feelings are fatal

-2-

-abuse/rape mentioned-

Ashton walked into social studies, his eyes fixed on the ground. 'Last class with Luke' he thought. 'If you get through this one, you get to avoid Luke and go...' he couldn't even finish a thought.

Go home? Where would home be?

Ignoring these thoughts, Ashton sat down and began drawing in his journal. He drew himself, his siblings, and his mom, all in a house. His deepest desire.

A happy family.

Ashton smiled, deeply wishing the drawing was real. His hand strayed over his collarbone, where the letter M had been carved by his stepdad.

Ashton got so consumed by these thoughts that he didn't realize when the teacher called on him.

He didn't realize when he said his name repeatedly.

He did realize, though, when his paper was ripped out from under him.

The boy's golden eyes snapped up, full of fear. His teacher stood above him, studying the drawing.

"Drawing in my class, Irwin?" he smirked a little. "Maybe you should save this for art class and actually answer my question. What is the capital of Ontario?"

Ashton looked down, feeling his cheeks heat up. "Toronto" he mumbled, wishing for the earth to swallow him right there and then.

The teacher nodded and looked at the class. He turned the drawing and let everyone see. "And this, class, is why you don't draw in MY class" he ripped the page right out of Ashton's notebook and tore it up.

Ashton's mouth fell open and tears formed at his eyes. Salt water droplets fell from his eyes, and he looked down at his paper. He heard the whispers of students behind him, and one comment stuck especially.

'The little gay fag is drawing something he'll never have. He should go kill himself before he ruins someone else's day.'

That made more tears fall from his eyes. He stifled sobs and scribbled down notes.

Luke watched from across the room, his brows pulled together in a frown. How badly he wanted to comfort his crying boyfriend. He wanted to stroke the boy's golden curls and wipe the tears from his cheeks. He wanted to wrap his arms around the boy's skinny frame and whisper sweet things into his ear, distracting him from the mean comments coming his way.

But he couldn't do that. He couldn't lose his newfound popularity.

So the blue eyed boy watched silently, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. He just wanted Ashton to at least glance at him, so he could tell him it was going to be okay.

He didn't.

One of the kids next to him, Daniel, leaned over, whispering, "they call him crybaby." Luke, for his popularity only, laughed. He repeated it to others, who only laughed as well. Luke kept that fake smile on his face and laughed at other snarky comments about Ashton.

Of course, at that moment, Ashton looked at him. His already heartbreaking expression, with the pouty lips, tear stained cheeks, and eyes so full of sorrow that it would make anyone feel bad, turned even worse.

His eyes filled with betrayal, and he seemed to give up on being strong.

Ashton raised his hand, excusing himself to the bathroom. Once there, he plopped down on the floor while straight up sobbing. He dug through his pocket and pulled out a tiny razor blade.

The broken boy pressed the blade against his wrist and watched as small droplets of blood appeared. He let out the tiniest ghost of a smile and did it again.