Late Kid (Angst)

Chapter One

A/N: I saw the image i used for the cover and it inspired me to write this/caused me to get the idea for this story.

And like I said in the summary this may be triggering to some people, as it contains depression, s*icidal thoughts, self-harm, homophobia, etc. Viewer disgression is advised.

~>> Craig's POV <<~

I woke up to the beeping of my alarm. Well shit. Another hellish day to live through. Yay. I looked over at my forearm, the cuts were swelled and puffy. Looks like I hadn't cut deep enough. Shit.

Well. Guess I had to get up then.

With a heavy sigh I got out of bed, fed Stripe, and shuffled over to my mirror with a yawn. I looked at myself, taking a swig of the vodka I had sitting on my dresser. I stole it from my father. He has enough alcohol to fucking get drunk out of his mind anyway. What's one missing bottle gonna do.

Other than the bags under my eyes and the swollen cuts and bruises on my forarms and stomach, from both myself and my father, I looked fine. I had a muscular frame, so I was actually a bit thankful for stereotypes.

I clicked my tongue, the features of the stereotypical depressed person includes but is not limited to:

▪ Always tired looking (I hide that by saying it's just my emo makeup shit).

▪ Overweight or underweight (because people automatically assume that one with depression has a fucking eating disorder)

.... I mean... Sometimes I don't eat.. Sometimes I do. I feel bad for those who feel the need to starve themselves just to feel like they look good enough. They're beautiful, they just don't realize how fucking wrong everyone who makes fun of them are.

I'm an exception though.

I'm fucking disgusting.

▪ Cold and bitter- (wait. That is me though)

Well. I guess I do kind of fall into that stereotype.

Ah well.

People just don't care enough to notice.

I don't care. Not like I want people to notice.

I could care less whether people cared.

I got dressed and headed downstairs, only to be shoved against a wall by my father. "Morning, dad.", I said monotone. My voice had lost all emotion years ago. "Don't give me that shit you faggot!!", my dad growled. He was drunk. Fuckin' mint. "All I did was say good morning. I was being pol-", he slapped me. It felt nice. ... I hope you picked up the sarcasm in that. Meh. At least he didn't punch me or kick me I guess. Or throw a broken vodka bottle at my head like he did when I came out as gay when I was ten.

I looked blankly at him for a moment, my cheek stinging, and he let go of me with some more angry LGBTQ-related slurs. Fuckin' asswipe. I don't even have a clue what I did this time. And of course mom was nowhere to be found. She probably spent the night at my grandparents' house again to get away from my dad. Mom was never home. Whenever she is all she does is cry. I've tried comforting her many times and all she does is tell me to fuck off. I feel for her. But soon enough she's yelling at me for something too.

Calling me worthless, a piece of trash. Trying to get me to date a girl.

Trying to fix the "mistake" she gave birth to.

I've grown numb to the words that come out of both my parents' mouths.

I put on my shoes and slung my bookbag over my shoulder. "Hey Craig aren't you going to eat something?", Tricia asked from the kitchen table. I put on a fake smile, one I gave to Tricia often so she wouldn't worry about me, "Nah. I'm not hungry this morning. Have a good day today, Tricia.". She smiled and waved as I left the house.

I began walking down the sidewalk, focusing on the burning I was feeling from my sleeves rubbing against my cuts. Not really anything else to think about. Well. Other than the fact that I wanted to die. But whatever.

Suddenly I felt something cold and hard make contact with my back. A snowball. How nice. I turned around slowly to see none other than Eric Cartman. "How do you like that you gay homosexual!?", he yelled at me with a stupid-ass grin on his face. I flipped him off. It was early. I didn't feel like fighting yet. Kyle was trying to hold him back, "Goddammit fatass you're so annoying!". God bless that redhead. He was actually decent to me. Kenny was too, but I had no clue where he was.

Ignoring the following comments that Cartman made, I continued walking until South Park High School came into view. I was a junior. I walked in and headed down the hallway to my locker. Heads turned to stare at me. I was the school brawler. I spent a lot of my time in detention. Little did the principal and Mr. Mackey know that all the fights I got into were self defense.

Whatever.

I didn't feel like going to class yet, so I headed towards the bathroom. I spotted Tweek and Butters talking. Butters waved and smiled, and Tweek looked at me a bit absently and mouthed my name. I could almost see a bit of concern in his eyes. No. I'm probably just imagining things. People have no reason to be concerned anyway. I'm fine.

... I'm fine...

Tweek.

Tweek...

My ex-boyfriend.

Tweek and i had been going steady until a half a year ago. But he had dumped me because I seemed distant. Little did he know this was when I needed him the most.

I wouldn't tell him that, though. He'd think I'm weak.

Fuck I still love Tweek. And I can't go a day without wondering if he still has any feelings for me at all.

Probably not. I'm unlovable.

I went into the bathroom and found a secluded stall. I leaned against the wall and took a pack of cigarettes out of my bookbag. I lit it and put it in my mouth.

I'm unlovable.

I inhaled and pulled up my sleeve.

I'm unlovable.

I pulled out my jacknife and began to carve the words into my forearm.

I'm unlovable.

I exhaled the smoke and laughed dryly, watching the blood bubble to the surface of my skin.

"No one could ever love me.".