Hey guys! I've decided to do a bit about the Smosh Crew whilst in high school. I've been playing around with this idea for a while now, and I've come to the conclusion that the story will feature a different point of view each chapter.
Essentially, the Smosh team is unpopular and battling different problems at home and at school, but then they come together with a few pairings! ;) This first chapter features Lasercorn and I think I might just do Sohinki next...
Please review! I will only continue this story if I feel as though you guys want me to. No point in writing if everybody hates you for it, right?
Warning: This chapter contains self-harm, mental disorders in general, mentions of suicide and abortion, swearing and a mild fight. If any of this bothers you, then please don't offend yourself by reading it!
David.
The angry music emitting from the standard sound system seemed to fill every inch of the dark bedroom. Very little light was streaming in through the gap in the black curtains and the light that managed to slip through was darkening by the minute. The room was lifeless, with the exception of a shirtless adolescent boy who lay curled up on the worn mattress. Tear trails still marked the boy's youthful face and fresh blood was seeping out of newly formed cuts on his forearms. The offending razor blade, still tainted with blood, lay worthlessly on the floor. Its job for the night was complete.
A particularly loud electric guitar solo seemed to momentarily rouse the boy, but he only let out a disgruntled moan before allowing the deeper clutches of sleep to grasp him once more.
At random intervals, lights from passing cars leached in and illuminated the teen's face, throwing sharp emphasis on his facial features… which had suddenly contorted in terror. The boy's body twisted and stiffened as he tried to escape an unseen nightmare. With a small shriek of fright, the boy curled in on himself and then burst free with a momentum that flung the teen onto the hard flooring below.
Without a doubt, David Moss was now awake. With sweat running down his face and chest, David moved to stand in front of his bedroom mirror, pushing hair back from his damp forehead. A quick glance at the clock informed him that it was nearing three in the morning. "Fucking brilliant…" he muttered. Crouching down, David dug around a bit until he came across his wireless stereo remote. Directing the device at the stereo, David shut off the rock music. Turning his attention to the mirror now directly in front of him, David glanced unhappily at the image it reflected back.
A gaunt seventeen year old boy stared back at him. His light brown hair was a shocking mess of hair gel, stale sweat and dried blood, which must have accumulated due to David's habit of wrapping both arms around his head as an attempt to self-comfort.
Ignoring that for the time being –he would just shower later- David turned his attention towards his most hated feature, his eyes. For the past three years, David had been a diagnosed insomniac. This, a fact he was nothing more than ashamed of, seemed to be channeled to everybody through his eyes – something that David was unlikely to forget. How could he, when he was constantly tormented at every school he went to about that 'wild freak stare?'
And it was true. David's eyes were large, dark and intense. A product that was created because of his 'emotional issues' as the psychiatrist stated. Rapid weight loss, countless sleepless nights and his downright negative view of the world had caused David to develop a unique stare that had, so far, unnerved everybody he came into contact with. Even his own mother couldn't look him in the eye.
Turning away in disgust, David focused on his torso region. He had spent his early teenage years slaving away at the gym in the hopes for gaining more muscle mass, and it had worked. David had spent a good two years with muscles that intimidated nearly every guy in his school, including some of the football players. Over time though, David's love for video games had shone through and, as homework increased, taking regular trips to the gym had taken a back seat. His crippling emotional breakdown hadn't done him any favours either. Needless to say, all of these factors combined had given David a shrunken, unhealthy appearance.
After David had picked up self-harm as a means to cope, he had shied away from any event, such as sport, where he might have had to expose himself. This led to an increase in the amount of days that David remained cooped up inside avoiding the sun, hence his pale skin. Continuing to examine himself in the mirror, David looked in detail at the scarred and burned flesh on his forearms that stood out in contrast against his pale skin. The gashes that David had made six hours prior had dried up, leaving crusty trails of blood embedded in his skin and arm hair.
A weak beam of light had begun to shine across the room, looking out of place when compared to the black painted walls. David preferred the dark; it was the only place where his wild eyes and cuts could not be judged. The dark invited everything into it and so it was not a surprise that David would have chosen that colour for his bedroom. Not even bothering to look at the clock – he wouldn't have been able to sleep again anyway- David decided to get ready for school. Reluctantly.
Giving his neglected bedroom a sweeping search, he managed to locate his hair brush and towel. Stopping briefly to throw the bloody razor blade into a nearby drawer, David slowly opened his creaky wooden door and slunk out into the hallway.
The house was deathly quiet, but David preferred it this way when it compared to the usual hustle and bustle his home was usually subjected to. Was it his home? David glanced around at the unpacked boxes and still-to-be-painted cream walls. No, it wasn't. They may have lived here since the start of summer, but David could never consider it his home. He and his family changed house far too often to really develop a sense of home, but his family (surprise, surprise) had an overall more optimistic view on things.
David halted his approach when he heard someone stir from inside the door to his right, his parent's bedroom. Quickly- faster than David had moved in weeks- he darted behind a particularly large column of boxes. Just in time too, because at that moment, David's mother emerged from her bedroom.
She was wearing her faded pink dressing gown and slippers and David could have sworn that she knew he was awake. As though to prove his point, his mother began softly padding her way down the hall towards David's ajar bedroom door. She pulled to a stop right in front of it with her hand resting softly on the aged wood. Shaking her head with a sigh, David's mother gave up on her eldest son and retreated back to her bedroom, lightly brushing past the stack of boxes behind which David was still hidden.
David did not move until he heard the bed springs creak in protest. Breathing heavily, he thought back to how distant his mother and father had been with him recently. They seemed to want nothing to do with him. But how could he blame them, when he was nothing more than a self-injuring hopeless case? They still has Wes, after all.
Wesley was David's half-brother. They both shared the same father, but different mothers. Unlike David, Wes was a whiz at the computer and had won multiple awards to prove it. In fact, his fifteen year old half-brother had so much going for him right now that David was convinced his parents wished that they only had one son.
Years ago, (seventeen in fact) after David was born, his mother had left and abandoned David in the care of his father. His father, Michael, had had no idea that David's real mother was even pregnant. She had been a prostitute after all. David used to feel that his real mother had loved him to some degree, for she never got rid of him, but now, after three suicide attempts and countless therapy sessions, David mildly wished that she had just aborted him.
After Michael had tried and failed to look after David as a single parent, it was the receptionist at a nearby orphanage who had convinced him to keep his son. This receptionist –named Kirsten- would soon win her way into Michael's heart and position herself as the matriarch of David's small family. Within the same month, Kirsten fell pregnant with the delight that she and Michael named Wesley.
David scoffed. Delight. Of course. Hearing no further movement from his parent's master bedroom, David continued to creep to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. Clutching his towel and brush to his chest, he quickly padded the last few steps and shut the door softly behind him. Locking himself inside, David stripped off his boxers and flung his wash items down on the floor, carelessly toeing them aside.
The early morning air drifted in through a crack in the window and David shivered as the cool September air hit his naked body. Opening the shower door, David stepped inside and turned on the power, closing the door behind him. David shut his eyes as the blissfully warm water ran down his body, washing all traces of blood from his arms and hair. Quickly massaging shampoo into the wet birds nest on top of his head, David sat down and groaned, the first real waves of panic beginning to rack through him since the summer began.
In less than four hours, David's alarm would go off. The first day of school would begin. The first day of a new school. Because of his father's job, David's family moved house on a near constant basis. Once, when David was fourteen and Wes was twelve, they moved to three different schools before the Christmas holidays had even began. This was never a problem for Wes, who's 'sunny personality' seemed to attract every single person he had ever spoken to. But for David, a new school meant new conflicts, new enemies and new bullies. David was not a fighter. That much was apparent from his shrunken, defeated demeanour. He just let people do what they wanted and hoped that they would be done quickly with minimal damage. Thankfully for David, this would be his last year at school. Senior year.
David did not know what was more daunting: joining school, or leaving school. Either or, he was fucked. Chocking back a sob, David aimed the water spray directly at his face, letting the powerful water wash away any tears that threatened to overfill. David cried a lot.
Ensuring that no traces of shampoo, tears and blood alike remained, David turned of the water and stepped out of the warm water vapor... only to be instantly assaulted by freezing wind. "Shit..." he muttered. Briskly picking up his towel, David violently attacked his hair with it, leaving only a slightly damp and fluffy cloud behind. Wrapping the towel around his waist like a kilt, David's eye caught on the unopened shaving kit that his father had bought him a couple of years back. It had been flung carelessly on one of the bathroom's shelves, clearly a victim of his father's halfhearted unpacking. David studied it before running a hand across his smooth face. Wiping away the condensation on the mirror, David shuddered as he immediately caught sight of his wide and staring eyes. Horrible.
Ignoring them, David examined his jaw and mouth region. It was as smooth as it had always been. Sighing in disappointment, David turned away and unlocked the bathroom door, walking back along the cream hallway. Retiring back into his own room, David ripped open the black fabric curtains and was immediately assaulted by the dazzling sunlight that sprung in through his window.
Untying his towel kilt, David used it to towel dry the rest of his body - taking deliberate care to dry his wounded forearms. Flinging the towel aside to lay across his bed, David pulled open his wardrobe doors and pulled out clean boxers, a clean white T-shirt and clean black jeans. Pulling on a pair of white socks, David found his black and white converse on opposite ends of his room. Grabbing his iPhone and headphones, David began to leave before catching himself at the mirror.
His bare arms shone brightly with half-healed gashes and, shuddering slightly, David resigned himself to wearing an old, black hoodie with a single large pocket on the front. The thing was mottled with age and grime and had various rips and holes in it. So much for first impressions. David only had one hoodie and he had worn it so often lately to hide his scars that the thing was all but a second layer of skin.
Trying, and failing, to convince himself that he didn't care what he looked like, David ran a hand through his damp hair, resigning himself to the inevitable tangle that it would soon become. Now fully clothed, David picked up his school bag and dragged it out of the room without a thought to the amount of noise he was making. The house was still completely silent.
The stairs threw dark shadows towards the opposite walls and David was reminded of the monsters that used to haunt his dreams when he was younger. Repressing a shudder as the memories tore through him, David took in a breath and hauled the bag over his shoulder, noisily stomping down the stairs.
The ground floor was cluttered with boxes, suitcases, coats and shoes but David ignored these as he made his way into the kitchen; the only room that was properly unpacked. This still didn't mean that David knew were everything was.
For the past two months, David had been avoiding his family for as long as possible; never seeking their company nor engaging in proper conversation. If his family noticed, they didn't comment, but then David was long since used to the idea that they didn't care. Anger suddenly struck David and he grit his teeth as he had the sudden urge to smash everything he could. It looks as though that diagnosed bipolar had suddenly made an appearance.
David raided through cupboard after cupboard until he had found a bowl, a spoon and a box of cereal. Angrily throwing it all down on the table and ignoring the clatter it made, David opened the fridge, oblivious to the presence behind him. "What the hell are you doing?!" David jumped violently and whirled around, a carton of milk secured beneath his clenched fingers.
It was only Wes, looking like a fool in his superman dressing gown. He had grown at least six inches over the summer, giving him a slightly pinched look and pajamas far too short for him. David glanced down at the few inches of ankle showing above Wes' bare feet and snorted. "You look like a right loser, you know that?"
Wes just looked at him with a hate filled glance. "Right. I'm the loser." Wes rolled his eyes and eyed David's outfit. "Trying to hide your shame?" he asked sweetly. Sudden fury filled David right to the core and he lunged at his brother, becoming fully aware of the new height difference between them; Wes towered over him now.
David shoved his brother as hard as he could, but Wes held on to him. The sudden momentum caused both boys to tumble against a wrack of plates and fall to the ground. The noise was incredible. Plates fell all around them as David and Wes rolled around on the floor, littering them both with broken china. They were both swearing and landing punches as hard as they could and they stopped for nothing, not even the booming voice that screamed "ENOUGH!"
A large, calloused hand gripped David by the back of the neck and lifted him of of Wes, who remained thrashing and bleeding on the ground. The hand dragged David out of the kitchen and past his mother, who rushed immediately to Wes' aid. The sight angered David, who commenced his struggling. Once they were in the hallway and out of the kitchen, David was pushed towards a door he had never been in before, his father's study. The door slammed behind them and the restraining hand on David's neck disappeared.
Turning around, David was held in place by the enraged eyes of his father - the only one capable of maintaining eye contact with him. His father still stood in his pajamas, his hair still ruffled from sleep. He took slow steps towards his son, not looking anywhere else but at his son's wild eyes. David stood with a defiant, angry air, unable to believe the turn the morning had taken.
His father stood only inches away from him, staring him down. Michael Moss was a tall man, and David had never really appreciated this before now. David teetered on the spot, unused to someone looking him so deeply in the eyes. David broke the stare and looked away, unnerved. He prepared himself for the shouting match his father was about to engage in, but he was surprised when all he got was a tired "I just don't know what to do with you anymore, Dave." David looked up at his father, confusion marring the boy's face.
Michael, sensing his confusion, hurried to make himself clear. "You're so angry all the time, you refuse to take your medication, you avoid your family, you refuse to make friends and you lie to us on a near constant basis." David opened his mouth to defend himself, to demand an example of when he had ever lied to his parents, but his father got there first. "You try to tell us that you've stopped self-harming, but it's blatantly obvious you haven't, son."
David shut his mouth and looked at the wooden floor boards. He had no answer for that. A part of him felt injustice about what his father was saying. It wasn't David's fault that everybody hated him! He looked up when he felt a slight pressure beneath his jaw. His father had knelt down so that they were more or less eye level. Yes, David was that small. "Dave," his father sighed. "Your mother and I have been talking and we both feel as though you're set on a down-hill spiral."
David zoned out, having heard all this before. He glanced around the office; the walls were lined with books and textbooks that compensated his father's job as a surgeon. Words he would never understand flashed at him from their spines and the colors bored him to death. The analog clock on the wall told him that it was ten past seven in the morning. If he and Wes didn't hurry, they would both be late for their first day at school.
"Did you hear any of that, David?" Michael's exasperated voice rang loudly throughout the room. When he received little to no response, David's father repeated in a louder, and slower voice.
"If your mother and I don't see progress with you this year, we will take Dr. Forbes up on her offer and have you institutionalized. This is not a game, David."
David stood in place, fear and shock coursing through his body. "No fucking way!" He snarled furiously. His father said nothing. Placing a hand on David's shoulder and ignoring his defiant son's attempts to throw it off, Michael looked David dead in the eye. "You're not giving us a choice, son. Please, set out to prove us wrong."
With that, Michael left his disbelieving son alone in his office. "I'm going to go and check on your brother." Michael called. "... and you're grounded for a week. Have a good day at school."
David just stood and allowed the crippling emotions to pulverize him. Institutionalized? Him? Tears threatened to over flow and, for the first time, he let them. Deciding he couldn't face his family again anytime soon, David crept out into the hall, slung his school bag over his shoulder and slunk out the front door, listening to the sounds of his parents comforting their favorite child.
The school wasn't that far a walk away, and David needed this time to stem the persistent flow of tears that ran down his pale face. He was taking in deep shuddering breaths and mindlessly running his fingers through his unruly hair.
As an attempt to self-comfort, David knelt down on the grass and wrapped both arms around his head, successfully blocking out the world. Somewhere off in the distance, he could have sworn that he heard a boy scream.
School, it seems, wasn't the only disaster to happen that day.
Please Review!