Ash is a fashion model, not by choice but the desire of his projecting mother. People think he's too cocky for his own good, judging him based on what he posts online. But Ash hates the brush he's been painted with, along with the stereotypes of the...
care: (noun) 1.the provision of what is necessary for the health, welfare, maintenance, and protection of someone or something.
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My phone vibrates on the nightstand at whatever time in the morning, there is crust between my eyes when I snap them open to look at my phone. No one calls me this late, especially not on Friday morning.
I frown and lean my hand over to the table, patting it to locate my phone. My fingers grasp the case and I pull it back, my eyes scanning over the screen. Wincing from the brightness of my screen.
Bodi's name flashes across the screen. It's one o'clock in the morning.
It rings out and I presume that maybe it was an accident. He's been stalking me or looking at our messages and accidentally rung me. But then it happens again, ten seconds later.
I suck in a breath and press down on the green button. The phone raises to my ear and I flick my eyes through the darkness of my room. "Bodi?"
For a moment there is silence then I can hear a sniffle, a soft mumble of words but I can barely make them out. He's upset, that's obvious. I know he's been upset because I've seen his face at probation this week, that look of sorrow and regret.
"Bodi?"
"Do you know what it feels like to be a disappointment to everyone?"
My eyes shoot wide at his words and I sit up in bed, pushing myself against my headboard. There is so much hurt and sadness in his voice, like tears are leaking through the phone and he can no longer keep himself together.
"That your father thinks you're a complete and utter failure and nothing I can do will ever please him."
His words are slightly slurred but there is so much intention between them. My heart hammers as I listen to the background noise, a car goes past and beeps loudly. Everything in my mouth goes dry.
"Bodi, where are you?"
My hands begin to shake against the phone as I push myself up from my mattress and swing my legs over the edge.
"Sometimes I think, what if I jumped off a bridge or I drank myself to death. Would he care then?"
Panic floods my mind and I'm struggling to breathe. I stand from my bed and pace the floor, despising the hatred for himself in his voice.
"Bodi," I say loudly. "Where the fuck are you?"
He sniffles and exhales a long sigh, he's blocked up from crying and I want to hold him and tell him everything is going to be okay. No one should ever feel like this.
"I hate everything," he cries and my soul shatters. "I hate my life. I hate who I pretend to be. I just want it to end."
A hand hits my forehead and I feel helpless. There is a tightness in my chest and I want to scream. If Bodi does something... fuck if he does anything to harm himself. My throat clenches, feeling a pressure building up behind my eyes.
