I Don't Do Sadness // Jyrus

tribulation

Cyrus was pulled up by the arm from his desk and thrown onto his bed. He laid face down on his comforter with his step-father holding him down.

"You're a fucking idiot!" he yelled as he did it.

Cyrus couldn't hear much over his screams. His step-father whipped him several times. It was through his thick sweater and jeans, which meant that he whipped him harder. He was whipped on his back and all over the back of his legs.

Cyrus screamed bloody murder, his step-father stayed stone faced and rarely spoke, and his mother stood downstairs and cried. 

When he was finished, he pulled Cyrus up from the bed and looked at his tear stained face. "Quit crying and act like a man," he said.

Cyrus tried to stop his tears and continued to look at the ground. 

"Look me in the face."

Cyrus did so, looking at his step-father with sad eyes.

"You deserved that," he said. 

Cyrus nodded and mumbled, "I know," breaking eye contact.

His step-father took slow steps toward him. He jabbed his finger in Cyrus' face, saying, "You need to cut out this act. Your mother and I have done so much for you and this is how you'e repaying us. We are extremely disappointed you. And I'm sure you're father and step-mother are, too."

Once the door slammed behind his step-father, Cyrus collapsed on the floor, a crying mess. This was pain unlike anything he's ever felt. He had been whipped before, as a child, but never this hard. It stung and Cyrus quickly ripped off his shirt and jeans, as they were feeling like there was pressure on his wounds. He could hear his parents downstairs, so he slipped into the bathroom, trying to silence his sobs. When he saw his reflection in the mirror, he stopped crying for a brief moment. 

The slashes on him were red and fresh burns scattered across his skinny back and bruised legs. Besides that, his face was red and tear stained and he had bags under his eyes. He had bony shoulders and each rib poked out of his chest with his stomach caved in from the lack of eating. His arms and legs were skin and bones complete with some bruises scattered along them. And he had his two white scars on his wrist. 

He looked down at his wrist and filled up with anger, replacing the sadness inside of him. In a hot flash, he kicked the cabinets under the sink and hit the countertop. He started a cold bath and dug through the cupboards and drawers until he found what he was looking for. A razor.

Cyrus didn't remember trying to find it, it was like his mind and body just knew. He heard the little voice in his head tell him that the whipping wasn't enough

You need to punish yourself.

They want you to feel pain.

The rage came back and he steadied his fingers, tearing out a blade. He touched it to his skin and held it there without applying any pressure. He just couldn't do it. 

It was easy for everyone to see his previous cuts on his arms so he decided that he needed to find a new place where no one could see. He brought his hands to his head and ran his fingers through his hair, groaning in frustration before seeing his reflection in the mirror, where he saw the perfect place: his already beaten up elbows.

He sat on the ground and propped his arm up to see his elbow. Pressing the blade into his skin, he made four small cuts all over his elbow. 

Once he saw the blood pouring out of him, he dropped the blade and squeezed his eyes shut, letting the water works come. He sat in that position for a while, crying to himself while letting blood seep out of him, until the bath was ready. Once it was, he climbed into it, cringing in pain. He fully submerged his body into the water and cried underwater.