Popularity Was My Death Sentence

warning! contains graphic suicide, skip if that kind of stuff makes you uncomfortable.

--

"Get the fuck out!"

Why did I say that?

"Wait, dude, I just want to apologi-"

Why didn't I let her speak?!

"Get the fuck out before I punch your face off!"

I wasn't trying to threaten! I was just trying to-

"Fuck you too then!"

-warn you before I did another thing I would regret.

SLAM!

Why am I such a failure?!

Tears fall from his eyes, his breathing shakes.

I can't do anything right!

He dashes to the bathroom, turning on the sink, splashing water on his face.

Cough!

He looks into the mirror a head of him, hating what it showed with a burning passion.

I don't deserve to be alive!

Cough, cough!

I should just die and stop burdening people's lives, they deserve better...I don't.

He dug into a drawer near the sink, pulling out an object he knew to well. A razor blade.

I have to die!

He pulled the blade across his wrist, making the cuts deeper as he went along.

I have to!

He became more and more desperate, desperate for the release of life. To be dead.

For them...

He cut along his wrists, his arms, his legs, his stomach. Anything that would stop this.

They don't deserve this...

To stop breathing.

They don't deserve this!...

To stop eating.

They don't deserve this!

To stop speaking.

They don't deserve this!!

To stop feeling.

"THEY DON'T DESERVE THIS!"

His whole body was covered in thin red lines, some precise some not.

"I don't deserve them..."

Everything burned, but it felt good. He deserved this. He deserved to feel this pain and so much more.

"I don't deserve them!"

He slammed his fists on to the sink, not caring if it hurt, his blood boiling.

The tears began to fall but he didn't wipe them away, he didn't care. It didn't even bother him blood had began to seep through his white shirt and leave huge stains. He didn't care, he hadn't for along time.

His vision became blurry.

His limbs became heavy.

His mind became cloudy.

It hurt to breathe.

To speak.

To move, but he moved from the sink to lay on the floor even if it hurt to do so. He had to stop the dizziness feeling that became so present to him in that moment.

It was hard to think straight, his brain too full of mist.

·

"And that's...how he dead..."

"Who was he to you again? Cousin? Friend?"

"He was my brother but we were as close as best friends when we were younger, until...we got older...until we got stupid"

"What was he like-"

"Sorry, but I'm just going to stop you right there. No matter what other people say, no matter what you hear, my brother was not the villian! He was not the druggy, not the suicidal, he was not the guy that would beat you up in the hallway! And no matter what he said, he did not deserve to die! He wasn't supposed to! I should have helped him! He deserved to live! I should have helped him..."

Oh sister, you already did.