I've always heard the theory that being in an insane asylum corrupts your brain more than the actual disease does. Never did I realize I'd live that theory.

It started with name calling. Fag, emo, gross, ugly, anorexic, boney. Then, he laid hands on me. On December 19th of 2011, Austin Carlile gave me a black eye. ~TRIGGERING~

What is the best way to keep a secret? "Tell it to everyone you know, but pretend you are kidding" - Lemony Snicket. It turned out that Snicket was painfully correct. By the time I reached P.E. after lunch on Monday, it was tipping over the edge of eighty degrees, and my red hoodie had been stuffed in the back of my locker since Brunch. I'd lost count of how many people had gaped at my arm with shocked expressions and open mouths, curious voices unsure of whether or not they wanted to know the answer asking, "Did you cut your arm?" By third period, I'd gotten so fucking sick of repeating the same excuse that my sarcastic asshole side had leaked out. So, I'd been responding to my classmates appalled questions with something along the lines of, "Yes, I cut myself." There was a kind of sick humor to it - technically, I was telling the truth. Not that anyone would ever know it. Cover cred to RazorbladeKissesx

✘ [first book in the series.] the one where cute and innocent vic fuentes follows the advice of his best friend jenna, and writes a love note to the gregarious, pretty faced moron, kellin quinn. ❝i placed my ice cream tub back on the table, before curling up into a ball on top of one of my fluffy, monumental pillows. i hugged it, like my life depended on it, my chest heaving in sobs, all because of one boy.❞ © tesfuen ✧ fuentabulous