It started with hello~ GeorgeNotFoundxreader

CHAPTER TWELVE

(TRIGGER WARNING- SELF HARM & MENTIONS OF PASSED MENTAL & PHYSICAL ABUSE)
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Waking up in the morning, you flutter your eyes open with the bright sun nearly blinding you from the window.

Immediately grabbing your phone, you go to George's last tweet to look at all of the comments

Taking in most of the hate a few of them stuck out.

"Tik Tok stans aren't going to be happy about this"
"Who even is she..."
"No one asked lol"

Furrowing your bows at the comment you mumble under your breath

"The fuck is a tik tok stan."

"Whats a what?" George speaks up frightening you
Jumping you look up at him

"Warn me next time George, jesus" you laugh panicky
"I asked what a tik tok stan is" you add on

George groans and rolls over, facing you.

Rubbing his eyes he responds
"I have never met a crazier set of fans then the ones dedicating profiles to the dream team" he laughs
"Like trust me, don't fuck with them"

Laughing it off like it was a joke you continue to scroll through more comments

"Wake me back up in 20 mins or so, I'm exhausted" George's voice was mumbled in a pillow

"Okay.." you laugh lightly before going back to your phone.

Comments upon comments, some nice, some cruel and just plain rude.

Knowing all of them are jealous, and don't really mean the things they are saying it doesn't bother you.
Until you eyes glide across one comment.

"What the fuck are you doing with my daughter."

Heart sinking to the ground tears begin to coat your eyes before falling.

Looking at the username it was "anonymous" with a bunch of random numbers.
But your parents rarely used social media..

The thoughts keep rushing and rushing until you break

-TRIGGER WARNING - SELF HARM- PLEASE SKIP IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE THE MENTION OF IT-
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Quietly, yet quickly, you slip out of George's room and go into yours, trying not to wake up clay.

Opening the door your greeted by a sleeping clay, cuddled up with pillows and blankets.
Knowing he's a deep sleeper, you don't worry about making sound as much.

Walking to your dresser you pull out the same box of "borrowed" razors and grab one.

Walking back out of the room, you close the door and make your way to the bathroom.

Shutting yourself in, and locking the door.
You sit your back against the wall and sit down on the ground.

Contemplating wether or not to go through with everything and break the amount of days clean, the tears start to come back full force.

The thoughts in your head begin to send you into a panic attack, making you hyperventilate.

Lifting up the sleeve to your sweater, you begin to drag the cold metal blade across your arm, making a deep incision.

Winsing  at the pain you sniffle loudly and continue to breath quickly.

A sudden burst from the door makes you stop and look up.

George and clay stood before you shockingly.

Seeing there faces makes you snap out of a panic and come back down to earth.
Looking down at your wrist you realize what had been done in a state of panic.