I Don't Do Sadness // Jyrus

anguish

Cyrus gave up after lunch. On everything. He drew stars all over his notes and work in his classes and just listened to the thoughts in his head.

He wished he wasn't, though. They weren't good thoughts.

He wanted to scream.

Your parents don't want you.

You're just a problem that needs to be fixed.

You know how to fix it.

You deserve to be dead.

You've caused too much trouble.

Finally in Social Studies, he squeezed his eyes shut and laid his head down on his desk. No one had been telling him these things, he was telling himself. He thought that that was what everyone else thought.

His mother didn't want him anymore. He was getting his father in trouble with her. He'd probably end up getting his father beaten by her for causing all of this when he didn't. Cyrus wished his mother could hit him so he wouldn't have to think of the thought of ruining everyone else's lives more.

He let these thoughts overcome his brain and they overcame his body. He slid out of his seat from Social Studies and left the school in a blur. He felt like he was floating, even though his legs ached with every step he took.

TJ watched him walk away from the school from his view at the swings.

Cyrus dragged himself all of the way to the fancy neighborhood that his mother's house sat in. He didn't deserve to live there. His mother didn't deserve to have to raise a son like him in this nice place that she worked so hard for. He looked down at his shoes as he walked up the steps to his house. He deserved to have dirty shoes. But his shoes didn't deserve to be dirty. His parents didn't deserve to buy him nice shoes for him to ruin them.

He kicked off his shoes and hung up his bag at the door and immediately climbed the stairs. Once he got to the top, he just stood there, staring down the staircase and feeling his sock covered feet on the cusp of the top step.

A burst of anger popped inside of him and he stomped on the floor, hit the wall, and slammed the door of the bathroom shut as he walked in. He threw things off of the counter top and pushed the hamper down. He hadn't even realized that he was crying until he saw his reflection in the mirror.

His eyes were dark and bloodshot, surrounded by the purple and black bags under his eyes. His hair was a mess and his face was long and tear stained. He looked like a disappointment. Because he was a disappointment.

He stared at himself staring at him and started to cry. He watched his mouth cry out and watched the hot tears squirt from out of his eyes and stream down his face. His hands were gripping the countertop and he pulled them off, letting his hands form fists and his nails dig into his skin.

In the midst of his sobs, he felt a vibration in his pocket from his phone. He pulled it out and saw that his mother had asked him where he was.

He forgot. He was supposed to be picked up and dropped off everyday by his parents. His hand gripped around his phone and he threw it down onto the ground, screaming once again. He was an idiot, just like his mother said.

He slammed his fist down on the countertop multiple times before turning and kicking the wall. His eyes scanned the products on the floor before he flew over to the drawers and cabinets under the sink. He dug through them before storming downstairs, leaving them completely open.

The tears were rolling down his face again and he ran into the kitchen, easily spotting the knife block on the counter. He pulled out the first one he saw, not too big, but sharp. He pressed his thumb against the blade and once he felt the pain and saw the blood seep out of it, he pulled up the sleeve on his left arm and pressed the knife against it.

He went across the first time, the tip of the knife quickly cutting through his skin. The second cut wasn't as deep and he slowly pulled the tip of the knife on top of his skin. He watched the blood start pouring out of his arm and stared at it, his harsh breaths calming and the tears slowing.

He snapped out of whatever he was feeling when the first drop of blood hit the floor. His eyes widened and he quickly went over to the sink and ran water on top of his blood covered arm.

"Shoot, shoot," he muttered as he saw the blood flow down the drain and coat the stainless steel sink. He grabbed a paper towel and pressed away the water and blood still seeping out of him, and went to get a bandaid, leaving the knife sitting in the sink.

He covered up the cuts, cleaned up the blood on the floor, and washed the knife thoroughly, placing it back in the knife block. He brought his blood soaked paper towels to his bathroom to make sure his parents didn't see it anywhere and buried down to the bottom of the trash can.

He was sitting in the bathroom, putting everything back on the counter and in the drawers when he heard his mother walk through the door. He had gotten a text from her saying that she was coming home and was not happy.

"Cyrus!" She yelled, her voice echoing throughout the house. His heart stopped and he quickly walked downstairs and stood in front of her in the kitchen.

"What are you, stupid?" She asked him.

He looked down at he ground and mumbled, "I just forgot."

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you," She said.

He looked up at her and she said, "So I see you haven't done any cleaning. You've been home for an hour and haven't vacuumed or anything."

Their house was already pretty clean, but he was expected to do the cleaning when he was there to give his mother a break. "I've been cleaning my bathroom," he mumbled once again.

She scolded him, saying, "Quit mumbling." She leaned back on the counter and sighed, asking if he had any homework while she pushed a hair back on her head.

Once he said "Yes," he was sent upstairs to do it, and was to stay there for the rest of the night except for during dinner.

Although, he didn't do any homework. He just laid in bed, and the thoughts decided to join him.

Your friends would be disappointed if they found out.

Your parents would be even more disappointed if they found out.

You just disappoint people.

It'd be so much easier for them if you weren't here.

Nobody would care.

Especially not Jonah Beck.