TW// cussing, crying, knife, strong talks of: suicide, bullying, receiving physical and emotional abuse from bullies, self harm, kidnapping, and depression
I think that's all?
(Seriously, tell me if there's more, ik this is a triggering chapter)
3rd person POV
The car ride home for Wilbur was strange.
It was dead silent like Tommy's ride home, because there was some light talking from Schlatt and Quackity mixed with the quiet radio, but Wilbur didn't speak. Neither did Techno or Charlie.
There wasn't anything to say.
Wilbur didn't know what his...brothers(?)...were thinking, but there was one thing that Wilbur couldn't get off of his mind.
What Phil said about the night they found Wilbur.
He was still torn on how he had almost done that.
Wilbur was happy.
He would have never guessed.
Before he knew it, they were home. The five got out of the car and went inside.
"S-So! Uhm, I'll show you to your bedroom, Techno." Wilbur said, beginning to walk away, expecting Techno to follow, which he did.
The room was nice. Soft grey walls and white trimming with a dark wood floor. And the bed looked fluffy, too, and there's nothing better than a fluffy bed.
"Here it is! I'll go find you a phone charger, I'm sure there's one somewhere. Are you hungry? I'm sure I could go find you something. Do- Do you wanna borrow some of my clothes? Well, no they wouldn't fit you, your too muscular. I can-" Wilbur was cut off.
"Wilbur, I...I think you've done enough already. Really, I mean, I'm not homeless, so there's nothing else I could ask for," Techno paused, "Except maybe a phone charger."
Wilbur chuckled.
"Yeah, I'll do that. It's late, though, so can we do that in the morning?" He asked. "Of course, why are you asking?" Techno replied.
"Fuck, I don't know," Wilbur spoke a little quickly, "I'm just tired, and stressed, and my mind is racing with today so I'm also full of energy and that's making me more tired, and I'm confused as to how the hell I don't remember wanting to fucking off myself so that's just stressing me more, and now I'm rambling, and I'm sorry, and I-"
"Wilbur," Techno interrupted, "Calm down, it's alright. I can see that you're tired, so go to bed. And if you can't sleep because you're stressed, just come talk to me. And don't apologize for rambling, we've all done it." He said.
"Yeah...right, uhm...I'm- gonna go now. My room is at the end of the hallway." Wilbur said. "Ok, Goodnight." Techno replied. Wilbur nodded, and then left, shutting the door behind him.
He walked towards his room but was stopped.
"Wilbur," It was Quackity, "Can we...talk?" He asked. Wilbur stopped, turning around, facing Quackity who was stood in the entryway to the sitting room.
"Talk about what?" Wilbur asked, though he already knew what it was. "About...Y'know, what happened today. About what happened the night you disappeared." Quackity said.
Schlatt was also there, and Charlie was sitting on the sofa, just kind of there. He wasn't on his phone or anything. He was just there.
"There's not anything to talk about. It's just what he said, apparently I was about to off myself." Wilbur said. "Apparently?" Schlatt questioned.
"Yeah, apparently. I don't know jack shit of my life before Phil and Techno. So, as weird as it may sound, I don't remember being suicidal, nor why I was, so there's nothing to worry about. I'm fine now, I guess." Wilbur shrugged.
"Wilbur that's not- that's not good." Quackity said. "I didn't say it's good! I don't know what's good and bad anymore! There obviously something wrong that needs to be fixed in my head, but shouldn't you be happy that I'm not depressed anymore?! Isn't it bad to be depressed?!" Wilbur laughed a laugh of annoyance.
"Wilbur, calm down. We didn't know you ever were until today." Schlatt said calmly despite Wilbur's very...not calm tone. "Well I kind of assumed that by Quackity's reaction in the courtroom."
A few seconds of silence passed.
"I'm sorry," Wilbur said, "I'm just...very tired and it's been a long ass day." He exhaled, walking away to his room.
He luckily wasn't followed.
When he got to his room, he took off his shoes since he had forgotten to leave them at the door, threw on a hoodie, some more comfortable sweats, and went to bed.
He laid there for a very long time, not sleeping. His mind was racing too much to sleep. He watched the end of the sunset turn into a pitch black, moonless night, as the noise in the house died down, and there was no longer movement as everyone had gone to bed.
And still, he didn't sleep.
After fucking forever, he turned over, picking up his phone to see it was nearly two in the morning.
(It's actually nearly three in the morning when I'm writing this [2:54AM to be exact] so yay)
He exhaled, sitting up and looking around.
He spotted the locked box that he had found a while back sitting on his desk.
With the words "thought box" carved out onto the box, he was sure it had to have something to do with the whole attempted self-die thing.
He got up and turned on his lamp, grabbing the box and sitting down in his chair. He looked to see if the lock could possibly be broken, but he definitely wouldn't be able to get a good enough grip on it.
He grabbed a pencil and stuck it through the lock and tried twisting to break the lock, but it just broke the pencil.
So he tried with a pen...and it also broke...and got ink on his hands.
But luckily, he found a little pack of tissues that he used to wipe the ink from his hands, and the pen was also almost empty, and the ink didn't get on anything else.
Wilbur got up and put the ink-covered tissues into his bin and began looking for something that could actually work.
He searched every drawer for something that would work, yet everything he used, well, didn't.
Eventually, when he searched the closet, on the shelf above all of his clothes, in the far back corner, was one of those small boxes that are similar to the ring box that you propose with, only they're less fancy, much cheaper, and usually hold a necklace.
Wilbur struggled to reach it, despite how tall we was. He ended up pulling it towards himself with a clothes hanger.
When he opened it, boom, there was a key.
Wilbur ran over to the box, put the key in, and...it worked! The lock opened!
Wilbur opened the box and saw a few different things inside. It was a small box.
There was a very small book that looked like a journal, a guitar pic, a small yet pretty nice looking pocket knife, and two separate sheets of paper folded up.
Wilbur picked up the pic, and realized it matched his guitar that sat in the corner. He held the knife, which was a hassle to open, and was pretty dulled, probably from carving into the wooden box.
He opened one of the papers, seeing sheet music with lyrics.
Had he written a song?
At the top it's said "Your City Gave Me Asthma" which was definitely something Wilbur had never heard of, so he assumed that yes, he had written it.
He assumed the other paper was also music, so he moved on.
He then picked up the book, journal, diary, thing.
Upon opening it, he saw that it was like a journal and a diary.
Really, what's the difference?
The first page said "January 1st, 2017."
So Wilbur was thirteen when he wrote it, as he is nineteen now, so he read it.
"January 1st, 2017,
We moved on the New Years! Mama (Q) said something about Dad getting a job at some weapon making place, but that he was gonna work with the computers.
I don't really care why we moved, though. I miss my friends, and I don't have a phone, so I can't call them ever. We're too broke for me to have a phone, but that's fine. I heard they can be pretty addicting.
I wish we could go back to our old house. It was smaller and more cozy.
But I start a new school next month!
I'm kinda scared to meet new people, even though I'm an extrovert.
And we have uniforms. I did at my old school, too, but these ones are ugly and itchy.
Vomit green definitely isn't my color.
It's not actually called "vomit green" but that shade is horrendous, and I LIKE green!
I hope I fit in well..."
Wilbur smiled.
He thought that was cute.
Little him was surprisingly good with grammar.
Wilbur flipped some pages and saw that he had wrote in that journal every single day.
Then he came to where he started his new school.
"February 4th, 2017,
I start school with my older brother Charlie tomorrow. He's nervous, but now that it's almost here, I'm actually very excited! I don't know why I was nervous before, I love to meet people! Guess I was just upset about the move.
I have my rucksack packed with all my stuff!
I hope I can sleep tonight despite being so excited, because Mama (Q) doesn't let me drink coffee. He says it stunts my growth, but I'm 13 and I'm nearly 5 foot 10, if not already. I wonder if he's so short because HIS mum let HIM drink coffee.
Dad sneaks me some sometimes though, when Mama isn't looking.
I'm writing this pretty late, so I should probably go to bed now."
Then Wilbur flipped the page.
"February 5th, 2017,
I got back from school a little while ago...
I ended up sleeping fine, and I was so excited to meet new people, but nobody would talk to me, even when I was clearly talking to them specifically, they'd ignore me like I wasn't there.
I had an awful time trying to navigate the school on my own, as nobody would help me when I tried to ask.
All I heard all day was "wow, you're tall" and "how's the weather up there?"
I swear I heard some people saying that I jump scared them when they first saw me because of my height.
But my brother made a few friends!
I don't think anyone knew were brothers.
I mean, we don't look alike, since we're both adopted.
Is it not normal to be 5 foot 10 inches at 13 years old? Everyone around here are just short, and I guess my parents had tall genetics.
Maybe I should I ask Mama to let me drink more coffee."
Wilbur frowned. That was so sad. And that last sentence made Wilbur feel sadness but also humor because coffee doesn't actually make you shorter or make you stop growing. That's a stupid myth.
Wilbur fanned through many more pages, stopping when he felt necessary.
"May 3rd, 2017,
School is out for the summer next week.
I'm so glad. I don't think I could handle more than a week of this. I really need a break.
Not having any friends or anyone to talk to is hard.
I think they don't like me because I'm tall, lanky, and apparently a "weird nerd" since I'm smarter than them. Since when was it bad to be smart?!?! I'm gonna succeed in life more than them!!!
All day, every day, I'm just by myself.
I eat lunch alone. I study alone. In group work, I'm by myself, but if I'm not, I have to do all of the work for the entire group and they take credit.
If I don't do all the work in time, they get mad and shun me.
They threaten me with all sorts of different things for if I tell the teacher that I did all of the work, which I've never told, because snitches get stitches, and I would quite literally need stitches.
Those are some tough kids.
But Charlie is graduating this year...so I'll be all alone in the school next year, and the next three(?) years after that until I graduate when I'm 18.
Let's hope the next week goes good so I can start summer off nicely."
Wilbur didn't know how kids could be so mean. Just for his height and weight? For being smart? Wilbur, just like his past self, was wondering how that's a bad thing.
But he definitely didn't succeed more than them.
He skipped through summer and into the next school year.
"August 5th, 2017,
The first day of school was today. I forgot how bad it was. People are so mean, even the teachers don't like me. I don't know why, because I'm passing their class.
Teachers always believe the popular kids.
I wish Charlie was there. He doesn't know I've been picked on and bullied. I never told him. Mainly because I don't want Mama or Dad to find out, because I know they'll personally go to the school themselves and say something, which is embarrassing and will only make things worse.
I think I got called a "lanky giraffe" three times today, "four eyes" so many times that I lost count since I got glasses over the summer, and I was shoved against a locker seven times.
Good thing I'm too tall to actually get shoved INSIDE of one.
I can't believe I have to go through another nearly 200 days of this hell.
Really, 600 days if you wanna count the rest of my 3 school years.
I wanna move back home.
This isn't home.
I don't like it here."
Shoved into a locker seven times on the first day.
Wilbur found that insane.
What was put into those kids minds that thought this was ok?
He continued to flip, until a date caught his eyes.
"September 14th, 2017,
Today was my birthday, I'm fourteen now, and Mama and Dad let me stay home from school. That was nice, I needed a break, even if it was just one day.
I got a phone! My very own phone!
It was confusing at first, but it's actually not too hard to navigate.
I got Instagram and Musical.ly
I have the accounts but I don't plan on posting.
I'm just there to watch and like.
How do you even pronounce Musical.ly?
Musical-lee? Musical-lie? Music-lee?
I don't know, but I'm not gonna waste my time figuring it out."
Wilbur was glad that was more of a sweeter one. Not really any mention of the bullying, which was nice.
Wilbur flipped to after Winter break, when school restarted a few days after New Years.
"January 10th, 2018,
Winter break was nice. I enjoyed being away from those dicks at school.
But when we went back to school on the 5th, as I've said the last few days, it's been shit.
They tell me they "missed me" when really, they just missed bullying me.
Today, some boy punched me in the arm and shoved me against my locker earlier in the morning, and took my food from me at lunch.
He also smashed my phone.
When I got home, I apparently hadn't seen the huge bruise on my arm that the punch had given me. But Mama and Did saw it immediately.
They flipped and asked me what had happened and if I was alright, and if someone had done that to me.
I obviously lied.
I told them that I had been hit with a dodgeball during P.E, and that the kid got in trouble for throwing it so hard.
I also had to show them by smashed phone, and apologized repeatedly, saying that I accidentally moved my chair leg onto it, and that the phone was in my bag sitting next to my chair.
Any tips on how to cover a bruise?
Who am I kidding, this isn't Google. Why am I asking a question like I'm gonna get an answer."
That must have been a pretty bad bruise, Wilbur thought, because Schlatt was concerned, because he seems like the type to say "walk it off."
Wilbur flipped many more pages and stopped in the middle of summer break.
"June 19th, 2018,
I like that it's summer, and that I'm away from the hellish torture that society calls school and the demons that they call "students," but I'm just not happy.
Because I know I have to go back in a few weeks and start an entire year.
I hope by time I go back, that they've put on their big person pants and matured up so they'll leave me alone.
I feel like my messages are getting shorter.
I don't know what to write anymore."
Wilbur looked back, seeing that they had indeed gotten shorter, so he kept on going.
"August 1st, 2018,
Well, they finally hit puberty and had their growth spurts over the summer. So they don't make fun of me for being tall anymore, since we're almost eye level.
And yeah, I'm officially 6 foot 4 inches. I grew lots over summer.
Now everything they make fun of me for is being lanky, my glasses, still that I'm smart, they say the uniform looks goody on me (which it does), the one single Instagram post that I ever made of me with Charlie (they said he's too good for me like they still don't know we're brothers), and word somehow got around that I have two dads, so people laugh at me for that, too.
But I don't care about that last one, I still love Mama and Dad.
I come home with new bruises nearly every day now. I wear long trousers and hoodies because of this. I can't have Mama, Dad, and Charlie seeing them.
My birthday's next month?
So that's fun.
I haven't asked for anything. I don't want anything. If I get something, it'll be a waist of money, because it's not going to bring joy to my life. Objects don't mean anything, because one day, all of that is gonna break down in a landfill somewhere while you've been rotting in the ground for a hundred years.
What's the point?"
Wilbur couldn't believe how much past him had changed in just two years. It was like a switch was flipped.
No wonder he tried to off himself.
"September 14, 2018,
My birthday, yayyy...I'm now fifteen.
I didn't want anything, so Mama just made a cake and got me a gift card for Starbucks. He thinks I just get pastries and their juices when I'm there, but a nice espresso is what keeps me going during the day.
I feel bad lying to Mama, but coffee is keeping me fucking alive right now."
That one was so...short. Wilbur hated how much just some kids at school had destroyed him. He didn't even feel like he was reading his own journal. It felt like a stranger.
"January 10th, 2019,
I am, yet again, being massacred, tortured, obliterated, mangled, and broken after Winter break. I wish Winter break didn't exist.
I had to go buy fucking makeup go cover some bruises on me that I can't cover just with sleeves and long trousers. Like the ones on my face. Ones, plural."
Wilbur noticed that one was been shorter than the last. And the "ones, plural" was so bad. Wilbur couldn't imagine the pain of his body being covered in bruises.
"March 2nd, 2019,
I was skipping class in the restrooms today when I saw something shiny on the floor. I picked it up and it's a pocket knife that someone dropped. I don't know how they got it, or why they brought it to school.
We're supposed to take stuff like this to the office, but I decided to keep it for myself.
It a pretty damn nice knife."
Wilbur assumed that was the knife in the box.
"March 5th, 2019,
I'm having weird thoughts that I've never had before.
It's that fucking knife. It's like it's talking to me.
I wanna feel it's blade on my skin, and I don't know why.
I have this thing in my brain telling me it could make me feel better.
I'm scared."
Wilbur covered his mouth, shaking his head. There was no way, right? He hadn't done anything like that to himself. He didn't have any scaring on his arms.
"March 6th, 2019,
My legs.
My legs are my victim, my canvas.
My mind was right, it does make me feel better, I'm and not really sure why.
The sting of the blade just...does that.
I know I shouldn't, but it's hard now that I've done it the first time."
Wilbur was frozen to his seat. He found himself crying. He didn't understand. He rolled up his trousers leg, to show many many little cuts and scrape scars. Phil had told him those were from the fake accident he was in; that his legs had gotten pinned and cut up.
He felt sick.
"April 27th, 2019,
I know I'm getting out on summer break in a couple weeks, but I can't fucking do this shit anymore. Because it all gonna start over again next year, and I can't fucking take that.
It's not nice getting bruises on top of bruises from being punched and kicked every day.
My body hurts.
Everything hurts.
I think I'm gonna just end it.
I'm gonna give myself some time to think about this, but...
I'm fucking done."
Wilbur sat the journal down. He thought he was actually going to vomit. His head pounded, his eyes spun. He wanted to wake up and have this all be a dream.
"May 4th, 2019,
I've made my mind clear. This whole week, I didn't consider backing out once.
I should have just done it a week ago and saved myself the pain of ten extra bruises I've gotten since my classmates are "gonna miss me over the summer."
I'm sorry, I really am.
I'm gonna miss my family, but I won't miss my life.
If there's even life after this one where I CAN miss things, my life won't be one of them.
I'll write a separate note, a bigger one that wouldn't fit in this book.
Sorry again, Journal.
Thanks for being my vent book."
Wilbur flipped the page, seeing no other words. That was the last one. He was crying hard now. He still could hardly believe this. He now thought that the other paper was the note, and not more sheet music.
He didn't really wanna look, though.
But he had to.
He felt like he had to.
He read the journal, it only felt right to read his own parting words.
He reached into the box with shaky hands, pulling out the paper.
Upon unfolding it, he saw words. Not sheet music, and at the top it was labeled "Thanks."
Just thanks.
Nothing more, nothing less.
"Dear, family.
Sorry to be going on such short notice, and I know you have no idea about any of this, but I've decided that death would be better than living how I am.
I cover it up, figuratively and literally. I surprised nothing was ever said about how I started only wearing long clothes that covered me.
Basically, the move killed me. No, this isn't Dad's fault for getting a job. It's the move to a new school that did.
Nobody likes me. I don't know what I did to deserve it, but I'm only spoke to when I'm being called ugly names or something. I'm kicked, I'm beaten. I cover the bruises on my face with makeup that have to secretly buy. That bruise you saw on me a while back; I wasn't hit with a dodgeball, I was hit with a fist and a locker.
I've been called things that I haven't even written down in my journal because I feel I shouldn't write those words.
I don't know if you'll find this letter, and I don't know why I'm hiding it. I guess incase once I'm out on the bridge, if I pussy out at the last second, I know you didn't see the note already before I got home.
I'm sorry, I just can't do this anymore.
Feel free to read my journal; the whole goddamn thing.
God, look at me. I used to hardly cuss and now I'm doing it in almost every fucking sentence.
Those bastards ruined me. They ruined my body; made me ruined it myself with some shitty pocket knife I found. Well, I kind of did that on my own, but I did it because of them.
Again, I'm so sorry.
Mama, Dad, Charlie, I love you guys."
Wilbur was in pieces by the time he was done reading it. He didn't understand, he just didn't understand. This is something he should have remembered. Like his name and age, he remembered that, how did he not remember this?
It's so much more serious than his name.
Wilbur hadn't realized, as he read and read for hours, that the Sun had began to come up, and he was ugly crying a bit too loudly.
Movement happened throughout the house, but he didn't focus on it.
Throughout his crying and pacing, Wilbur eventually found himself sitting in the floor next to his desk with the box, the knife, the papers, the journal, everything scattered around him.
He hadn't slept once.
And he was still crying, which is a draining activity.
There was knocking on Wilbur's door that he shrugged off.
"Wilbur? Are you alright, what's that noise?" Charlie's voice asked, "Are you crying?"
Wilbur didn't say anything.
"Uhm, D-Dad! Wilbur's door is locked and he's not answering me!" Charlie yelled. "Is he sleeping?" Schlatt's voice asked. "No, I can hear him. I think he's crying." "Crying?" Quackity joined.
More knocks.
"Wilbur, hun, open the door please." Quackity said. "I can't..." Wilbur whispered, obviously not heard.
"Is something wrong?" Tehcno's voice asked. "His door is locked and somethings wrong." Schaltt replied. "Uhm...I can pick locks. Do you mind?"
"Please, do whatever you can." Quackity stepped away from the door.
Techno pulled a pin from his hair and stooped down messing with the lock. He heard the sound of Wilbur...crying? No, not crying, quietly sobbing.
The door clicked, and Techno opened the door, seeing Wilbur sitting in the floor, bawling his eyes out like a newborn baby, with scattered shit on the floor and messy hair.
"Wilbur wha- what happened?" Techno asked, dropping beside of Wilbur within seconds.
"How- I- How do I not remember? I can't- I went through this, I tried to- to- to kill myself, I hurt-...this fucking knife, that's what happened? I thought- the accident- I-" Wilbur stumbled over his words sinking against the wall.
"Wilbur, you're not making any sense." Techno said,
"This! These fucking papers, this book, this knife! It's a suicide note! And music that I apparently wrote? And- And I cut up my own legs...I...I was..." Wilbur shoved the papers at Techno with shaky hands.
"Wilbur, it's ok, that's all in the past." Techno said. "Is it, though? I- I never got better, I just forgot!" Wilbur replied, wiping his face.
A moment of silence passed, with Techno and Wilbur just looking at each other.
"Wilbur..." Quackity said, sitting in front of Wilbur, in the floor. Wilbur looked over and saw him holding the suicide note. "We...We had no idea. ...How did we not realize?" He asked, not expecting a direct answer.
Wilbur just covered his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head.
"I-I'm so sorry..." He cried, "If- If I had just talked about it none of this would have happened." "Wilbur, no, it's not your fault! I know it can be hard to talk about being bullied, and especially physically abused. It's not like we're mad..." Quackity replied, reaching for Wilbur just slightly before stopping himself, remembering that Wilbur probably wouldn't want a hug from him.
Wilbur saw this.
He shifted onto his knees and hugged Quackity in a tight hug.
Quackity froze for just a second before hugging Wilbur back, crying on his shoulder.
It was quiet like that for a minute or so.
"Wilbur, have you slept at all?" Techno asked.
Wilbur pulled away from the hug, looking over at Techno with teary, tired eyes.
"Nope." He replied. "Wha- I told you to come talk to me if you couldn't sleep!" Techno said. "Yeah, but I couldn't stop thinking about the box that had all of this in it, so I just decided to figure out how to unlock it."
Techno nodded, looking down at the papers on the floor.
Wilbur picked up the small journal.
"U-Uhm...here," He handed it to Quackity, "You guys can read through that. It's just like, I journal. I read it already; I was writing every day in it since some move here, I guess. It goes all the way to the night I disappeared, when I wrote that I was gonna go off myself then."
"Oh, are- you sure?" Quackity asked. "Yeah. You should read it. You can go read it now, but I need to sleep, I'm exhausted." Wilbur nodded.
"Oh, ok. Uhm...you sleep, we will go to the sitting room and read this. Do you care if I read it aloud?" Quackity asked. "No, I don't care." Wilbur replied.
Soon, everyone left (Wilbur hugging Schlatt and Charlie before), and Wilbur laid down and fell asleep within a minute.
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