Broken Boy (Septiplier Trash :P)

Please Don't

{WARNING: Even though the description of the story explains it, and I've already written about it, I just wanted to warn you guys. This is the part of the story where the topic gets really depressing. If you are sensitive of easily triggered, please don't read this. If you don't read this chapter, I recommend stop reading this book completely, because throughout the entire story, it circles around these types of topics.}

September 30, 2016

Mark's POV

I can't do it. It's been tearing me apart. Jack didn't come to school after Monday, Felix and Danielle were really quiet around me, and nobody knew where he was. I'd tried asking Felix and Danielle but they just said, "I don't know," and walked away from me.

Were they mad at me, too? If it was for the whole Jessica and Veronica thing, I seriously needed to explain what happened.

I finally decided to find them and explain everything. I found them while walking down the crowded halls, and I began to approach them. Until...

AHHHH!!!!

I gripped onto my messy hair in pain. I started kneeling down and holding my chest. A random, excruciating pain just appeared out of nowhere in my chest. I didn't know what it is. I had no health issues? But there was just a little voice in the back of my head whispering:

Jack. Jack. Jack. Jack. Jack.

I whipped my head up in terror.

Jack.

Instead of talking to Felix and Danielle and getting the facts straight with them, I immediately ran to Jack's house. It was a long run, but I didn't dare take to take a break or even slow down.

I was at the front door of Jack's house. My throat was dry and burning. I knocked on the door with the little energy I had left.

For about ten seconds, there was no answer. I knocked again, a little stronger this time. No answer.

I opened the door and it was unlocked, as usual. The door loudly creaked as I slowly opened it, peeking inside. "Jack?"

I looked inside and saw the most horrifying image that shredded my heart.

This is why Jack hasn't invited me over for days.

The bumpy walls that were once white were now smeared with every single name Jack had been called with a sort of thick, black paint.

Stupid. Faggot. Worthless. Idiot. Gay. Dumb. Weak. Retarded. Useless. Waste of space. Loner. Bitch. Prick. Slut. Ugly.

Those words and many more were all written in a small font. I scanned my eyes across the scribbled wall, with each word pounding my heart a little more each time. Then, I got to the words that he wrote in a much bigger, messier font:

NOT ENOUGH

Everything else was like little needles repeatedly, but gently stabbing me. As I read the last one, it felt like someone grabbed a brass knuckle and stroke my heart.

Why would he ever think he wasn't enough?

The house was silent. Too silent. I hesitantly stepped through the messy hallway. Clothes were scattered across the floor, random wrappers and papers were thrown about, but art supplies were neatly placed on the edge of the floor.

I got to the end of the hallway, my mind whirling with thoughts of what could have happened to Jack. I turned the corner, and a white door met my eyes. I looked down and saw a small pool of maroon liquid flowing out of the creak of the door.

Don't let this be true.

I didn't want to make any quick assumptions, but I perfectly knew what had happened. I grabbed the circular door handle, my hands quivering because of the image in my head.

The door clicked open. I heard the click and my heart skipped a beat. I slowly opened the creaking door, and found an unconscious Jack. A bloody razor in his hand, what seemed to be at least 20 cuts on his arm, and extremely slow breathing, he lied lifeless over the edge of his bathtub.

"J-Jack? Jack?! JACK?!" I hopelessly rocked his body, desperately wanting him back in my life. I flipped his body over, hoping for a response. I stared at his closed eyelids. Eyes that used to be open with happiness and just the tiniest ray of hope. Eyes that used to be as deep as the clearest ocean.

I didn't want him to die alone in the bathroom, but I didn't want to pass the chance to save him, either.

I ran out to the front door, I swung the door open, and frantically opened my car door.

Phone, phone, phone. Where the FUCK IS MY PHONE?!???!?

I finally found it under the passengers seat. I dialed 911 as I dashed back to the bathroom.

"911 what's your emergency?" A female answered.

"PLEASE HELP. IT'S MY FRIEND. HE-HE'S DYING."

"Sir, please, calm down. Are you sure your friend isn't breathing?"

"YES! I CHECKED HIS PULSE, HIS CHEST- HE'S BARELY LETTING OUT A BREATH!"

"Do you know how to perform CPR?"

"I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG HE'S BEEN LIKE THIS! PLEASE, JUST SEND SOMEONE HERE. FAST!!!"

"Okay, can you state your address? We'll send units right away."

"Uh- sure. It's uhh."

I was so panicked I almost forgot Jack's address. I barely remembered it and stuttered it out to her.

"Thank you. Can I get your name?"

"M-Mark. Edward. Fischbach..."

"I got it. Can you tell me your friend's name?"

"Jack. William. McLoughlin."

A small pause of silence was heard.

"Hmm. That's strange. There's no record here of a Jack William McLoughlin. The only person in this area with William McLoughlin as a last name is Sean William McLoughlin."

"What? That can't be!"

"Sean William McLoughlin. Sophmore at Watchwood High. Blue eyes, green hair. Sound like him?"

"Yes, yes. Uhm, that's him."

Sean William McLoughlin?

"Okay, Mark, I need you to stay with me. Alert us if your friend is okay or starts breathing normally."

"Will do." I put the phone down and put my hands on Jack.

Jack, you'll make it through this. Stay with me Jack. Stay with me, Sean.