SADBOY - FINN WOLFHARD ✔

THREE!

THE CUTOUTS - PHONE SEX

"YOU CALLED ME, SAID THAT YOU DON'T WANT ME,                                                                                                      BUT THEN WE HAD PHONE SEX AND I FELL ASLEEP."

Finn Wolfhard has fallen asleep with tears staining his face, his eyes puffy and red, he slept uneasily, he tossed and turned as his brain could never quite just shut off. It resurfaced, terrible feelings of loneliness kept hitting him likes waves crashing him down, he was drowning in thoughts of her, maybe he didn't deserve such a beautiful girl, he didn't deserve a literal angel. Striking like a painting, she was so well thought and sculpted in such a perfect manner.

She didn't need him, he was worthless, a stupid orphan boy, quiet and reserved. They were polar opposites, she was the pure white and he was the harsh black. She had everything at her disposal, meanwhile, she dated some mystery boy that lived in the woods. Everyone was quite aware of who Finn Wolfhard was, they had all grown up with him at school, being a quite shy boy, more mysterious than the friends he occupied everything, then came the incident that tore the boys apart, and then a near year later he managed to secure a date with none other than Freya Dean. Freya had been the one that had asked out Finn, much to his surprise, and how could he ever turn down such a memorizing girl.

Had she realized he wasn't good enough for her? Had she been playing him the entire time? Was this some type of twisted attempt to ruin the boys already miserable life?

Haunting thoughts wouldn't let him rest, as he stared at the white ceiling, twidling his fingers together as he thought, he tried to reassure himself that the girl had made a mistake, or he was dreaming, but he had pinched himself twelve times in the last hour, and he felt quite present in the world he was living in. He stared at the ceiling a little longer, breaking into a sweat, kicking the thick covers off his burning body, he sat up, tearing the sweater he had so stupidly fallen asleep in, his body itched and his skin was coated in red patches, he rubbed at the tender skin as he groaned in displeasure, the sheets stuck to his hot irritable skin, his legs kicked, grinding his teeth together, his jaw locking tight as he held in his scream.

He wanted to claw away at his own chest, dig the hands into his stomach and swirl around his intestines, he wanted it to be so painful that he begged for it all to be over, he wanted to be out of his own skin. Sweat trickled down his stomach, it was winter, yet he felt burning.

He stood up from his bed, pulling down his joggers, walking out of his room and into the kitchen, fishing for a bucket in one of the underneath cupboards, and filling it with water, carefully carrying it to the fire placing before dunking the water on the roaring flames, as the fire subsided and burnt out. He went around opening every window, just to feel the cold.

The clock reads seventeen past three, the outside world is still coated with a dark sky, he opens his door, grabbing the pack of cigarettes that sits in a bowl by his front door, he sits on the steps, picking out one individual stick, pressing it against his parted plump lips, the cigarette dangles as he attempts to spark the lighter but proving difficult from the strong winds that are blowing onto him, dark locks fall onto his face, shielding his eyes, he whips his head, blowing at the loose strands, eager to get the cigarette burning, the flame sparks, leaning his head closer, his hands shielding the flame to remove any wind from interference as he transfers the flame to his smoke, it's successful, he holds the cigarette between his two slim fingers, he breathes in, the smoke traveling down into his lungs, the toxins feeling his chest as he blows out the smoke in relief. Oh, how relaxing it felt, taking a long drag out of a cigarette in the freezing cold, by just this one cigarette, he's taking eleven minutes off his life.