Definitely a trigger warning.
Listen to Afire Love by Ed Sheeran when it's over. Goes with the chapter, sweeties. And this chapter is so long so just repeat then if you haven't finished reading by the time the chapter is over.
I'm not in love with my roommate. Another cut. I'm not in love with him. And another. I'm not gay. Another. I'm normal and my parents care about me. Another. It just keeps going on until I've beated myself down and sliced up my wrists so much that I just don't care anymore.
~o~
It all started when I got my own apartment. My siblings had gone off to college and jobs out of state, so it was just me and my parents. I lived at college, a major in criminal science and a minor in photography. It was alright, but I didn't have many friends, and I hated myself. I hated my being, and I just didn't like living. If you saw me down the street you'd see a guy who's wearing long sleeves and jeans in hot weather. That's what I have to do to hide all the scars. They cover my wrists and thighs until it looks like there's nothing but either raised, pink flesh, or white lines from old cuts. No one knew, and I liked it that way. It makes me forget everything that's wrong with me.
My first cut was in middle school. I just found out I was gay with a crush on Jace, my adopted brother. My parents had raised me to believe that it's not natural to be gay, so when I found I was it was awful. I hated myself. That's when they started. There was no one to tell me that it was wrong, but that's okay because if there was wouldn't have of stopped anyway. I was too far gone. It was like a dark, never ending tunnel that I couldn't escape. On the walls of the tunnel was everything I hated about myself. Worthless. Gay. No one cares for you. You have no friends. And it would keep going on until I felt the bite of a razor on my skin. My life was miserable. I spent each day wondering whether or not to kill myself, but I could bring myself to do it. I've defiantly tried before, but there was always the risk that I would get caught. All I wanted was for it to be over.
My parents were paying me through college, and my dorm wasn't the best for me. I hated living next to the homophobic religious people. It always made me feel even worse about myself. So decided to move out and get an apartment close to campus, and I refused that my parents pay for it so I got a job. The job wasn't that well paying. It was an okay paying job at a popular book store, but it wasn't enough to pay for my apartment. Then I heard someone mention that getting a roommate would help. It was a good idea. Someone to help out with the rent, and maybe even I'll have a friend for once in my life. I put up some posters around campus hoping I'll get a call, and I got one call. Exactly one. It was from a guy named Magnus Bane. I've never seen him before, so I thought that this would be interesting. We decided to meet up, and talk it over. This man was gorgeous. Tight jeans, a orange button up shirt, makeup, and glitter. Despite the glitter, this man was very attractive. He was nice too and agreed to pay the rent on time. Soon he moved in and it was the worse thing that ever happened to me.
When he moved in it was alright at first, but it for worse as time went on. There were more scars appearing on my wrists. Even more after I came out to my parents. They reacted horribly. My father disowned me and my mother couldn't look me in the eye. When I got back to the apartment, I was in tears. I shred my wrists to ribbons. No one was around to hear my cries. To tell me that I shouldn't be doing this. Magnus was gone at some night club, probably grinding against some stranger. I was alone again.
~o~
Just a basic breakfast. Toster waffles and coffee. Magnus was still asleep. Halfway through my breakfast, Magnus came out of his room. This night there was no one night stand. I can't stand hearing the moaning from his room. It makes me angry in a way it shouldn't. In a way that makes me think that I might like Magnus, but I can't. It'll just ruin me. Even if I did, why would he like me? Anyone would be better for him than me. "Morning," he says. Makeup still smudged around his eyes where he didn't bother to take off, white v-neck shirt, and shorts. Why is he beautiful to me? Men shouldn't be attractive to me.
