"You said you were ok..." ([Mainly]Depressed! David Oneshots)

E i g h t

Phone calls
Phone calls
Phone calls
Continuation of chapter 4. I wasn't kidding when I said I was going to continue eventually. It starts off rushed but try to stick with it.

this chapter is also uh
Graphic
—-
"What do you mean?"
Gwen sat down next to David. He stood up though as she did so.
"She tried to off herself." He shoved his hands in his pockets, his gaze falling for a moment. Gwen felt her heard sink even further into the ground.
David didn't deserve what was happening to him. He deserved to be happy, but life had other plans for him.
"I'm... I'm probably just going to go home."
Gwen stood up. "O-Ok. Keep me posted though and let me know if you need anything."

David tried to smile and he thanked her, then took a longer rout home.

x

David stopped in front of his front door. He knew that as soon as he walked in, he'd get beaten. If he was lucky, his dad would've been passed out on the couch by now.

But David wasn't lucky and his dad wasn't passed out.

David slowly grabbed the nob of the front door and opened it, peeking in to see if he could see anyone. The scent of alcohol and a very, very faint smell of cigarettes and weed filled his nose.

He caught a glance of his father in the kitchen being busy doing, who knows what, and tried to book it down the hallway. David's long legs didn't get him anywhere though in that point in time, and his father yanked him back by the hood.

"Where do you think you're going?" His father spat, shoving David towards the living room.

As he tumbled to the ground, his father approached with an beer bottle in his hand.
"You little shit." He spat, kicking David onto his stomach.

"You want to know why your mother tried to kill herself?" He raised the beer bottle above his head and brought it down forcefully onto David's back.

David cried out in pain and a few tears managed to slip down his face.

The bottle tore through his sweatshirt and a few glass shards stuck painfully into David's back. Luckily for David, it was more his hip so nothing was broken.

David's father dropped the remains of the bottle onto the ground next to David and picked up a shard of the glass. He pulled off David's torn sweatshirt and threw it off to the side, ripping out the glass shards (which only caused David more pain), and proceeded to lift David's shirt.

His father dug the shard of glass into one of the cuts that was made by the impact of the bottle, which were gushing blood and deep to the point of needing surgery, and connected the cuts.

By the end, there was a large section of skin on David's hip that was hanging on by a thread, practically begging to get pulled off. It was a whole quarter of David's back to be exact.

There was practically no skin. Just the flesh that was under it. Blood pooled out of the would quickly and formed a small puddle of blood under David.

"It's because of you. If you were never born, this household would be different. Me and your mother would still be happy." David's father dropped the shard of glass that was now covered in skin and blood onto the ground next to David's head. He ran to the kitchen, grabbed the keys, and walked out of the door.

David was on the ground still in immense pain. He was amazed how he hadn't passed out yet.
He knew that he would eventually though if he didn't do something.

As he pushed himself off of the ground, the pain in David's lower back got worse and worse. He needed to tell somebody, but he didn't.

David dragged himself down the hallway and into a bathroom. He squinted as he flicked the light on and began to look for bandages under the sink. There definitely needed to be more done to the wound on his back than just a little bit of bandaging up, but David was scared of the possibility's of what would happen.

He pulled off his shirt and tried not to look in the mirror until he had to. David grabbed the gauze pads and disinfectant and sat them on the counter, propping himself up so he could look in the mirror to see the would.

He grimaced as he turned and saw all the cuts and scars that tattered his back and torso. The wound was even worse than David had thought too. He bit his shirt and painfully put disinfectant on the wound, pushed a gauze pad against half of it, then applied another to the other half.

David was quick to wrap bandages around the wound the best he could. There were long rows of bandages that were wrapped around his lower stomach now.

But now he had something else to figure out.

How was he going to cover up the scars without a sweatshirt?

To be continued at one point...