Sweaters || Malum

Chapter 4

I have a 5 Seconds of Summer playlist going right now. It makes me happy. ^~^ 

5SOS song for the chapter, 'Invisible'

--

Luke and Michael hated each other.

But that was an understatement.

Nothing really set it off, they just didn't get along. Whenever they were forced to be around each other, they would piss each other off. Not intentionally. Michael hardly talked and Luke talked too much. I always thought Michael was cool, a bit shy but nice at the very least. I think Luke is a bit.. oversensitive sometimes.

I was sitting in the hallway, head resting on my knees. Luke knew I liked Michael, and it wasn't because I said anything. It was an educated guess. Luke yelled at me and went home. I was trying to prevent myself from crying.

"Calum!" I hear from behind me and with a smile I turn around.

"Yep?" I ask before seeing an angry Ashton Irwin angrily walking-almost stomping-towards me.

It was a Friday morning. I wasn't in the mood for this. I had a history test the period previous, it was the end of the school day, and I was tired. "What did I say about Michael? Leave him alone." He snaps, very slightly shoving me. Nobody even stopped, but a couple spared glances at the two of us. I raise my hands up in the air and begin walking away.

I didn't like conflict.

He grips onto my sweatshirt and pulls me back. I stumble and fall right on my arse. He stands above me, fists clenched. My heart began to beat faster and I instinctively blocked my face. "Stand up." Ashton sighs and I shakily do so. 

What was he going to do?

"Look, Calum. I didn't mean for you to fall on the ground and I kind of want to head home, yeah? But really. I will hurt you if you keep bothering Michael." He threatens, but I have a feeling it was an empty one.

I glare at him and respond, "I don't know what I'm doing wrong! I'm trying to befriend him."

"People like you use people like him to their advantage. It's happened to him before. He gets hurt easily and I refuse, refuse, to let you do the same thing. He has such a low self-esteem now and he fears relationships. Besides, you seemed troubled, you look like you got into a fight." He explains, and all the anger he had before seemed to slipped away. He was also referring to the bruise on my jaw.

"You stereotype people, and that isn't a good thing necessarily. Ashton, you're a nice kid. Not popular, but liked. I'm not popular, just liked. I don't like hurting people. If I hurt Michael-even accidentally-then I give you permission to kick my arse." I tell him honestly. 

I don't like people who stereotype others based on social status. I'm a nice person, at least I think I am. That's the reason I am well-liked, I am not some ignorant arsehole who is rude to a lot of people for social status. There are a few kids I know like that, but I don't associate with them.

He sighs and replies, "Fine, but I'm leaving now."

I smile to myself. Michael makes me smile and I wasn't sure why.

--

"Worthless shit." My father swore, laughing a bit.

"Father, I didn't-" He backhanded me and I winced as my cheek began to tingle. 

"I'm going downstairs." He drunkenly tells me and leaves. I begin crying and gripping my bed sheets. I was so broken on the inside.

I take off my sweatshirt and look down at my arms. They were still covered with scars. Sometimes I felt like if I closed my eyes tight enough, wished long enough, my arms would become clear. My father would never have any memory of hurting me and nor would I. It would be like a bad dream.

The cuts on my arms were still open and quite disturbing. I put my sweatshirt back on and sit down at my desk. I take a pen and paper and begin writing.

'Mum,

You never had any idea. I put on a smile and lied. But father, he's hurt me Mum. All those bruises. I never wanted to worry you, and maybe you won't care about it. By the time you read this, I'll hopefully be gone. Love you xx

-Cal'

I place this small paper in an envelope and write 'Mum' on it. I place this on my bed then go and get a new piece of paper.

'Luke,

I'm going to miss you, I hope that feeling is going to be mutual. I am not sure what happens after death, but it is something I am hoping to find out. You made me happy and you helped me escape the shit I've had to deal with-including myself. Something I've always wanted to tell you but I've never been able to is.. Well, I've hurt myself Luke. I hurt myself a lot. I am sorry I have never told you. You have your own stress without having to bother with me. I have my reasons for this, Luke. Never blame yourself for this, if you ever think of it. It was more than the fight we had today. So much more.

-Your best friend, Cal'

I place this in an envelope as well and write his name on it. I wanted to write one more before I left.

'Michael,

You don't know me well and vice versa. You may not even care about this letter. I just wanted to say, you don't need to be shy or anything. Ashton told me that somebody has hurt you before. Don't feel self-conscious, Michael. I think you are adorable and you make me happy, though you haven't really done anything. I just want you to know. Bye xx

-Calum Hood'

And with those three letters, each in a separate envelope, I grab my razors and I leave. I wasn't sure how I was going to do this yet, but I needed to. I needed to allow myself to be happy, even if I wasn't alive.

I creep down the stairs and see my deadbeat father, already drunk, and it was only a little past four. He was watch football on the television and I slowly turn the doorknob and I leave the house. Because it was autumn and it was already dark.

I heard the plastic of the baggie make a noise whenever I took a step. It reminded me that I had razors in my back pocket. Why didn't I bring music?

I hear the familiar sound of the current from the river. This was my fate. This is what I have lived till, those years I have spent living all leads to this moment. The moment where I finally do something productive, the moment where I stop being insignificant and a burden.

There wasn't anybody on the streets except for a few people in the far distance. I'll be gone by the time they could reach me. If they care.

I take the baggie out of my pocket and look at the razors. The only thing that was ever there for me.

I scooted closer to the edge, but then I looked down. My heart dropped and I began panicking. I clumsily climb off the side of the bridge, and nobody was around. The people down the street were gone, too. I begin hyperventilating. 

I almost jumped off a bridge.

I couldn't.

I sat down and leaned up against the concrete railing. I don't know how long I sat there, but people passed me without even looking at me. Unknowing of the pain I was feeling. I felt so invisible.

I was still holding the baggie of razors in my hand as I shakily got up and stuffed them in my back pocket. I walk home, hands in my pockets. 

I can never succeed at anything.