Sterek At Last?

Being Human

Styles

Sitting alone in my room was always the best thing for me growing up. I never really wanted to talk to anyone since mom passed away. I just talk to the select people I like.

I'm afraid of others thoughts of who I am. I wish people would know what I thought of my self. A low life piece of trash that needs to die.

Jumping up from the floor I walked over to the edge of the sink and got the razor I hid behind the towel rack.

I put the sharp of te edge to the skin of my upper thighs and began to slice through my skin. Cutting through every single last drop of pain or hate I had builded up in me.

The blood dripped down my leg and over the other times I've done this. Words like- whore, worthless, alone, and even a tic tac toe board but set up to where I lose the battle.

I never will when this battle. Why do I even try? Everyone just hates me...