The Oval Office ✓ (Book One)

Chapter Forty Nine

     TRIGGER WARNING: Intense Suicidal Thoughts(Seriously though, do not read this chapter if you are suicidal.I'm not fucking kidding- I don't want to be responsible for giving you any ideas so if there's ever been even one thought in the back of your head do not read this chapter, mkay? You are too important to too many people❤️)

Kyle's P.O.V
                                    Age 13

Sometimes I wish I had the balls to just fucking kill myself. I mean, it can't be that hard. People succeed at it all the time by various different methods. I read somewhere that a jump from 200 feet or higher is almost a guaranteed death, and living this close to the city, it wouldn't be that hard to find a building, it's just the getting access to the roof part that would be hard.

Almost all landlords now have multiple locks leading up to them, most only giving keys to themselves and the maintenance crew. I suppose it wouldn't be too difficult to snatch a key ring off of one of them, but finding the right ones to give me enough time to get up there would be. There are other methods, of course, that seem to work out just fine from my research.

Taking a couple bottles of sleeping pills. If you can make yourself go to sleep before you start throwing them up, you'll go peacefully. Most, however, can't, and end up a psyche ward. I'd rather be secretly depressed than in one of those places.

A bullet between the eyes is almost always an instant death if you can get your hands on a gun and have the balls to pull the trigger. You'd go in just two seconds and wouldn't feel any pain. Stabbing yourself- now that'd be painful, but if you could bring yourself to do it and didn't hesitate at all- if you had enough upper body strength to plunge it through your chest muscles into your heart, you'd be dead in less than two minutes. If only I didn't have the upper body strength of a fucking two year old.

A bullet angled upwards under the chin would sever your spinal cord, which is more often than not deadly- but it's too risky. On the off chance that you do survive it, you'd be a vegetable for the rest of your life and would never be able to attempt anything again.

I lay now, on my floor mattress ,a cheap Walmart blanket covering me, with a grumbling in the pit of my stomach. There's a soft spot in our roof that needs to be fixed, barely enough food in the fridge for another day or two, and all of my clothes have holes in them. Then there's my asshole brother, whose in his freshman year of college at one of the best- but one of the only colleges in the nation that doesn't accept financial aide. He's able to pay about half of his tuition and all of his living expenses on his current salary, but has left the rest to mom, which isn't fucking fair.

Here we are, struggling to even survive, and then there's him- doing perfectly fine. I don't blame him for that but shit- he could be a stripper or prostitute or something to pay for the other half instead of letting mom do it. He's majoring in neuroscience- plans on becoming an anesthesiologist just for the money. I don't blame him for wanting to do something with that Brain of his- he's a goddamn genius, but is, at the same time- too stupid to see what it's doing to us. I'm not selling drugs- that's where I draw the line. Watching my father slowly kill himself with a meth addiction when I was 5-10 really cemented the whole 'drugs are bad' thing in my mind. I'll be getting a job as soon as I turn 14 to help pay the bills, but for now, there's not much I can do besides cleaning peoples houses.

Like every other day, I have four options. One- I could lie in bed and wait on the gods to just fucking kill me themselves. Two- I could kill myself. Three- I could go to school, but that would be no fun. Four- I could walk around the city until I steal a box of that dollar slice pizza, which I've actually gotten quite skilled at. The trick is to get the seller into a lengthy conversation, find out what's interesting to them and get them to talk about it, pretend you're interested- and then, while they're talking, place one or two folded up dollar bills on the table to make it look like more money than there actually is, and quickly walk away with the box before they realize.