The consequences of the false claims.
They even threatened to call the police.
That had brought Ray to the point he was at now.
It was 11 at night, and his parents had already gone to sleep, cutting off the internet before they had. Ray was sitting in his room, with his trusty razor-blade, and a bottle of overproof rum.
He didn't know what he was going to do next, but it wasn't good. He had already drank most of the rum, and he was drunk off his fucking ass as it was. He didn't bother getting up off the floor, because he knew that his legs wouldn't support him worth a shit. No, it was better to stay sitting down. After all, he was planning to cut so deep that he'd bleed out. And when he died, he would fall over anyways. He didn't care to live to the morning.
After all, what was there to live for? Getting bullied? Having parents who didn't give a fuck? Being a loner? Having people who didn't listen to him for a single second of his godforsaken life? No, none of this was worth living for, to Ray. He had reached his fucking breaking point, and he was sick and tired of life. He had tried reaching out before, but apparently, it wasn't good enough.
Now, he was going to go drastic.