Gerard's POV
"Just leave me alone!" I yelled from on the floor looking up at Darren. I had blood pouring from my mouth, and I could feel bruises starting to form on my chest and stomach. How many more kicks and punches could I take from this guy? It's all I get all the time after school.
"Go cut your hair, you emo freak." Darren shouted at me, while looking down at me like i was worthless. Well I guess I was worthless, everyday I take this shit, and everyday I do nothing. Everyday I just lay there and take it like some cheap little whore.
"Go cut your wrists while your at it to." Sniggered Lewis standing next to Darren staring down at me. I remember when Lewis used to be my bestfriend, now he's Darren's bestfriend, well more of a slave if I'm honest.
"Just piss off allready." I mumbled from where I was on the floor.
"Drop dead" Said Darren giving me one last kick before walking off with Lewis and his other slaves. I sighed, wish I would drop dead.
I pulled myself up off the floor and sat on the park bench. Every bone and muscle in my body ached all over.
"Fuck my life." I whispered to myself while pulling out a cigarette. I lit the cigarette and took a puff while thinking what did I actually do to deserve this. I'm 15 year old boy that gets his arse kicked everyday by his old bestfriend, and what do I do? Nothing. Just lay there and take it.
I took one last puff of my cigarette and left the park and started my long journey home. Well when i say long journey, I only mean about 10-15 minutes, but it feels long when you can barely walk.
Soon as I got home I went upstairs ignoring my mum and little brother, Mikey. I chucked my bag on the floor next to my desk, and put some music on. I layed on my bed for awhile day dreaming, just wishing I had my old bestfriend back, he was my only friend I had. Now he's gone, all because he found out I was gay.
Tears started to fall from my eyes as I thought about everything, how I'm lying to my family about being happy with my life, about how the bruises on my chest are from football practise, and the reason why I'm always late home from school is because I'm at football practise.
I put my hand in my jean pocket and felt for my sharpener blade. I pulled it out of my pocket and held it against my wrist. I pulled the blade across my wrist constantly telling myself, you're nothing, just a fake, no one will ever love you for who you are.
Tears kept pouring down my face and onto my wrist. I wiped the blood off the blade with my finger, and put the blade back into my pocket. I ran into the bathroom and got a bandage out of the first aid kit. I wrapped the bandage around my arm, with tears still falling. When will you ever be good enough Gerard? When?