A/N: This story is gonna be sad. That's my warning.
Ian Hecox had always known there was something about him which was "different". It had started when he was about ten years old at his friend's birthday party where a game of truth or dare had soon escalated. Before he knew what was happening, Ian was being faced with the prospect of having to kiss one of his best friends at the time, Adam. Neither of them ended up doing it of course but it was later that Ian realised that a part of him had wanted to. He wanted to kiss a guy and he had no reasonable explanation for it. He ignored how he felt and didn't mention it to anyone, hoping that he would somehow grow out of it and learn to like girls like he was supposed to.
Over time his feelings towards guys didn't change at all, if anything they only grew stronger. By the last year of middle school there was no doubt in his mind that he was gay. There was no point denying it. It shouldn't have been such a big deal to other people but it was. Being gay is different and being different is dangerous. Step out of line and suddenly you're a target. Ian knew it was risky, he knew there would be trouble if it ever got out but he did it anyway, he started dating his best friend Anthony. What else was he supposed to do? He'd never had the chance to go out with a guy before and Ian definitely had feelings for him. Apparently Anthony felt the same way too. Things had been great for a short while; he finally felt accepted. It was just him and Anthony in their own little world, separate from everyone else around them. People at school made the typical comments, ignorant people who were scared by anyone who challenged their narrow-minded way of thinking. But they didn't care, or at least, that's what Ian believed anyway.
Things started changing between them. Anthony was changing. He seemed more distant, more reluctant to spend time with him. The kisses stopped, the hugs, and eventually they just stopped talking altogether.
-x-
Ian stood outside the school doors, his eyes scanning the rush of kids moving past him, waiting for Anthony to appear. It seemed like forever before he finally emerged from the building with his hands shoved into his pockets and his eyes focused straight ahead of him.
"Anthony!" Ian called to get his attention. Upon hearing his name, Anthony looked up but as soon as he saw Ian, he frowned and picked up his pace. Sighing in frustration, Ian rushed after him. "Wait!"
He finally caught up and put a hand on Anthony's shoulder who spun around angrily. "What do you want?" he hissed.
Ian was slightly taken aback by the aggressiveness of his tone but didn't let that deter him. "I want to know why you've been ignoring me," as soon as the words left Ian's mouth, Anthony rolled his eyes and resumed his walk.
"See, you're doing it again," Ian sighed. "Just tell me what I did wrong."
"We're wrong, Ian. Can't you see that?" Anthony said with contempt.
"W-what?" Ian stuttered. He had never heard Anthony speak that way before.
Anthony kept his blank expression. "I hate having people always talking behind my back and saying horrible things. People I've never even spoken to before make comments, push past me in the hallways, and treat me differently…I'm done."
"You can't let other people's opinions stop us from being together," Ian reached out for his hand but Anthony stepped away from him.
"Don't," Anthony warned him. "It's over between us." He didn't wait for Ian to say anything else, he just turned away and left Ian standing there. Watching him, wondering what had happened to change Anthony into a completely different person from the one he thought he knew so well.
That was the last conversation they ever had, not including the occasions where they had to work together at school. But Ian was alone and that made him vulnerable. The tormenting got worse. His stuff started going missing, rumours were spread and "accidents" happened. Like how he "accidentally" got a black eye. The teachers fell for the excuses anyway. They were either oblivious or just didn't want to get involved. As far as they were concerned it was just kids messing around together. Even his parents seemed to blame him. They gave him useless advice like "it's just a phase" or "maybe if you got a girlfriend then people would leave you alone". Ian almost wanted to laugh in their faces. Clearly they knew nothing.
There was one day that was particularly bad, the day that tipped Ian over the edge. Gym was the last lesson of the day and some of the kids in his class thought it would be fun to gang up on him in the locker room. He was one of the last people left in there, a crucial mistake. Alone in the corner, the predators snuck on their victim and surrounded him, leaving him trapped and helpless. Before he could even open his mouth to yell for help, Ian felt a blunt fist connect with his lip and warm blood filling his mouth. He covered his head with his arms to try and protect himself from the flurry of punches and kicks that followed. It didn't last very long, maybe thirty seconds at the most, but it was agony. Just when he thought they were finally done with him, one of the boys pulled out a permanent marker and etched the word "fag" onto his forehead before leaving with a satisfied chuckle.
Slowly dragging himself off the floor, Ian gathered his stuff and made his way home. A few people stared at him with curiosity. He must have been a sight with blood-stained clothes, a split lip and pen on his face. Ian no longer cared though. He just needed to get home so he could finally put an end to things. Enough was enough.
-x-
"Honey, do you know where Ian is? He should have been home by now."
"I'm sure he'll be here in a few minutes."
Ian could hear his parents discussing his whereabouts as he pressed his ear against the front door. By the sound of things they were in the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, he slowly turned the key in the lock and pushed down on the handle. His heart beat rapidly in his chest as he held his breath, trying to make as little noise as possible. The door cracked open inch by inch. Almost there. He stepped inside the house and softly closed the door behind him, wincing as the door clicked when it shut. He froze, waiting to see if the noise had been detected. His parents were still talking in the kitchen, thankfully unaware that he was in the house. He carefully made his way towards the staircase, his eyes flitting towards the kitchen every few seconds in case it suddenly opened. It was only three steps up the staircase before he landed on a particularly creaky step.
"Ian? Is that you?" his mom called out. Ian mentally cursed in his head as his parents opened the kitchen door. They then walked up to him, ready to ask him about his day until they spotted his split lip and the ink on his forehead.
His dad took a sharp intake of breath. "Who did this to you?" he demanded.
"Nobody," Ian answered.
"Well you didn't do it to yourself, did you?" his dad said through gritted teeth. "Who did it?"
"Just some kids from school. There were too many. I didn't get to see who it was," Ian said, hoping to get away as quickly as possible without a full interrogation.
"Go upstairs and get yourself cleaned up. We'll talk more about this later," his mom frowned. Sighing to himself, Ian turned around and trudged up the stairs. It was so typical. He was the one getting bullied and yet somehow his parents managed to make it seem like it was his own fault. He didn't ask to be punched in the face, he didn't ask to be ridiculed, he didn't ask for people to be so judgemental. Why did people have such a problem with him anyway? It's not as if his sexuality was going to hurt anyone.
He went into his room and threw his backpack into the far corner before going into the bathroom. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he turned on the tap and started scrubbing at his head with the soap bar. The black ink smeared across his skin as he scrubbed at the words, mixing with the water and dripping down his arms. He couldn't live like this anymore. It was just too much. It felt like the whole world was against him. The disapproval from his parents, the mocking from his peers, the ignorance of the teachers…even Anthony was ashamed of him. Anthony, the one who was meant to be there for him no matter what. Even he had given up on him in the end. No one wanted him for who he was, the real Ian apparently wasn't good enough for anyone. Clearly everyone would be better off if he wasn't around.
"Being dead has to be better than this," he whispered to himself, allowing the unshed tears to finally fall from his eyes. He was done trying to be strong. He was done waiting for things to get better.
-x-
Ian played with the fabric of his mom's black scarf as he studied his closet, the walk-in closet that he always used to hide in as a little kid. It was his haven. No one could get to him when he was in there. But now was not the time for reminiscing. Putting the scarf to one side, he picked up his pen, turned to a clean page in his notebook and started writing.
"By the time you're reading this I'll hopefully already be gone. You don't even deserve an explanation for why I did it. You made me feel like shit. You were supposed to help. You were supposed to be there for me. I guess I shouldn't have expected anything less. I was always just a big disappointment to you; the son you never wanted. Well now won't have to bother anymore. Thanks for nothing."
He would have added more to the note but his tears were splashing onto the page and smearing the ink and he knew that his writing would soon become illegible. He ripped the page out of his notebook and placed it on his desk before picking up his chair and putting it in the closet. He then grabbed his mom's scarf and tied it around his neck, making sure the knot was tight enough. There was no room for mistakes this time. He had already swung on the rail at the top of his closet plenty of times; he knew it was strong enough to hold his weight. Standing up on the chair, he secured the scarf around the rail. This is it, he thought to himself. No turning back. Those were his final thoughts before he jumped off the chair and his entire world went black. At last he was free.
A/N: Happy 8 years of Smosh by the way.