It's been three days since i was sent to the hospital, and Marc still visits every day once he gets of school. I'm scared for the day they finally let me go, sending me to that psyche ward. Things were simpler when i didn't have to worry about my own self image and how much my body wanted me to dig into my skin just to see the blood. I wish i had met Marc sooner, maybe he could have prevented all of this.
* * * *
My eyes begin to flutter open a bit, seeing Marc by my side, asleep. I check the clock on the wall, the time reading six thirty. My mother is in the room, her arms are crossed and shes staring at the floor, i can tell she's crying.
"they said you're well enough now, so we've got to drive you down to the mental hospital." She didn't look up at me while she spoke, she just tightened her arms around her, sniffling a little. I nudge Marcus until he wakes up, whispering to him what was going on. A sad look grew over his face, and it tore my heart apart. I wish he didn't have to deal with me, he should have loved somebody else, someone mentally stable.
someone who's not constantly trying to kill themselves in any way they can.
"im sorry Marc." i mumble, sitting up and looking away.
"Sorry for what, love? you're getting help. Yes im sad you'll be gone so long, but i'm going to call you. i'm going to try to visit, and it wont stop me from loving you. And maybe this is whats the best for you, you need to get better. I trust you can help yourself do that." The sound of his voice being so soothing and smooth makes me feel sick in a way. Not from disgust, knowing how much he cares about someone so messed up who probably wont be able to fix themselves.
He's trusting me to fix myself, but if ive never gotten better so far, how can i even trust myself with such a thing? My stomach hurts.
they've noticed that i didnt eat for around three days so i have to be tube fed while i'm here. its gross, and feels disgusting as hell. I excuse myself to the bathroom, saying i just have to pee. When i walk into the bathroom i close and lock the door, hunching over the metal toilet that reminded me of prison cells.
I stick two fingers down my throat, gagging but not throwing anything up. I hear loud banging on the door, and Marcus shouting.
"Taylor so help me god i will knock this door down, unlock the door and let me in." my stomach begins to hurt even more, but its more of an anxiety feeling making my stomach flip. i unlock the door, sitting back down next to the toilet and hanging my head over the bowl. Marc comes in, sighing and sitting down next to me. When his hand touches my back, i jump, but he rubs my back and hugs me tight.
"Please Tay... Stop doing this to yourself." he picks up my arm, making a circle with his finger around my wrist. "look at how skinny you are, this isn't even natural. you look like a zombie, you need to get yourself better."
"im sorry." i say, hugging him back and resting my head on his chest. "i'm so sorry, Marc, im sorry.. you deserve someone better, someone who isnt.. someone who isnt me. I'm sorry"
Footsteps approach the bathroom, and i look up meeting the gaze of my mother, her eyes bloodshot and cheeks stained.
"it's time to go baby, Marcus can come with us. Its a two to three hour drive so we'll have time to talk stuff out."
//Short update, i'm tired and rlly sick sorry
Also!! i was thinking of making some fanfiction?? i might start publishing some soon
(i wont be doing fanfic that involves real people)
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.