Twenty Eight Lattes 》Calum Hood AU

once upon a time

It started in my junior year.

"Once upon a time, I let the blade win.
I tore open my skin and I watched the pain bleed out..."

I tapped my pencil. Scribble.

"Once upon a vein, there was a happy girl. But she became sad. Nothing could relieve the itch she felt when she thought she was getting better."

My notebook was snatched off my desk.

"What do we have here?" My English teacher questioned as she read the words of the girl at war with herself.

My little poem got me sent to the principal's office. My parents were called and I sat uncomfortably with the guidance counselor until they arrived.

He tried to talk to me but I kept quiet. If anyone was going to break me, it was gonna be me. I should know. I'm the one doing this to myself.

"Sweetie, why didn't you tell us?" My mother had asked as she tried to shield the worry and hurt in her voice. I nearly scoffed. As if.

"It's not an easy thing to bring up. Besides, I can handle it." When I said that, the guidance counselor's eyebrows raised. I knew he knew I was lying. But he didn't say anything.

The three of us went home and my parents called a therapist. The next day, I was pulled out of school and given a district appointed tutor.

I finished grade eleven at home under the careful supervision of my tutor and therapist.

A year later, I graduated and was allowed to attend the graduation ceremony. My parents were so proud, as was my tutor. But my therapist was still very concerned with my well being and pysche. He clapped politely though when I was given my diploma.

It was fake smiles that day.

Fast forward another year and I had dug myself a hole that I didn't wanna get out of.

One particular day during the spring, I had spiraled down and hurt myself. I had also threatened to kill myself.

I was comitted to the youth ward on the psychology floor of the hospital I was born in. Twenty four hour suicide watch for three days. No shoes , no pens or phones. At least there wasn't a padded room.

For several weeks after that, I was prescribed three medications. All antidepressants. That's a lie. One was an anti-psychotic.

Vigorous therapy sessions and a scheduled workout. I got to go outside twice a day. For sunlight and fresh air.

All in all, five months later, I was released on my own recognizance.

I had somehow convinced my therapist that I was slowly getting better.

After my stint in the loony bin, I had found something to keep me busy. I had to cause my parents were busy and couldn't watch me. I'm surprised they didn't hire a damn body guard.

I still had to attend therapy, so every Wednesday after my shift at my uncle's coffee shop, I sat for an hour skillfully pretending I was fine.

I lied for weeks about being fine until one day I couldn't take it.

Then I banged my wrists.

The bruises were definitely easier to hide and lie about. No one really noticed them anyway and I was thankful for that.

That is until Calum fucking Hood just waltzed into my life.