it go. I am a freak. Part ender-creature, part cat, part human, I wouldn't fit in anywhere. I reached my locker, successfully, for once, just to be slammed into it.

"Hey fag." sneered Josh.

"Let... go..." I muttered through clenched teeth.

He slammed his mouth into mine. He kissed me with force, and slipped his tongue into my mouth. It was gross. I am gay, but he is NOT the one. He picked me up, and carried me into the change room. His lackeys fell behind, not wanting to see what happened next. He dropped me onto the ground, and grabbed some rope from a bag, he had probably dropped off earlier.

*warning tiny bit o'smut here*

He tied my wrist together, and then my legs. He started palming me through my skinny jeans. I tried with all my force, not to moan. This was wrong, and gross, but it felt so damn good. He continued to palm me, until finally I broke, and a mangled moan escaped my lips. He started to undress me...

{Le time skip}

I panted, and he got up. He cut the ropes. He pulled his pants up, did them up and left. I just lay there. I finally managed to muster enough strength to drag myself up, and put my clothes back on. I rushed to my locker, gathered my stuff and left. I ran home, struggling to hold in tears. I unlocked my door, and walked inside. I slammed it, immediately locking it again. I went up the stairs two at a time. I went I to the bathroom, and pulled out a blade. I cut once for being a fag, twice,

for being a whore, three for depression, four for being a freak, five for being alive. I put the blade back on the edge of the sink after I had twenty cuts, all up my arms. I dipped my finger in some of the blood on my arm, and wrote on the walls, all around me, as always. Faded blood stains, words and smears were all over the walls in my bathroom. This time I wrote something new. Nobody should be picked on for being different. I wrote the word everywhere in there, covering all the old marks. I washed myself off, and walked to my room. I lay down, and fell asleep, dreaming of dying.