living or existing | mgc

one

Michael's pov.

Another day of school, another 7 hours of hell out of the way.

Done, dusted.

It consisted of me waking up tired and pissed off, for no apparent reason, at around 5am in the morning.

hen, my mum tried to force me to eat, because apparently "I haven't been eating properly". Well, I did manage to convince her that I wasn't hungry, at that time at least. I left the house shortly after that, to catch the bus.

The other kids, like always, stared at me as the bus pulled up at my stop. As I was walking up the steps, I felt something against my leg, and I tripped, my books flying everywhere. I look up to see James, the school bully, the biggest of them all, laughing and pointing at me, his face lit up with amusement. I grunted in pain.

"Watch out, nerd!"

Pulling myself to my feet and sighing heavily, finally managing to find a spare seat and slumping into it, numerous laughs echoing at me throughout the bus.

My locker, was also filled with cow paddings, when I first opened it. I remember biting my lip iand trying not to cry as I got out my books for first period.

First period was okay, besides the fact that I was getting bombarded by spit balls, paper, anything that people had on them that they could throw at me.

I tried so hard to focus on the work that was set up for me to do, but the snickering that I could hear as I worked made it really difficult. I could hear it even when it wasn't happening, it was haunting me and I hated it.

At lunch I didn't have any where to sit, and I felt so different as people stared at me from their seats, so I ended up sparing myself from any embarrassment and I head into the toilets to eat lunch.

It's kind of gross, I know, but it's better than feeling even worse than I already do.

I didn't eat much of my sandwich, and I ended up sticking my fingers down my throat, vomiting it out into the toilet anyway.

The rest of the day was okay, it was pretty much the exact same as first half. I got called a few more names, got insulted a few more times, got pushed around a few more times, felt a bit worse than before, you know. The usual.

Well, here I am now, walking to my house from my bus stop, at the end of the day.

I watch as my black conversed covered feet hit the ground as i walk further to my house, before walking up the driveway and finding the secret key from underneath the flower pot and swinging open the front door of my house.

Automatically, I drop my school bag on the couch and walk off to my bedroom, finally letting all of the feelings that I have bottled up from today, slip out of me.

I lay on flat across my tummy on my bed, letting out the hot tears slide down my face and onto my pillow.

i want to die.

My carved walls inside of me fall to pieces, breaking every ounce of hope in myself that I have.

"Mike, honey?" I hear my mother ask from the doorway. Fuck. Please, no. "Are you okay?"

I bury my face into the pillow. No, I'm not fucking okay. Can't anyone see that? I'm hurting.

"I-i'm fine," I try to mutter, but my voice cracks as another tear falls down my hot cheek and into the pillow.

She doesn't say anything, but I hear her feet making their way over to me across the carpet.

I feel the bed dip as she beside me, gently tugging at my arm.

"Come on, tell me what's up," she says, and I finally give in, embracing in her in a warm hug as I cry into her shoulder.

"I don't even know anymore, mum. I just hate myself, I feel so out of place, I feel like I don't belong, I want to die, mum, I want to die," I whimper into her shoulder as she strokes my bleached red hair.

"Oh," she whispers, and I feel her kiss my forehead, and I tense. "Oh, Mikey. Take this, it might help," she says quietly.

I look up from her shoulder. It's a white, folded slip of paper. I take it from her, nodding a thank you as she kisses my head again, telling me she loves me more than the world, and gets off of the bed, walking out the door.

I lay back on my back against the bed, taking a deep breath before i open the piece of paper. Here goes nothing.

'SUICIDE HOTLINE.'

It reads in bold letters. Underneath that, a phone number. My mum wants me to call a suicide hotline?

I don't want to. I suppose though, I have to. I sigh heavily, taking out my phone and dialling the number, and hoping for the best.

-----

Darby's pov.

Another day has passed.

Like usual, it started off as me waking up at about 7am, getting my school uniform on, scoffing a slice of toast, sliding my shoes on, kissing my parents on the cheeks goodbye, and making my way to the bus stop.

I read my math text book on the bus, trying to take in as much as i could for my exams next week.

I also got angry at my boyfriend, James, for picking on this new kid. Don't get me wrong, I love James, but he can be rude, I guess.

The day went by really quickly, and now I'm looking at myself in the mirror, studying my features before I head out to work.

I work at a suicide hotline company, and I actually think it's really nice.

I park my car, shutting the engine off before walking into the building, brushing a lock of hair out of my face and opening the doors, smiling at my coworkers as I find my place at my desk.

My twin brother, Luke, waved at me as i sat down, with him asking, "How are you?"

I half smile and shrug. "I'm fine, you?"

Just as he's about to answer, the phone on my desk starts ringing.

Remembering why I'm even here, I pick it up and put it to my ear.

"Hello?"