I wake up when bright flashing lights and annoying sounds fill the streets, coming closer and closer to our house. I can barely lift any of my body parts up or move them, i feel paralyzed and dehydrated. My chest is tight and my head is spinning, and my mom is holding onto me, crying. I feel bad for doing this to her, for doing this to Marcus, to myself. I hate myself for this.
A man who was shouting to his other workers rushed into my room with a stretcher, grabbing a hold of my arm and wrapping gauze around it to put pressure on the cut. I can't feel his hands wrapping around my wrist when he's trying to keep my body together, and panic fills my lungs and throat. I vomit without forcing myself, my body just rejecting more bile from seeing my arm and from all the anxiety flooding my veins. The men with the ambulance try to clean me up before lifting me into the stretcher, taking me away. My eyes start to close again, and more of my strength drains away with the blood falling out of my body.
* * * * * *
The room i'm in is so quiet you can hear tiny sounds, the lip smacking noise that comes with a yawn or opening your mouth, somebody tapping their pencil, small tapping noises of someone typing in the room. If it were any quieter i wouldn't be surprised if you could hear everyone else's blinking. You can tell nobody in the room is actually working, we're all just doing our best to make it look like we're working, so Mrs. Terry won't get her panties in a bunch. Today has been slow and tiring, besides the little bit of time i saw Taylor before he passed out. Though i fell asleep shortly after, I wish he was able to stay up more, or take better care of himself, because seeing him looking so bad hurts me. I can tell he's hiding something, i don't know if he's depressed, nervous about something.. Something's wrong. He won't tell me either, and as much as i love him it ticks me off to no end. I chew my lip, thinking about confronting him tomorrow morning. I plan out the speech in my head, wondering how i'm going to put what emotions into what words. I recite it over and over in my thoughts, until i can almost have it down by heart. I want to help him.
"Marcus." i hear a stern voice say loudly, staring me down from in front of my desk. I must've zoned out pretty hard, because i stopped messing around on the computer long enough for Mrs. T to think i'm not studying. It takes all of my heart and soul to not roll my eyes until they hurt.
"Yes, Mrs. T?" I ask, in a monotone voice. She raised an eyebrow and tapped my computer, making the famous teacher 'get to work' face. I nodded, getting on some random assignment i'd probably already finished and making tiny edits that didn't exactly matter.
A few minutes after i'd stared into the eyes of satan itself, the bell rang loudly through my school halls to let all the mindless sheep in the building know our daily dose of Hell was over. I shoved all my things in my book bag, throwing it over my arm and starting to walk to the parking lot. Opening the door to my small run down dumpster looking car, i let out a long sigh before sitting down and starting the engine. The radio blares alternative music, and the sound of my fucked up AC rattling fills my car. Digging around in the glove box, i pull out some cigarettes. I light one, just enjoying the relief i feel from finally being free. The weather was just nice enough that being in my car didn't feel like sitting in lava, but it also wasn't too cold. I decide after around eight minutes to go on a drive around town, and maybe i'll drop by Tay's house a little later. I still need to talk to him, so i could just move when i speak with him a little earlier. I need him to be okay.
I pull out of the driveway and begin to head towards the downtown area of our city. For reasons i can't really explain, being over there is always so peaceful. It's never too busy and the buildings look that aesthetic between run down and sort of old. I park in an alley by an abandoned building, going around to a side you cant see from the road so i can sneak in there without being troubled by cops.
Looking out of the window of the fourth floor, i notice my phone vibrating. I look at the name, furrowing my brows. Taylors mom? She only calls for emergencies. The last time she called is when Taylor self harmed. I feel my chest get five times heavier, and i answer the phone.
"Hello?" Taylor's mom replies in a high pitched panicky voice. I hear sirens in the background, and my entire body begins to shake. I zone out of what she's saying and run out of the building towards my car, going as fast as i legally can towards Taylor's house.
I see them carry him out on a stretcher, heavy bandaging all around his arms. Fuck. I see his mom holding onto his limp hand, crying loudly and saying undeterminable words that mixed in with the hitches of her breath. They have him in the ambulance car before i can go see him, and i yell to Tay's mom, asking what the hell he'd done to himself.
"H-he tried to-- he tried to kill himself i-i don't.." her crying started up really badly again, and i begin to tear up as well.
"How? What did he do?" i ask frantically. She made a motion on her wrist, sobbing too hard to speak anymore. I clench my fists, getting in my car and letting Tay's mom in with me, following behind the ambulance.
* * * * * *
I'm sitting in the room with Taylor, he's still unconscious and my anxiety shoots through the roof every time he twitches a little bit. I scoot my chair closer to the hospital bed he's been put into. He needed staples in his arm to keep it together. He cut through a lot of veins and had to get surgery for how deep it was. I run my hand through his hair, taking it out of his face. He looks so dead. Like all that's left on his body is skin, not even any muscle. I wish he'd talk to me more. I lay my head on his chest, listening to his shallow breathing and slow heartbeat. I wrap an arm around him lightly, afraid i might hurt him. He looks insanely fragile how he is.
I feel his heart speed up a tiny bit and he moves his arm a little, just enough to have his fingertips on my arm. I lift my head up to look at him and i start to cry again, hugging him tightly. He makes a slight grunt noise, laughing a little after.
"Don't fucking scare me like this Taylor" i bury my face into his neck, running a hand through his hair. I feel him sigh, and he lifts his arm up to look at it.
"I'm sorry marc. I messed up really bad i'm sorry.." I hug him closer to me, scooting him over a bit so i can fit into the hospital bed with him. It was uncomfortable as all hell, but worth it to be with Tay. "Marcus?" his voice was so faint and weak, it hurt my heart to hear him like that.
"Yes, love?" i ask, sitting up a bit to look him in the eyes.
"They're sending me to a psyche ward." i feel everything in my body break down a little bit, making me feel heavy and desperate for air. "I won't be there for long i don't think. And you're able to visit me there, but they said i need to stay at least two months." I trace my fingers over the bones in his body that i can see.
"Will you promise me you'll stay safe there, and eat like you're supposed to? I know you tried to hide it but i know you're not eating right. You look dead, Tay. i want you alive and healthy" my voice cracked towards the end of the sentence, and i look away from him. I don't like crying in front of others and i'd done plenty of that today. I feel him holding his breath, and i wonder whats going on in his head.
"I'll try my best Marc, that's the most i can promise. I'm going there for help, so hopefully it'll get better.."
"I want you to be better. I'll call you every day, okay?" i kissed Taylor's cheek, readjusting myself to be more comfortable. From everything that went on today, i was exhausted as fuck. I rested my head on my arm, closing my eyes and drifting out of consciousness.
YOU ARE READING
Pretty Boy.Teen Fiction
Taylor weighs a whopping 98 pounds, and in his mind he weights over 300 all thanks to a comment a few boys made in the locker room. He goes through sweat, blood, and tears just to become the pretty boy society expects him to be.