I'm Not Okay (I Promise) • Geetrick

7

---Patrick---

Nobody cares, I think as Kevin slams the door shut behind him, the taste of him still on my red, swollen lips. Nobody cares. Bitter, ugly. That taste I can never seem to wash out of my mouth no matter how many times I brush my teeth or wash my mouth with mouthwash, it's always there like the sin will never leave me. Reminding me of just how filthy I am. A toy. A slut. Something to help him get off. A faggot. A pig. I deserve it. I deserve it all.

I'm on the bed, now, sprawled out with bruises all over my body, especially on my shoulders and arms. He'd ended up just face fucking me onto the bed because I couldn't hold still for him like a "good slut". My scalp is sore, I can still feel his fingers digging into the back of my head, forcing my mouth further onto him while I could only choke and sob silently. He'd usually slap me if I made too much noise. My jaw aches, my lungs burn, my knees probably have a rug burn...

Everything he says is true. I'm pathetic. I deserve to die because of how pathetic I am. Just a worthless faggot. A pig. The streams of insults he cussed out when he was almost finished are still burning into the back of my mind like scars that will never heal. Whore. Slut. Fag. Pet. Toy.

I feel so disgusting because every last thing he does to me is my fault. It's all my fault. It's my fault that he wants to use me. If I just hadn't caused The Incident, if I would just die already... I wouldn't have to go through this. I'm a filthy piece of trash. I can't blame it on anyone else. I deserve it. It's my fault...

Tears rise to my eyes as I huddle into a ball, trying to protect myself from the rest of the world. My headphones are lying on the floor somewhere since Kevin had yanked them out halfway through telling me to, "Listen to what he had to say, Slut."

My phone is still in my pocket with the note Gerard gave me on the bus. I don't feel like taking it out quite yet. I just want to recover for a little bit. I want to forget. I want to heal even though I can't... I just want to catch my breath.

I wipe my tears from my eyes with my scarred wrist, trying to muffle my sobs along with it. Trying to stop anyone from knowing the pain I feel. They don't need to hear something as stupid as me complaining about something I deserve.

I shudder as the scent of tears gather in my nose, salty, and my arms tighten, hugging myself closer, wanting comfort but nobody is there but me, myself, and I. I'm alone. I'm a goner... I have no chance of ever finding someone. Not even a friend. Obviously, Gerard is just acting nice to me out of pity. I know it. Nobody has ever loved me or liked me or even wanted to talk to me. How was I so blind? How was I so happy three years ago? How was I just so... content?

The tears have stopped and now I just stare at the backs of my eyelids. Maybe I can just sleep it off, try to sleep off the taste and the self-loathing. Try to sleep off my loneliness. Sleep off the sin...

I don't know how long my eyes are shut for. Maybe five minutes, maybe an hour, but I can't sleep. I'm just staring into the back of my eyelids which might as well be headlights. I don't feel tired even though sleep helps me forget. I can get lost in my dreams and not reality. I can pretend like The Incident never happened and everything is okay but I know I don't deserve bliss like that. I deserve to be weighed down of every second of every day. I better make the most of it while I can...

Maybe I should text Gerard.

I bite my lip as my eyes open again and I reach into my back pocket to pull out my phone and the small paper along with it. My hands place the two items on my bed in front of me and unfold the paper, careful not to rip the fragile sheet. And there it is, the phone number, clear as day.

It's fake.

No, it's not.

Then try it, idiot. It's gonna be fake.