denki kaminari x suicidal reader

NO PLEASE...

"You're better off dead."

The words echoed in your mind as you stared at the city lights, cars honking and people shouting. The world was so beautiful from up high.

"I'd be happier if you weren't born."

"If you hadn't been born, I wouldn't be like this!"

"You're such a kill-joy, you never want to do anything!"

"Stop being fake-depressed, you're a teenager, it's just a faze."

"You're a fucking extra and everyone knows it!"

"I...just don't know if belong in this class..."

The world couldn't reach you from this high up.

A small sigh escaped your lips and you watch as your breath appeared as a misty fog and disappear in a moment. It had just rained and the low roll of thunder threatened another downpour. Despite a combination of that, the almost freezing temperatures, and the gray sky outside, you had climbed up to the U.A. roof as you usually did to spend your lunch in solitude.

Today had been a particularly rough day. Your grades had been depleting at an alarming rate and when your teacher asked you why you could only shrug. Your friends complained about how gloomy you always were and when they asked you why you could, again, only shrug. Katsuki decided to pick you as his next victim and you could only stare blankly at the boy as he broke you down, chipping away at whatever motivation you had left. The rest of your class watched in silence, even Izuku who knew what it was like to be under attack day after day.

"M-mom, D-dad...I...I h-have depression."

"..."

"..."

"What do you have to be sad about? Fuck out of here with that shit! A fucking spoiled child who doesn't appreciate what we give 'em, I fucking bust my ass off at work for you and you have the nerve to be fucking sad?"

"Don't go out and telling a fucking soul, you hear me? They'll lock you up in those asylums and it'll be on your record. You want people to think you're insane?"

Months and months of preparing for rejection still didn't shield you from the blow. You stand still as if rooted to the ground by their harsh words. You weren't looking up, you couldn't look up- you couldn't let them see you cry.

"Damn brat, you don't know how to be grateful," you're father says and your mother huffs in agreement.

"You're better off dead."

"Get me out of here," You whisper to no one in particular. You look below you at the green grass blanketing the outside floors of U.A. and wonder what they'd look like in red.

Red blood.

Your blood.

It started with cutting yourself.

You'd become numb emotionally and physically. You felt like a ghost, barely able to concentrate on one thing as you floated through life, a shell of your former self. You were searching for something, some way out of this feeling of emptiness.

It seemed pain was the only option.

Addicted to that feeling of normalcy, of being alive once again, you'd continued, biting your arms, burning your hair, slicing your skin.

Your torso was etched with scars that popped out at you every time you saw yourself. So you stopped looking in the mirror.

But you continued to hurt yourself over and over again, dunking yourself underwater until your body forced you upward, ramming your head into walls- pain was bliss.