4, a writing recommendation from a reader

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⚠️Warning: mentions of suicide, graphic descriptions of self harm, abuse, and the use of homophobic slurs⚠️

~~~

"Mark! Get you fucking worthless ass down here!" I hear dad yell up the stairs. I quickly shove my knife, bloodied rag, and the rope I was making under my bed. Standing quickly, I yank down my sleeves and head out my bedroom door.

"Yes, father?" I ask, slightly confused. I don't know what I did this time to piss him off. He waves his phone in my face. I can't catch a good glimpse of the screen, he's waving it too fast.

"What the hell is this?" He asks, still waving the device. "If you stopped waving your phone in my face, I could tell you," I retort. He glares at me.

"This," he exclaims, showing me my Instagram account. My eyes widen in shock as I realize he knows. He knows I'm gay. He- he knows I'm gay, and that I'm dating a guy. A GUY, for fucks sake. "Now, you know my rules, boy. No f*ggots allowed in my house," he practically yells, glaring at me.

I flinch at the term. "I'm not a f*ggot. That's a derogatory term. I'm gay," I say, knowing what's coming, but still, the pain hurts. He slaps me again and again, until my nose is bleeding and I'm choking on blood and tears. "NO CHILD OF MINE IS OR WILL BE GAY," he roars. He slaps me again until I see stars swimming in my vision.

"Get out of my sight, you worthless piece of shit." I stumble upstairs, wiping the blood and tears from my face. I shut the door to my room, however much pain I am in now is nothing compared to what I would be in if I slammed it, and lock it behind me. I fall to the floor and grope blindly for my phone, headphones, my knife, and the rope I was making.

I text Jacob, my boyfriend. "Dude. Dad found out. Beat the shit outta me. Goodbye. I love you." My text reads. I close out of the app, turn on do not disturb, and get back to work.

I head to my closet, music blasting in my ears. I fashion a noose from the rope and toss it over the bar where my clothes hang. Soon, I'll be just like them, hanging lifeless and limp. I secure the rope, tears falling down my face. A small trickle of blood still falls from my nose. I drag the knife across my skin, blood pooling and collecting in the deep cut running from my wrist to elbow. Blood trickles down my arm as I grab my noose.

The song changes as I lower the free side of the rope, the side with the knot and loop, over my head. As the familiar music begins to play, I stop trying to tighten the rope further. Something about the way Hate Myself hits makes me realize that fucking shit, I don't want to die. "You look so misunderstood, And I wish I could help," the music says.

I yank the noose from my neck and cry out in pain as the rope hits the incision on my arm. Tears pour from my eyes as I just sit there, blood leaking from my arm and nose. I'm too weak to kill myself, I think. I hate myself, even though I have a caring boyfri-

Oh shit! Jacob probably- I should text him, let him know I'm alright. Well, as okay as I can be.

I turn off do not disturb, and see that I have seven missed texts, and about fifteen missed calls and voicemails, all from Jacob. I call him, and he picks up immediately.

"What the hell? Are you okay? I was worried shitless! Do I need to come over and beat the shit outta your old man? I'm hea-" I cut him off.

"Jacob. I'm- there's no need to trouble yourself, though... I, uh... might be sort of, er, well..." I trail off.

"What. You might be sort of what?" He asks. "I may...be bleeding out." I nervously cough.

"That's it. I'm coming over, and you're gonna get in my car and live with me for a while. After we get you fixed up." I start to protest, but he hangs up. Minutes later, I hear his car pull up and a knock on my window. He climbed up the fucking tree, I grumble to myself. I drag myself to the window and open it. He slips into my room, and his face falls.

There are bloodstains all over my carpet, and my closet door is open, exposing a bloody knife and the hastily made rope. He sighs and grabs the rope, cutting a length free with the knife. The then comes to me, and takes my arm, wrapping it tightly. I hiss, but he doesn't apologize.

"Come on, we're going to my place," he says, holding his hands out for me. I'm pathetic, covered in blood, but we get me up and out the window. We climb down together, and he buckles me into his car, despite my protests.

"Get back in here!" I hear dad's voice as Jacob starts the car.

"Hurry," I say, though my words slur slightly. "Get me away..." He guns the engine, and we drive, as fast as we can, away from the hellhole I grew up in.

"Hey hey hey. No. Stay with me, Mark. I need you to stay with me," Jacob says, noticing me start to drift off. "Mmm awakeeee," I slur, eyelids fluttering. "So comfy. Jakey, where we goin," I mumble. I'm so drowsy, and I just want, no I NEED, to sleep.

We arrive, and it's not his home we are at. "Noooo," I whine. "Not the hospital." I start to panic as I realize where we are at. "Fuck," I hear Jacob mutter as I pull from his grasp, and take off, back to his car, stumbling around. "Hey, Mark, you need to get that stitched up," he says.

"NOT here," I whine, half yelling. "Anywhere else. Don't wanna get put in the crazy place. Wasn't good the first time." Tears are falling down my face again, and Jacob comes over, hushing me.

"Shhh. It's okay. Where do you want to go then?" He wraps his arms around me as I sob, my tears soaking his shirt.

"Take me to Jocelyn. Sh-she f-fi-fixed me up th-the l-la-ast time," I stutter. He nods, and we get back in the car. We drive again, and when we finally stop this time, it's at a familiar house. We come to Jocelyn's place regularly, not just for me, but to hang out. Jacob knocks on the door, and when the door opens, it's Jocelyn's mother. She gasps at the state of us and ushers us inside.

"Jocelyn, your friends are here! Mark and Jacob," she calls, and I hear the hurried footsteps of Jocelyn coming down the stairs.

"Fuck Mark! What made ya do it this time?" She asks as she cleans my arms. "Mom, can you get the first aid kit, and find the thread in it?" Her mom looks concerned, but then again, she always does. She hands her the thread and a needle, and Jocelyn gets to work. I hiss, and she mutters "quit being a baby. You fucked yourself up this bad, you can handle a bit more pain," under her breath.

She wraps my arm up and pats my shoulder. "I don't want to see you here for this reason for at least a year," she says, giving me a look well deserved. I nod, and Jacob and I leave. "Next stop, home!" We climb into his car and head toward his house.

"Sorry for the ruined shirt," I say. "I'll buy you a new one," I promise him as I get settled into his guest room. "No need for that. My mom can clean it," he says, tucking me in. He kisses my head. "Good night. I love you. And would you quit it!" He smacks my uninjured hand. "Stop picking at the bandages. You'll make yourself bleed again," he says, shaking his head. "Go to bed, and I'll see you in the morning."

"I love you too. I'm sorry you have to deal with me," I whisper as he heads for the door. "You aren't a problem," he says as I drift off to sleep.

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