Beautiful To Me (Boyf Riends AU)

Chapter 2: Boyf

Right... I drew this.

TW: Self-Harm, Homophobic F-slur

(Michael's PoV)

I stumbled through the front door of my house. It was difficult to open the door with my clumsy fingers, because everything was swirling around. Maybe I shouldn't have smoked so much.

Oh well. Who cares?

I know that nobody cares about me.

My classmates don't care. My teachers don't care. My family doesn't care.

My mother sure as hell doesn't care.

I remembered the night she left. Her screams rang in my ears. Why can't I have a normal, happy child?! Why does he smoke and have splotches all over his skin?! Why is he depressed?! Why does he self harm?! This isn't the child I wanted!

They didn't think I was listening. Or maybe they did, and just didn't care.

 I was in the beginning of junior year. I was in my room, emailing a guy who could hook me up with some crystal Pepsi. I used to love outdated drinks like that.

Then she started to yell, so I had headed downstairs. I only made it to see her slam the door.

She left me and my father alone. I haven't heard from her since.

From then I started to smoke more. I stopped talking to people. I just kind of faded away.

The only time I talked to anyone after that was when Rich Goranski told me about some kid who fell out of a tree. That was the only time I became interested in anything other than nothing. It was the only time since she left that I felt anything about anything else.

And then there was this kid, Jeremy. He was probably new. Either that, or I really don't believe in anything anymore. He looked like an okay guy, but I couldn't be friends with him.

Dustin Cropp once told me that I wasn't good enough to exist or be friends with anyone because I was so ugly. I think that's when I started cutting.

I staggered into the bathroom and sat in front of the toilet, vomiting my guts out into it. After a few hurls and a lot of dry heaving, I wiped my face with a towel and looked in the mirror.

So ugly.

I stared at the light tan splotches littering my face and neck. I sighed and pulled my sweatshirt over my head. Putting it down, I glanced at my forearm and the scars that joined the splotches of lighter skin.

So fucking ugly.

I opened the drawer under the sink and pulled out a razor. I felt a tear run down my face as I drew the razor over my skin, watching the blade cut right through it. 

It felt like I was cutting my bad thoughts away. The relief felt... so good.

This is so bad for me. I should stop.

I didn't stop until the razor, the counter, and my arms were covered with blood. I felt lightheaded, like I was going to black out or something.

Don't pass out, I thought. Whatever you do, don't pass out.

I pushed myself up slowly, wincing at the pain. I quickly found a rag to clean up the mess I had made and some bandages as well. I cleaned up the mess I made. Everything I do makes a mess.

I walked out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, crashing down onto my bed. The tears ran a lot faster now. I closed my eyes and let the world fade away.