Tyler rushes back inside and lets his mask slip away. He throws it on his bed and hides under his sheets. He pulls out the journal, Josh's journal, and reads a few more entries, wiping his eyes as he reads the words.
shit, I did it again. I don't really care anymore since no one else does. those fucking boys ripped up my science homework so, of course, my parents beat the shit out of me when I came home with a zero. my wrists are bruised purple and now there are slits leaking blood. I always wear sweaters and hoodies and besides, nobody bothers to fucking notice. nobody cares. maybe next time, and yeah they'll definitely be a next time, I'll be game to cut deep enough and I'll bleed out and die. a boy can fucking dream.
Tyler is staring at the words. He didn't know, he didn't fucking know how badly his actions affected this boy. Today, he tried his best to fix what he'd done. He wrote Josh a whole new English paper in hopes he wouldn't fail and come home to another beating. He doesn't know what else he can do.
He ponders; ponders of something terrifying and before he knows it, he's grabbing the blade he hid in his night table and reopening faded scars. He felt so bad, yet he couldn't stop. It was as if he was possessed by something. Something dark and evil; something he can't seem to control. He hates himself, to a point where feeling pain is the only comfort he feels. Maybe that's why he keeps on destroying the life of others, in hopes he destroys his own in the porcess.