Broken Wings (Troyler AU)

3 ~ A Borderline Stalker

Troye's Point of View

The house is eerily quiet when I open the front door. "Hello?" I call, expecting to hear my mother's soft greeting or father's snide remark. When I hear neither, I venture further into the house.

I walk into the living room and find a note on the coffee table. "Troye- Your father and I went shopping. We'll be back by eight. I love you. ~ Mom"

'I' love you. Sort of cute how she accidentally forgot to put 'we' love you, isn't it? The voice mocks. I mean, it WAS an accident, right? Oh, wait, I forgot. Your father hates you.

Just like everyone else.

I glance at the clock hanging above the television. It reads 7:34. I would've been home sooner if it weren't for my little run-in with Justin and his band of dim-witted followers. And if Tyler hadn't held me up for ten minutes.

I feel my face heat up with humiliation as I relive the incident. I hate Justin for tormenting me for my sexuality. I hate Tyler for pitying me. And I hate myself for giving him a reason to.

You still have almost half an hour. The voice reminds me. That's a pretty long time.

Half an hour was more than enough time to do it and get everything cleaned up.

And so what if it wasn't? Do you honestly think anyone would care if they walked in on you slicing your wrist up? Shit, they'd probably toss you another razor.

I take a few steps towards the staircase. I don't like to do it more than once a day, but I don't know what else to do. My parents wouldn't give a shit, in fact, my father would probably mock me for being a pussy and not fighting back. I don't have any friends to talk to, and I'm not going to talk to a therapist or counselor who was taught how to respond.

It's just me against the world, and the entire world against me.

I couldn't have put it better myself, faggot.

I quickly make my way up to the bathroom and lock the door- just in case. I sit on the edge of the bathtub and pull up the sleeve of my shirt, staring at the rows upon rows of bright red scars and feeling a little sick when I realize how many of them are fairly new.

I find an empty spot and slowly drag the razor across my ivory skin, letting out a sharp hiss of pain. I do it again, this time a little deeper. And again.

And again.

And again.

Suddenly, I hear a car pull into the driveway. "Fuck!" I cry, hastily wiping the razor off and shoving it back into my pocket. I grab a piece of toilet paper and hurriedly scrub a few drops of blood of the floor.

I hear my parents come into the house. "Troye?" my mother calls.

"J-just a minute!" I call back.

I hear her start to come up the stairs and swear again. I press a towel tightly against my arm, but the blood won't stop. "Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck." I hiss, pressing even harder.

"Troye, what are you doing?" Mom asks, knocking lightly on the door.

"Nothing!" I say. "I'll be out in a second!"

"Troye...?"

"Hold on!"

I quickly grab a large piece of toilet paper and wrap it a few times around my wrist, using it as a makeshift bandage. I pull my sleeve down and open the door, plastering a fake smile on my face.

"Hi," I say breathlessly.

"What were you doing in there?" Mom asks worriedly.

"I wasn't...doing anything."