It's called a breakup because it's broken

1: Troye

"Please... Please, I'm begging you! Don't go! Don't leave me here alone!" I cried, clinging on to his arm as I anchored myself to the floor.

"Let me go, you stupid... Ugly... Fat ass... BITCH!" He screamed, slapping me harshly across the face. My reflexes took over, yanking me away from him and forcing me to let go of his arm. I cradled my burning cheek gently as tears streamed steadily down my face. This was my fault. I shouldn't have gone out with my friends last night. I should have just stayed here, at home with him.

"Baby, please. I'm so, so sorry. I swear, it will never happen again. Just please... Just please don't go. I need you." I whispered, curling myself up around his feet. He laughed at me cruelly and kicked me away, being anything but gentle.

"Baby please! Baby stay!" He taunted, raising his voice an octave in a poor imitation of my voice. Cruelty shone brightly through every word and my tears began to fall down my cheeks heavier than before.

"Just look at you! Why would I want to stay here? Why would I want to stay with you? You're pathetic, Troye! It's disgusting!" He snarled, leaning down to sneer in my face. "I don't think anyone would want to stay with you. No, I know no one would want to stay with you." His words flew at me like a slap across the face, leaving my face stinging even more than it was before. With every word he said, I could feel my tears fall heavier and faster than before. I tried to stop, holding my breath until I couldn't any more. No matter what I tried, the tears just kept on falling.

"Pull yourself together!" He snapped, slapping me again, harder than before. "You couldn't possibly think that we were going to actually work? You were just my play toy, a distraction from everything else. And now I'm done with you. I'm done with you and your pathetic clingy-ness, your constant cry for attention, your pathetic way of singing... I'm just done with you."

With that, he stormed out, leaving me broken and hurting on the floor. I stayed there for hours, curled up in a ball on the cold file of my floor crying my heart out. How could he do this to me? Just yesterday he was telling me he loved me with all of his heart... There must be something wrong with me. It wasn't the first time he had left, either. Technically, we had broken up several times before, but every time he says he's sorry, and I can't help but forgive him. It was always my fault, anyways. Not spending enough time with him, arguing with him too much, singing when he's around even though I know he hates it because I can't sing... And here I was, having screwed up again. He's right. I am a fat, ugly, stupid little bitch. It's a wonder anyone puts up with me at all.

With tears still leaking down my face, I peeled myself up off of the floor and made my way to the bathroom. Pulling out the stash of razor blades I had hidden at the back of my medicine cabinet, I sat back down on the cold tile floor and carefully removed my jumper, revealing several years' worth of scars that had built up on my torso, shoulders, and arms. Most of the scars were old and faded, but there were still several that hadn't even completely healed yet.

I chose an area on my skin where there were no scabs of still healing cuts and carefully dig my blade in. I gasped, letting the familiar feeling of pain wash over my body as I dragged the blade down my arm, watching as blood welled up in its wake. The pain carried me away to a place that was not as bad as my cold bathroom floor, a place where there was no pain, no heartbreak. A place where I was no where near as pitiful as I was there on earth. I carved slice after slice into my arm, not bothering to make sure the blood didn't roll down my arm and hit the floor. All of my tile could be perpetually stained red from my blood and I wouldn't have cared less. In that moment, all I cared about was being carried away by the pain.

The pain made me stronger, building myself up into a perfect ideal person, only to tear myself back down again. As time continued on, each new slice was no longer bringing me to that perfect place beyond where I was then, but instead whispering all of my little imperfections in my ear. With each slice I made, I told myself I was ugly, fat, horrid, stupid, a fag, going nowhere in my life, going nowhere with my music... Each cut left me feeling more destroyed than before.

Yet, I pushed on, hoping that eventually I would once again get to that perfect place. Once both of my arms were covered in a significant amount of cuts and I couldn't find space for any more, I carefully washed off my razor blade and slipped it back into its usual spot I my medicine cabinet. Next, I carefully rinsed off my arms, both wincing and smiling at the searing pain it gave me when the water went into all of the still bleeding cuts. Carefully, I bundled my arms up with gauze, making sure that all of my cuts were covered and that I wouldn't get blood on anything what I put my jumper back on. Once I was sure everything was cleaned up, I rinsed off my face and slipped my jumper back on over my head.

I locked eyes with myself in the mirror, examining my face. My eyes were red and puffy from crying with dark black bags under them from lack of sleep. My cheek was still slightly blushed from where he had slapped me earlier, and one of my eyes was quickly turning into a black eye from when he had kicked me off of his legs. Overall, I looked like hell.

Just then, a familiar sound chimed from the next room, my bed room. It was obviously coming from my laptop, which I had sitting on my bedside table, plugged in so that I wouldn't have to power it off at night.

I sighed, running my hands wearily over my face and through my hair. I really do don't want to have to deal with that now, but at the same time, I knew that if I didn't deal with it, I would never hear the end of it. Quickly, I splashed water over my face one more time and plastered a smile over my face before heading out into my room just to check and make sure I was right. I grabbed my laptop and made myself a nest out of pillows and blankets before opening it and staring at the little blue icon staring back at me.

It was 2:30 in the morning, my boyfriend had just broken up with me,
I looked literally like living hell, and Tyler Oakley was trying to Skype me.