Escape - Wilbur angst

Chapter one - Found

Enjoy! This is copied and pasted from the oneshot, I've only added more detail.

TWs

Physical abuse, running away, attempted suicide, mental abuse, manipulation, grade pressure and yelling. Let me know if I've missed anything :]

Wilbur had grown up in a toxic household. His parents still loved each other, so that wasn't a problem. The problem was, they didn't like Wilbur. Ever since he could remember he had been told things such as;

"If it wasn't for you me and your father would be famous actors! You are a mistake; you ruined our lives!"

and

"Can't even get good grades. What is this? Only a C? I expect at least a B, you little shit!" usually followed by a slap.

But there was also the one thing Wilbur hated the most.

"Wilbur my boy, come to mommy. You know I love you right? I always have, but you're just so ungrateful. Come here and give me a hug, only then can I forgive you."

He would always feel like shit after this. Knowing that he didn't deserve what he had. It was his fault his parents acted like they did, it had to be. Because whenever his mother was drunk, she would show affection and crave hugs. Everyone knows that drunk people act from their heart, so she couldn't lie. And if he didn't trust her and gave her a hug, he would be punished. It was usually a slap, but on the worst days his father would keep his head in a bucket of water until he was on the verge of passing out.

He woke up as per usual in his bed. His room was fairly empty apart from a blue carpet and a small white wardrobe. He didn't own much, and he didn't need much. He spent his days in school, on the beach or with his parents.

 The beach was a special place for Wilbur. He had found a secluded part of the famous Brighton beach where he could be alone. He always felt safe and calm there. Whenever the bruises got too deep or much, he would go into the cold water. 

Despite the cold temperature and slightly burning pain, he stayed in. Mainly because of the fear of an infection, but also because it was calming. He would stop moving, go under the surface and just lay there. His body felt soft, fuzzy and as if he was floating in a warm nothingness. It was euphoric and addictive.

So naturally, when Wilbur woke up one day and decided to end it all, he went to the beach. It was a simple plan. Steal a razor from his dad, go to the secluded beach, slit the vein on his wrist and lay down in the water. He wasn't planning on drowning, but the water would hopefully keep the blood from drying up. He didn't think it was able to dry anyways, but he wanted to make sure he didn't survive this.

He walked along the shore, throwing one last look behind him, where he could see houses, the pier and cars rushing to get home. It felt like his heart was being torn apart. Home. Hundreds of adults on their way home to cook dinner and have a nice evening with their children, hundreds of children waiting for their mom and dad to come home. Maybe they were going to watch a movie, or maybe have a game night. 

Wilbur envied them, a misty dream of what could've been. He wasn't dumb, he knew not every family was like this. Though he was dumb enough to not tell anyone of the abuse he was experiencing. The fear too great for the mind to think straight.

Once he was laying down comfortably with his arm in the water, or well, as comfortable as one can get in the cold autumn of Britain, he took the blade out of his pocket. He slowly undid the wrapper. When Wilbur had watched movies, read books or listened to songs about suicide, there was always a description about a second thought.