I apologize for the tiny bit of language in this one.

Enjoy!

Slut…failure…whore…fat…stupid…ugly…bitch…

All the names they had spat at me. Those girls had always been quite mean to me. And I didn't tell anyone. I probably should, but I couldn't bring myself to; it'd probably get worse. I couldn't let it get worse than what they already did.

But I was surprised that their abuse had been verbal today. Yesterday, Payton had slapped my cheek for trying to run away from her. I had covered the bruise before anyone could notice anything, but I had felt horrible for lying to everyone that asked if I was okay. I would tell them that I was fine, but really, I just wanted to scream and crawl into a corner and cry until I couldn't cry anymore.

I laid back on my bed, burying my face in my pillow as my tears flowed down my cheeks. I couldn't take it anymore. It hurt so much. I didn't want to live in a world like this.

They tried to kill you with all the things they say. They don't care. They don't know. They don't understand.

And they were going to succeed in killing me.

I opened my eyes and sat up, opening the drawer in my nightstand. I took out a pencil sharpener and a screwdriver. I had never thought I'd bring myself to this. I unscrewed the blade from the pencil sharpener. Taking a deep breath, I brought the blade to the skin of my left wrist, but there was a knock at the door.

I nearly jumped out of my skin, hiding the blade under my pillow. I wiped my eyes and let a fake smile slip onto my face. I'm sure I looked horrible. "Come in,"

"Hey, hey, Jaffray," Jerome grinned, poking his head into my room.

Just at the sight of my boyfriend, my fake smile morphed into a real one.

"Hey, there's a real smile." He winked, closing the door behind him and collapsing on my bed, one hand holding his head up while the other picked up my pencil sharpener.

My breath caught. Oh, I was so stupid.

"Well, this pencil sharpener doesn't do much good without the blade, does it?" he chuckled lightly, tossing the piece of plastic into the wastebasket next to my desk.

"Yeah…" I murmured, scratching my eyebrow.

I felt his blue eyes boring into me as I looked down at my lap in shame. He leaned in closer to me, his face inches from mine. He took my left hand in his right and with his other hand he pulled the blade out from under my pillow, setting it in my hand.

I looked up at him in shock. He…he was going to let me?

"If you want to cut yourself, then you're going to take my arm, look me in the eyes, and cut as many time as you would yourself." He said gently.

Tears gathered in my eyes again as he pushed my black hair away from my face. "I couldn't hurt you like that."

Jerome didn't say anything.

And then I understood.

Everything.

I dropped the blade on the bed and lifted my hands to slip into his blonde, perfectly soft hair. His arm curled around my waist as our lips met. He tilted his head back and broke the kiss, chucking me under the chin gently.

"Don't believe them, darling, they're just jealous."

I don't know why my stories have been like this lately, but oh well. I guess that's what happens when you follow a lot of depressing accounts on IG...

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"Taking everything as a sign of the divine. Or of purpose that you're never going to find. In every second you can find tragedy. Coincidence can be dismissed as meant to be. And you'll have what's left."

-Rachel