Cake One Shots

Dark Red Water

Hi! This is kind of depressing, but it was the first one that I finished. I love Cake Hoodings, they're just like the cutest thing ever.

Tears welled up in my eyes. No matter how much I scrolled there was still more. I didn't mean to be a fuck up, to mess up everybody's lives. I went back to the trending page and another silent sob racked through my body.

What the fuck did I ever do to them? I never hurt anybody, so why were they doing this to me?

#KillYourselfCalum

Over a hundred thousand people tweeted about it, pointing out my every faults. The more I read, the more I wondered how I could miss these things. Was I fucking blind? It was so painstakingly obvious, how could I not fucking see it?!

I was fat. I didn't have a six pack like I was expected to. There was flab everywhere, even in my cheeks! I was a terrible singer. I ruin the songs, I should just let Luke and Michael sing it all. I was ugly, everything was unsymmetrical, I wasn't perfect like every other famous person.

Looking into the bathroom mirror, I could tell why everyone was saying these things. They were all fucking true, I don't deserve to be in the band. They would all be better off without me, I mean who wants an ugly fag in the band?

@Calum5SOS You should just kill yourself, you're a worthless piece of shit!

@Calum5SOS Do us a favor and cut yourself until you bleed to death.

@Calum5SOS Why don't you just go jump off a cliff? You can't sing, you're ugly, and you're ruining 5SOS!

@Calum5SOS My ears fucking hurt because of you! Go fucking die!

I kept scrolling, seeing endless of tweets on why I should just die already. Every few seconds a couple more hundred tweets would appear on my notifications, all with the same hashtag.

The fading white lines caught my eyes and the feeling of relief I would get as I cut myself was brought to the forefront of my mind. I searched the cabinets in the bathroom and a smile spread across my face as I spotted the packet of blades. With shaky hands I tore open the packet, grabbing one of the razor heads and putting the rest back where I found them.

It was just as easy as I remember to break the frame that held the five blades together, snapping with barely any force applied. Grabbing one, I pocketed the other four for later.

I was back to where I started, sitting right on top of the toilet seat but this time with a blade instead of my phone.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I brought the blade closer to my wrist. I had promised them that I wouldn't do this again, that I wouldn't relapse, but it was so fucking hard when there was literally thousands of people telling me to die.

You're so ugly. A quick slice against my wrist made blood drip onto the tiled bathroom floor, a hissing noise escaping my lips.

Worthless. Another cut, and the stinging quickly turned into a sick twisted form of pleasure.

Terrible singer. The blade cut so efficiently, barely any pressure was applied yet it cut through my skin like it was butter.

Fat. I need to work out more, start eating healthier foods instead of pizza and Vegemite with toast. I ran my arm under some luke warm water, applying pressure to the wounds to make it stop bleeding.

After rinsing off the blade, I stuck it in my pocket just like I did with the other four. I cleaned the floors and counter, erasing all evidence that I had started to cut again. Who knows, maybe the boys won't even notice since I'm so pathetic.