(A/N: New fanfic! It's a Kellic fanfic, obviously, and I'm really stoked to write it! Most of it has some bits and pieces from my own thoughts and memories, and it really means alot to me.
This fic will be short, and might be triggering, with some mention of suicide, rape, and self harm. Please don't read if you're struggling, because I love you (:> Please don't hurt yourselves darlings. If you are scared you might relapse, then please, message me. Self harm isn't the answer.
Aside from that, every word that is written like this will be Kellin's voices, or Vic's 'imaginary' friend, Depending on who's pov its on. So enjoy! And remember: Your beautiful. You're worth it, and so much more, and I LOVE YOU!)
Kellin
Day 1
You have no idea how much It hurts to get punched in the face. I mean a real punch. One where you can exactly feel your skin swelling up in protest of the sudden hit. The pain pierces through your face, as if it was hit with a bag of bricks. It's excruciatingly painful. But this is not just any punch, oh no, i'm not so lucky.
I mean getting a strong punch to the face by your drunk, drug-addicted, father who always calls you a fag, and basically takes everything out on you while your sick, prostitute of a mother watches with an amused smile on her face. You even start to get used to the emotional, physical, and mental pain. It eventually builds up, and makes you want to kill yourself and not even regret a single thing about such drastic thoughts.
I feel numb.
Useless.
Pained.
used.
unwanted--
dead.
This is the Oh-So-Amazing story of my life. Joy.
Another punch. And another. And even another. I don't know, I stopped counting after twenty-two. One last kick to my ribs and he was gone. Done with me. Leaving me to gasp from the sudden impact, and completely knocking the air out of my fragile lungs. Off to go waste money on cheap alcohol at the bar. My mother, off to sell herself to any grubby drunk guy, she finds on the street. I'm just their punching bag. I don't know why though...All I ever did was live..
So is that what the problem is? ...Living? Was it my fault that my constant need for affection, and love as a kid drove my mother to the brink of insanity, and caused my abusive father to lash out on me when he pleased? Was it all really my fault? I never meant to hurt anyone...But, If it makes it any better, I don't want me to live either.
Then why don't you just do it already? Everybody hates you..
The voice in my head said. I'm surprised I'm even still alive. Its been like this ever since I could remember.
I groggily got up, wincing at the piercing pain in my ribs. They were seriously bruised. I sucked in a deep breath and crawled up the stairs slowly, trying not to breathe to much so that it wouldn't hurt.
After reaching the top of the stairs, I srood up and walked into my room while hugging myself. I glanced around at what is, and has been my room for the past seventeen years.
It's not much really. The walls were dark blue, but mostly covered in band posters and drawings I made. I had a small twin sized bed, a dresser, a flat screen telivision by the door, and my desk. It held the things most important to me: My Inhaler, song book, glasses, laptop... and razors.
I limped to the desk and opened the first drawer. It was full of expensive art supplies that I got as a gift from my favorite teacher, Mr. Mullins. I pushed the sketchbook, pencils, and other useless junk aside, and found the bottom of the drawer. It had this small, stubby hole in the corner. I poked my finger through it, and lifted up the bottom layer of the board, revealing my most important possesions that Id never trust my parents with.
I whiped some blood off my lip with my shirt sleeve, and took my Inhaler, laptop, and razors out. The only things that have been helping me out these past sad, endless days.
As I sat on my bed, I carefully opened the small wooden box that held all of my little friends. I got my favorite one, the sharpest, and insepected it carefully with wonder. It was brand new. I took it from a pencil sharpener that was in art class. Such a dull, and dead piece of metal that probably meant nothing to the world, meant the world to me. I needed it. I twirled it around with my fingers, lightly touching the cold, sharp edge.
My name is Kellin Quinn Bostwick, and I'm sixteen. I live in front of my school, which is pretty stupid if you ask me, considering i'm always bullied. I'm mute, and gay, and I never really had any real boyfriends, let alone ever felt love for that matter. Art and music are my life. I can't live without them, and I don't think I could even go a day without them either. I have depression...these voices in my head, these thoughts of suicide, and dreams of dying... all seem normal to me now.
I put down the razor and placed it carefully back in it's box. Not today.
Not now at least...
I remembered that I should be heading to school now. sadly. I glanced at the clock on my desk. 6:30.
Nobody ever understood why I was mute. People just think that I'm stupid. Not going to lie, I was pretty smart, A nerd if you will. What do you expect? I live across the god damned place, and have tons of time to help my teachers after school and study.
Study. That's basically why i'm still holding on. If I study, then maybe, just maybe, there might be a chance that I have a better life In the future.
That's what you think...
But lately, I couldn't help but feel like I've been holding onto false hope. What if I actually do get into a good school, and I actually do something good with my life. Will I actually, be happy? Might as well just kill me now, and put me out of my fucking misery. They can keep their own damned American dream. I took a deep, painful breathe from my inhaler and stood up.
I took a long shower, and got dressed. I settled for a black tanktop with a red flannel and some black skinny jeans with my black TOMS. I grabbed my phone, my bag, and my black hoodie.
With one last sad smile, I was out of the house before you knew it. The cold April breeze hit my face, making the fresh cut on my lip sting slightly. I didn't even bother to eat breakfast, I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I didn't each much anyway...I didn't deserve to.
I sighed deeply, and crossed the street, shoving my hands deeply into my hoodie's pockets. The giant build- board thing, at the front of the school, read 'Mission Bay High' in gold and silver letters. I walked into the courtyard, full of teenagers like in any stupid cliche movie, and went to sit under the big oak tree in the middle of the courtyard.
As soon as I sat down, I reached into my satchel, and tried to untangle my earphones as fast as possible. Id rather listen to punk rock, then their stupid conversations about Drake's new song, or Nicki Minaj's ass. Two snobby boys walked pass me. I think there names were Dan and Phil. Probably transfers from the poorer school the next town over, Clairemont High.
"Ugh, I don't want to sit next to the faggot!!" Phil screeched in disgust, his british accent making him sound ten times more infuriating. Dan laughed wickedly as they walked away.
"Why don't you just kill yourself, you fucking disgrace!" Dan yelled behind his back as they walked away. I heard their conversation die down until something struck my interest. Before Phil muttered something that could be my only chance.
"I give him a month.."
A month. 31 days this April. 31, and then I could finally end this all. I would finally stop being such a bother to people. I just needed to hold on till May. A month.
You'd be doing them a fucking favor...you sick waste of life..
Challenge accepted.
*************************
Vic
Day 1
"Catch me if you can, Viccy!" Mitch screeched, waving his hands in the air as he ran through the halls. I giggled as I followed him, making stomping noises around the silent house.
"Oh I'll catch you Mitchell Adam Lucker!!" I yelled back after him.
After almost catching up to Mitch, Mike's bedroom door slammed open, revealing a very annoyed looking Mike. I stopped running and glanced at Mitch, who immediatley disappeared.
He says he doesn't like to meet new people, because he's shy, but honestly, that would be so much better. It would make my life alot easier honestly. I wouldn't get bullied for one. If anyone met him, they would instantly like him. He's so inspiring, and sweet, despite his awesome tattoos that might make others think otherwise. They're just jelous 'cause they can't see him probably.
"Playing with 'Mitchie' again aren't you faggot?!" Mike roared from his bedroom door. I gulped.
"N-no...No. We were just playing tag actually, wanna join?" I asked hopefully. I never let comments like that get to me. I figured that fake smiles were always the way to go here.
"P-Play??!!? HAHAHAH you want me to, play?!" Mike asked in disbelief, "You little piece of shit!! Look at you! The eldest of the family, a depressed, homosexual, schitzophrenic, playing tag with his imaginary friend??!! This is the first born boy that will carry the Fuentes name??!" Mike yelled, pushing me onto the floor.
The tears were threatening to spill from my eyes, but I couldn't cry. No. Not in front of him. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He spat in my face, smirking as he walked away.
"Your a waste of life. Just kill yourself." He said walking away. Okay, ouch.
I choked out a silent sob, still laying on the floor leaning against my elbows. I squeaked, not being able to contain my cries anymore. I ran to my room, warm tears already streaming down my cheeks. I desperately searched under my matress, throwing back sheets that where in the way.
"Kid, please don't-" Mitch said, reapearing from my bedroom door. He slowly walked in, trying to reach for the pouch on my hands. I violently shook my head and clutched the small black pouch that was oh so important to me.
"N-No!! Get away!! He's right Mitch! I am crazy!!! I'm so sick and disgusting.. I deserve to do this." I said looking down at the floor with my now blurry vision because of the tears. Before he could say anything though, I ran my the bathroom, locking the door in the process. I finally let myself cry out, gasping for breath between every scream. I leaned against the door, slowly scooting down, while crying, until I was on the floor.
I opened the pouch and took out my blade, not even thinking twice about sliding it across my scarred wrist.
One for being a waste of life. Nobody cares anyway.
Five for being a disgrace on the Fuentes name. My father doesn't even talk to anymore. I'm shunned.
Ten for being able to see Mitch. What I have isn't normal. I'm weird, and stupid, and nobody even likes me here.
I might as well do as they say and kill myself. It would make things so much easier... I glanced down at my arms. Deep, thin, dots of bright reds, and dark maroons covered my tan wrists. My tears fell down onto them, making them sting slightly, the blood oozing out faster. I cried out, burying my face in my hands.
It just hurts you know? When you go through life, as if nothing.
No friends.
No family.
No love.
No anything.
Your just another person in the background, never really the center of attention; Either because you aren't attractive enough..funny enough...cool enough...smart enough...You try, and try, but at the end of the day your just nothing.
My name is Victor Vincent Fuentes, and im seventeen years old. I like going by Vic though, because 'Victor' is my dad's name, and it sounds too formal. I like to sing, and write songs with my guitar. I never really told anyone though, they certainly don't give a flying fuck. I go to the 'poor' school, Clairemont High, on the shady part of town. It has this really bad rep, which, you can say is true. The only kids who go there are snobby, wanna-be rich kids, delinquents, and kids who look like fucking Osama Bin Laden, but are only in their freshman year of highschool. I like to take pictures of things, and film also. Maybe one day I could do a goodybye video with it as well, but nobody would care anyway. I'm depressed, and have schitzophrenia. Life isn't always hard though...there are some days that make life seem..bearable, but most of the time it's a living hell. I've even considered ending it, but I don't really know why I wont just do it already. Everyone would eventually forget about me, or not even know me in the first place. It seems so surreal. I heard a light knock on the door.
"Kid..you ha-have to go to..school now." Mitch said from behind the door, his voice cracking in mid sentence. He never really liked when I cut. He hated it. But he couldn't do anything about it, it was my choice.
I took of my clothes, and took a hot shower. When I got out, I put a gauze around my arms to stop the bleeding. I guess I'll be wearing long sleeves for a while..It was still cold here in Oregon anyway, despite it being April. I got out of the bathroom, and changed into my tye-dyed hoodie, my black skinny jeans, and my black Vans. I blow dried my hair, straightened it, and with one sad smile, I was ready to go.
I grabbed my backpack, my phone, my beloved video camera, and went downstairs to eat some cereal. Thankfully, Mike had already left, so I didn't have to deal with him for now. After eating, I glanced at the clock and saw that It was 6:50. I still had ten minutes to spear, so I silently walked back upstairs and went into my mother's room.
She was laying on the bed, sound asleep. I cracked a small smile and walked next to her bed, pulling her blanket up some more to cover her. I ran my fingers through her grayish brown hair, and kissed her cheek before silently walking out of the house.
The cool wind made my hair flip around as I walked along the sidewalk. I didn't have a car because, well, I can't drive if I'm crazy, acoording to Mike. My school was just seven blocks away, not a whole lot. I did have to pass by Mission Bay High though. The 'snooty kid' school. I glanced at the white, giant four story building that had the school name on the front with silver and gold letters on it. I wonder how the students are there. Maybe they're nicer than the ones at Clairemont. But im pretty sure that theres likely nobody like me there though.
When I got to my school, I was greeted with the familiar smell of the dumpsters on the side of it. It was a wide two story building. The brick walls were an old shade of brown, with some graffiti next to the front doors. It read 'Clairemont High' On the building, with rusted metal letters, but It was missing the 'I' and the 'N' making it spell 'Cla remo t High' instead.
I chuckled at the cheapness of my school and walked inside, into the cafeteria. I kept my head down though, and went to sit at my table, which was in the far left corner, next to the windows that shown into the school's football field.
"Hey." Mitch said, now sitting in front of me. I gave him my famous fake smile, that I've seemed to master. It even looked like I was actually happy. Ha. Funny.
"Hey.." I said, reaching into my backpack for my song book. It was a normal, black and white composition notebook that held all my lyrics in it. It was so damn special, I rarely brought it to school. I got a pen, and scribbled down some lyrics that I came up with on the walk here.
Please wont you push me for the last time....
Lets scream until theres nothing left..
so sick of playing I don't want this anymore.....
the thought of you is no fucking fun,
you want a martyr i'll be one...
'cause enoughs enough were done...
They sounded a bit higher in my head though, so I guess it would be better off as a duet. I burst out laughing, I don't have any friends to do a duet with!!! Silly Vic!! Everyone around me sent me death glares, but I just smiled at them and waved.
"New lyrics?.. They look awesome,Vic." Mitch said glancing down at my notebook. I smiled back at him and nodded.
"Yeah, its a duet to, funny thing is-I don't have any friends!!" I exclaimed laughing again. Mitch smiled sadly at me as I laughed on, and put the notebook in my backpack.
"Oh looky here, It's Victurd. Does 'Mitch' mind if we sit here?" Mike asked, walking to my table with his friends Oli, Austin, and Jaime. Austin was dragging Alan Ashby along, and Mike was dragging Tony Perry. My eyes went wide, I don't like this. I turned to Mitch for help. He gave me a sad look and disappeared. I gulped.
"Hey faggot!! We're talking to you!!" Jaime said, slapping the back of my head. I laughed nervously, looking up at them all, and avoiding Alan and Tony's scared faces. Oh god this is bad.
"Hey guys, whats up?? Alan!! New glasses?? hehe I like you leather jacket Oli!! so tough..and..and stuff..." I said trailing off as they all looked at me with glares except for Alan and Tony.
"Get him." Mike said easily, looking at his nails with one hand, and Tony's arm in the other.
Jaime and Austin went around the table, each firmly gripping my arms. I knew I couldn't say anything though, because nobody messes with Mike's group. As we exited the cafeteria, they took the three of us to The Bathroom. Not just any bathroom, the bathroom. The place were all of Mike's ghouls went to skip class, smoke weed, and beat people who threatened to mess with Mike. I panicked. I tried to run away, squirming in place, but nothing had worked.
"M-Mitch!! MITCH PLEASE HELP!" I cried out as we got to the bathroom.
Tony squirmed in Mike's grasp, and Alan adjust his giant, black rimmed glasses before we got in. Oli snickered as he kicked the bathroom door opening, the deep smell of weed hitting you as soon as you get in. It was hard to see, the whole place was full of smoke, but I could just barely see whats happening.
The three stall doors were all gone. On the far left, I saw Jack Barakat giving who I think was Alex Gaskarth, a swirly. His head was wet, and you could see he had a black eye. The urinals were full of some green goo, that sent an awful stench around the room. The windows were darkened, covered with black paint, making the only light source on the ceiling flicker sending eerie yellow light into the room. Some seniors, Gerard and Frank were messily making 'O' shaped puffs of smoke as they giggled non stop, surely they were high as hell. Hayley, Tay, and Jenna, the school sluts, were putting on way to much eyeliner on, looking at themselves through the dirty, cracked mirrors. I was at a loss for words.
Mike shoved Tony over to Oli, making Tony squeeze his eyes shut as he dragged him out. Probably to torture him outside in the field. Next was Alan, who Austin shoved into one of the stalls and dipped his head in the toilet. He yanked off his glasses and stomped on them, making everyone laugh as if it where the funniest thing ever. I was shaking. Jaime shoved me onto the sticky brown floor, making me shake even more.
"P-please...don't h-hurt me!! Ple-" I was cut off by Mikes punch.
My eyes went wide, and my mouth was hanging open. He threw the first punch. After that, all the punches and kicks started coming from everywhere.
"Aaaaaggghhhh stop!!! P-please!!" I yelled ouy, but it was no use.
They kicked my ribs, making them snap just like that. They hit me with their fists, over and over again. Until with one last strong punch, I was gone. I tasted the blood in my mouth, and the room was spinning. My vision was getting very blurry, as my eye started to swell. I glanced at Alan, who was silently crying, was being shoved out of the bathroom by Austin. Soon enough, everyone started to leave kicking me once more until Gerard and Frank were the last ones out. They both burned me with their blunts on the way out, making me whimper.
"This Fucking faggot won't even last a month here at Clairemont." Gerard said before the doors closed.
My eyes were slowing shutting, as I saw Mitch appear, immediately trying to help. He was yelling, and asking me something, but I couldn't hear all that well. What I did acknowledge was Gerard's last comment. A month.
I accept.