Sweaters || Malum

Chapter 8

Trigger warning.

--

"I'm not cute." Michael denies.

"Yes you are." I mumble, tightening my grip a bit.

"Let go." Michael whines.

I shake my head no and reply, "I'll never let go, Mikey." 

"Titanic reference? Really Calum?" He asks me.

I grin and reply, "Of course."

We leave the store and we go to find Ashton and Luke. We head into Hot Topic and see Ashton and Luke together. "This should would look great on you." Luke says to Ashton and Michael and I look at each other for a moment. We see Ashton smile and look down, but then look back up at Luke.

Were they flirting? I didn't know Ashton liked guys. Maybe I am interpreting this wrong.

"Thanks, you would too. I mean, I think you look great right now and with... but anyway. I am horrible at flirting I'm so sorry." Ashton laughs and Michael and I look at each other once again. 

Luke smiles widely and says, "Stop making me smile, you loser."

I clear my throat and chant, "Ashton and Luke, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

They both turn around and Michael and I both start laughing at their expressions. "I hate you both." Luke says to us.

I wipe a fake tear then stand up tall, looking at the both of them. "Luke, should I go sit on your porch with a shotgun in my hand the next time you want to 'hang out'? You totally like Ashton. I can't let my only best friend get hurt." I smile - pretending to be an overprotective father.

Ashton and Luke both glare at me. I elbow Michael lightly and give him a look to join into the conversation. "I-I ship it." He jokes with a smile on his face. Me and him both start laughing again as the two boys move a little away from each other. 

"I'm going to kill you both." Luke threatens, looking away from us. He has a smile on his face but I don't think he wanted to admit it.

"See you in hell, then." I respond.

"Well, I ship you and Michael too." Ashton shrugs off, glancing at Luke. 

"I ship it as well, no worries." I agree with Ashton. I really like Michael - I think - and I just.. I would really like to be something more in the weeks or months to come. I know Michael and I would be good together, or I hope we would. 

Michael looks at me shocked and I give him a sarcastic smile. "You love me."

"Y-You wish." Michael teases me right back.

"Oh, get rejected!" Luke says to me and the three of them laugh. I rolled my eyes at their stupidity but on the inside smiled because these were my friends. Well, I think Michael and Ashton are my friends.

--

"You emo fag." My father slurs and I am against the wall, crying. His large figure in front of me. He grips my hair and pulls me up a bit then hits my head against the thin wooden walls.

"Father, s-stop." I cry and he just laughs. He spits on my face and he goes into the kitchen and I hear him opening a beer bottle. I cringe in disgust and cry in pain as I wipe his spit off my face. 

Before I could do much else he comes back and pours out some of the liquid in his bottle onto the ground. Once the bottle was empty he smashes it against the wall, breaking the brown bottle.

He presses the sharp glass into the skin of my neck and I am frozen in place as he applies more pressure. I feel a cool drop go down my neck and I assume it's blood. "You're a disgrace. Such a failure as a son." He sneers and then walks away again.

I grab my Hot Topic bag and quickly run up to my room. I take out my shirts, tank top, and my bracelets. I put the bracelets in the small bucket on my dresser where my others were, and throw my new clothing into my hamper.

I go back and I sit down on my bed, tugging on my hair and continuing to cry. My vision was blurry and my face tingling from all my crying. 

I do my routine.

I grab my razors, look for the cleanest, go to the bathroom, and lock the door. I take off my sweatshirt and place it on the side of the sink and examine over my healing cuts and my other arm that has just scars. So I take my blade in my left hand and place it on the arm that has no fresh cuts.

Instead of horizontal lines, I press the corner of the blade in roughly and begin moving it how I want. My arm is bleeding heavily and the cuts were obviously deep. I winced each time I moved it in a different direction.

I put the blade next to my sweatshirt on the sink. I glance at what I had done to myself. The word "Failure" was written deeply into my flesh. I have permanently marked myself. Maybe one day, if I go through with what I've been wanting to, they will attend my funeral. Violins will be playing and there will be a couple of people dressed in black. There will be a lot of empty seats. I see a few kids from school, Luke, Ashton, Michael, and my Mum. Maybe my Mum.

As the violins play people go up to my casket, talking to me as if I could hear them. Wondering why.

Why I have marks on my arms. Because when I can't make the conscious effort to hide them, they'll probably be revealed. People will know me as the disgrace I always have been.