"You're never going to be a fucking actor."
The words buzzed through Blitzo's mind like an angry swarm of wasps, no matter how hard he tried to drown them out. And they stung like wasps too.
All he did was express an interest in the school drama club. He knew it was a mistake to mention it, but he was so excited about the prospect of the upcoming auditions, he just couldn't keep it bottled up.
But now it was tainted. He couldn't even think about it without his father's words piercing through him.
Another shaky sob escaped him, tears running down his face as he held himself up on the bathroom sink. It hurt. It hurt so much. Musical theatre was the one thing he had always been passionate about, a part of who he truly was inside, but now it felt like it was being forcibly ripped out of him.
The feelings of shame pulsed through him, and he hated it. It was as if his father had taken control of his emotions, like he had gotten into Blitzo's mind and told him 'this is how you're going to feel, and there's nothing you can do about it'.
He had to get rid of it. He had to force himself to feel something, anything else. He suddenly found his eyes fixed on his father's shaving razor sitting on the side of the sink.
...No. He couldn't. He wouldn't. There was no way he'd ever make it as an actor with scars all over his body. Nobody wanted to look at a performer who was covered in imperfections. How could he smile and laugh on stage convincingly when his physical being was telling the audience the truth, that he was weak, that he was broken, that it was all a facade?
He clung to those thoughts, the only thing stopping him from picking up the blade and dragging it across his skin. There had to be another way.
An idea hit him. It was right in front of his eyes.
Blitzo carefully opened the cupboard behind the mirror above the sink to reveal dozens of colorful pill bottles. He let out a slow, quivering breath. Did he dare...?
One bottle in particular caught his eye. His sister's anti-depressant medication. Ever since she started taking it, she had become noticeably more calm and relaxed... maybe it could do the same for him right now?
He picked up the bottle and popped it open, pouring a small handful of pills into the palm of his hand. They almost looked like candy. He rationalised that he'd need to take several at once; after all, if one per day took a few months to work on his sister, then he'd need more than that to feel any immediate effect.
He knew there was a risk involved with taking unprescribed medication, in that he might accidentally overdose and die. It was unlikely, but it was a risk he was willing to take. At least if he was dead, he wouldn't have to deal with the feelings of guilt eating away at him.
Before Blitzo could stop himself, he opened his mouth and threw the pills down his throat. He gagged, the pills resisting against his dry throat, but he forced himself to swallow. He swallowed several times after they were gone, just to make sure.
The deed was done. He stumbled backward, sitting on the side of the bathtub with his head buried in his trembling hands. A heavy, nauseating feeling was brewing in his stomach. His body was already starting to reject the medication.
But at least if he felt sick, he didn't have to feel anything else anymore.