Kyle x Suicidal Reader

A Single Cut || Chapter One

All you had to do was be quiet. All you had to do is act like nothing was wrong, so no one would know; find out everything within a moment's notice.

"I bet she sucks men on the street." One of the girls sneer.

"What a whore." Another cackles.

"She's so ugly." Someone says with a disgusted tone, making you wither inside.

"Slug faced." One comments, smirk on her lips.

"Two-faced bitch." They continue to go back and forth, tearing each emotion out slowly and painfully.

So many more things have been said to you; done to you. Nothing is reversible. You deserve it, all the fingers pointed, all the constant beat downs- deep down you knew you deserved it, but you didn't know why. Tears stream down your cold cheeks, leaving a burning trail of sadness and hurt as the girls move away from you.

"Trash. Have your shit back, cum dumpster." Bebe sneers, throwing your book bag to the ground, journals and papers falling and scattering out around you in the open. You can't move, body bruised and beaten from their relentless kicking, and insults that went through your heart, leaving it cracked, barely held together. So you stay motionless, unmoving; playing dead like a possum hoping they'd just leave you alone to wither and cry.

"You shouldn't even be alive you skank. This world would be better off without you." Wendy smiles wickedly, your tears feeding her hunger for more. Your face is burning, vision blurry to the point you can't tell what's going on. Your tears feel like endless icy rivers, making your skin crawl as they climb down your cheeks. But you believe you don't deserve to live. . . as she says but still, not understanding why. All you know is that you hate yourself more and more with every word thrown your way.

One rumor after another, so many fake stories of the 'new girl' back in 4th grade, just grew worse along the years. Now even as a Junior, the bullies are relentless, taking everything out on you. Blaming you. Punishing you. Ruining you.

You try hold back the tears, holding your breath in hopes to gain some strength. You stay motionless, and the girls soon grow bored. They start walk away, talking about what they'll do to you tomorrow. As soon as they are out of sight, with a shaky arm, you grab your book bag, pressing your journals back into it as tears flow like a stream down your cheeks, never ending like a dam released due to you trying to hold it in. You can't stop crying, choking on sobs. You feel so broken, so useless.

Slowly, you sit up, weak-kneed, pressing your back pack onto your shoulder, and start to wobble home. You hiss with each step, the pain and pulsing from each new forming bruise making you feel so much weaker. As soon as you get home, you silently go up the stairs, your mother not noticing you from the kitchen with her headphones in, doing the dishes.

You drop your bag onto the floor, taking out your phone, and taking a towel along with a neatly folded wash cloth into the hallway and went straight into the bathroom. One by one, you peel off your clothes from your sweaty skin, showing newly forming bruises and cuts along your abdomen and back, and on your legs as well.

You turn on the water of the bathtub to lukewarm, waiting for the water to heat up. You look at yourself in the mirror, glaring at yourself. You know no one is going to like a beaten rag doll, no one does. So many scars litter your body, so much damage done to you, not even a desperate man would look at you even once. With those thoughts in mind, all you do is slowly unfold the wash cloth, picking up the razor between your thumb and pointer.

You place the razor on the side of the tub, plugging the drain and climbing into the slowly rising tub of water, taking the razor in hand. You turn off the water when it just barely passes your breasts, the warmth of the water soothing your aching, numb muscles. Your body is numb, emotion is numb. You feel monotone, silenced as if someone pressed the mute button for your voice, emotion, and pain. All the pain given to you, this is nothing to you. You wont feel it. Pressing your arm under the water, your inner wrist pointing upward.