THE BOY WHO TRUSTED NOBODY (boyxboy)
  • Reads 4,509
  • Votes 174
  • Parts 20
  • Time 1h 43m
  • Reads 4,509
  • Votes 174
  • Parts 20
  • Time 1h 43m
Ongoing, First published May 11, 2014
'That's why on the back of a brown paper bag he tried another poem 
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing" 
Because that's what it was really all about 
And he gave himself an A and a slash on each damned wrist 
And he hung it on the bathroom door because this time he didn't think he could reach the kitchen'
(~The perks of being a wallflower~)


Sky wasn't an average 17 years old boy, he was depressed, alone, lonely, he didn't trust anyone and he wanted to end his life. 
But then he met someone, who could possibly help him. 
Will he be able to trust him and let him save him, or will he drown in the dephts of his dark and lonely world?
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!!Trigger warning: suicide, Implied/Referenced Self Harm!! Warnings before sections. . This book is currently discontinued, if I find motivation to finish it it is not in the foreseeable future. . "Trust me." His voice was soft and calming, the way that a good father could be assumed to sound. "This isn't what you want, it never has been and it never will be. Confusion is difficult to work through, but if you just let me help you, I can show you that it can be worked through." He rolled up his sleeve, showing several white streaks across his skin. The other was shocked. "N-no, I'm not good for anything, I'm nothing there's nothing for me." He shook his head many times, holding it in his hands after a bit. "No." "Can I touch you?" The boy who was trying to help this poor soul had approached a few paces. His voice was now quieter, more soft, and still caring. The boy at the bridge took a moment to think, then nodded his approval. The savior gently took the boy's hands delicately in his own and gently pulled the boy back. Well, less of a pull and more of a gentle suggestion. It worked and the boy stumbled down off of the edge. The boy started to cry. How could he be so weak that a boy, the same age as him, who seemed to have the same ideas and hatred toward himself as he, could keep him from stepping off? The other simply gently led him to his vehicle and took out a water bottle out of the backseat. The boy took it and looked at it suspiciously. "It's untampered, look, it's still sealed." Upon seeing this, the boy opened it and took a few sips of water. "Thank you. For the water." The savior smiled. "It's nothing much." He shrugged. "Have a phone? If you want I can put my number in and then you'll always be able to tell someone if you're having a pissy day." Surprisingly enough, the boy agreed. . They would both be around twenty.
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Pretty Boy How could you exactly define yourself as being pretty? Is keeping myself high, be enough? Would the wounds around my body, mark me as to being one? Could drowning myself with alcohol guarantee me into feeling like that? Because if it does, then I guess being wrecked and having an obscure life are things that could be defined as being pretty. But, being pretty comes with a cost, and seeing your friend as to being one is just plainly forbidden. But what if the forbidden nature of it all, could come falling into a mess that's nowhere near as pretty as him. Would it fall into shattered pieces or could it fix what is already broken? And would the love that both of them are willing to give each other be enough to overpower the bigger repercussions that'll probably come out of it? [Smut Included]