I just want you to like me. I just want you to be my friend. Short bullying one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :)
Do you know how much I cried over you?
Over every little snide insult that cut deeper into me than I ever could. And that’s pretty fucking deep. Trust me, I should know; I still have the scars. But back to the question at hand. I cried myself to sleep for four years over the things that you said to me, over the lies you force-fed me like my parents force-feed me antidepressants. Antidepressants that I only have to take because of how much you made me cry. Antidepressants that I only haven’t overdosed on yet because my big brother keeps a knowing eye on me whenever I take them.
Do you know how hurt I felt?
Not just physically, emotionally too. You should know how hurt I felt; you should know exactly how much you dished out to me. Too fucking much for me to take. To begin with it was bearable. To begin with your words, your punches were just a dull ache in the back of my mind because my big brother, the only person who actually cares, kept telling me that you were lying; that I’m better than you are. But that’s just not true. You don’t walk around with a black eye and an even blacker heart, so how can you be better than me? To begin with maybe I was better than you, but not anymore. You’ve hurt me enough to convince me of that.
Do you know alone you made me?
Of course you know. You saw how everyone looked at me. Looked at me as though what you did to me was infectious, as though to be seen with me was synonymous with signing a warrant for their own execution. Everyone was willing to look away, some were even willing to help you, a few were willing to give me sympathetic smiles in the school corridors but nobody was willing to be my friend. Apart from my big brother, but he has to be my friend; has to stop me from doing something ‘stupid’ every time the loneliness gets too much for me to handle. You tore away everyone, everything I ever had. You made me even more alone than you are.
Do you know how ugly you made me feel?
Ugly enough to make me stick my fingers down my throat, to make me scar my arms to the point where I can’t go out in just t-shirts anymore. You told me I was fat. I wanted you to leave me alone and maybe even be my friend. So I fixed that by sticking my fingers down my throat after almost every meal. I don’t do that anymore. My big brother found out, cried almost as much as I did over it and that was enough to make me stop. His misery easily outweighed your hate. You told me I wore the wrong kind of clothes, that I wore more eyeliner than your mom, that my glasses made me look like a geek, that I looked even more stupid than I am. I just wanted to show you that I’m not that bad, for you to like me. So I tried wearing clothes more like yours even though I felt even more uncomfortable than normal in someone else’s skin, so I stopped wearing the eyeliner that I thought looked cool, so I snapped my glasses in half so that I couldn’t wear them anymore, so I cut myself to make me feel like I was in control of something and therefore couldn’t be stupid. That lasted a few weeks, didn’t change anything and so I dropped my façade of normality. Apart from the cutting. The cutting stayed.
Do you know how much I had to beg my big brother not to kill you?
He wasn’t at all happy when he found out how you treated me. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Was even less happy when he found me puking over the toilet, fingers still down my throat and the only reason I could give him was that you told me I was too fat. I was. Still am. But Gerard couldn’t see that, only saw my bloodshot eyes and my shaking body and where my ribs were sticking out in a way that made me look even fatter. He asked me who and I told him; you. He said that he was going to kill you and he really meant it, really would have killed you if I hadn’t have begged him not to. When, eyes teary and arms holding me close to his shuddering chest, he asked why I didn’t want you dead, I gave him the most honest answer I could think of; if I let him kill you, then you’ll never want to be my friend.
Do you know how grateful you made me?
Grateful because I’m not you. Not someone who gets kicks out of kicking others. In the end I know that I’m the one who came out of this the worst, the one with the scars and constant jumpiness whenever I’m with someone who isn’t my big brother. But at least I’m not you, someone who finds happiness and laughter in someone else’s sorrow and tears. Because I saw your scars, almost symmetrical to my own, and how nobody cared. At least my big brother cares about mine. Because you’ve scared away anyone who may have once cared. Apart from me. I tried to ask you if you were alright, you told me to fuck off. So I did. Because then I realised that, no matter how bad things are for me, at least I have one person who really does care out of choice and not out of fear. Because I’m a nice person. Nicer than you, anyway.
My big brother said so.
A/N: Sorry for boring you with some really depressing crap, but I can’t sleep and I really felt like writing something brotherly between Gerard and Mikey (people who are reading ‘Perfectly Imperfect’ will understand why) so I hope that it was alright. It’s meant to be from Mikey’s POV and the ‘you’ he keeps referring to is the bullies at school. Sorry about the lame ending. Anyway, thank you very much for reading and please review! :)