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He was meant to be the strong one. He was meant to be the one everyone could tell their problems to. He was meant to be perfect.
But he wasn’t.
He was weak, and broken. Crumbling under the expectations of those around him. Sure Henry and Drew didn’t mean to vent to him, they just needed someone to talk to. And Liam, no matter how badly he just wanted to scream at them, tell them to shut up and listen to his problems for once, remained silent.
Occasionally offering his input and advice. Offering his house as a refuge from their own, offering up his safe space.
He had no reason to feel like this. He had no reason to do this.
Yet he sat cross legged on his bed, a small box cutter laid before him. Scars painting his thighs, some faint and old, while others were fresh. A pang of guilt surfaces in his gut, memories of him making Drew promise to stop cutting his wrists. While he did the same thing.
But Drew was worth something, he was needed. Liam was not.
Grabbing the blade, Liam digs it into his skin, just below the hem of his boxers. Immediately blood begins to bead. A small smile creeps onto Liam's face, as he repeats the process. Cutting line after line into his pale flesh.
A knock on his door, startles him, as he shoves the box cutter under his pillow. “You good Liam?” His mother asks, opening the door a crack. “Mhm.” Liam replies, trying to hide the small tremble in his voice. “Well ok. I have to go to work. There’s leftovers in the fridge.” She says, meeting her son's eyes, before she quickly looks down. “Shit, sorry are you. Um. sorry!” she exclaims leaving the room, covering her eyes with one arm, closing the door as she goes. “Enjoy yourself. Wait um. Ahhh I'm going now.” Liam feels his cheeks heat up, looking down at his lap, where he had sat a pillow. Groaning Liam flops back onto his mattress, pressing his palms into his eyes. “She thought I was masturbating.” he whispers, feeling embarrassment claw at his stomach. Rolling over he grabs his phone, ignoring the sting in his legs. 5:49pm. Way too early to go to bed.
Standing up Liam makes his way to the bathroom, not caring about his lack of clothes. It was just him and his mum after all. Turning on the water, he strips the remainder of his clothes, stepping under the rapidly warming stream. The water stung as it washed over his cuts, collecting the blood. After washing himself, Liam steps out, turning off the shower. Grabbing a black towel, he dries himself. Before he wraps it around his waist, making his way back to his room. Collapsing onto his bed, he crawls under his covers, throwing the wet towel into the corner of his room. Grabbing his phone, he opens instagram. Checking his messages with Drew, seeing only the words seen.
Of course he thinks to himself, dropping his phone onto his chest. Why would he want to talk to me, he probably doesn’t even like me all that much. Deep inside, it feels like Liams Heart is being ripped apart. Why should he care that Drew left him on read, or only talks to him when Jake isn’t there or.
Tears slid down his face. Why did he have to love Drew? It would be easier if he just liked girls. But he couldn’t. Every time his friends would talk about their crushes. Henry about Lia, Jake about Daisy and Drew about Zoey. Liam can't help but feel ashamed. He hadn’t even come out to his friends, terrified to hear their disapproval. They were all he had, he couldn’t lose them.
Everytime they mocked Zander and Luke, the feelings of guilt suffocated Liam. As they of all people, could understand. Sometimes he pondered what it would be like to have friends like them. But always curses himself when he thinks like that.
He never wanted to be the bully, never really wanted to be popular. All Liam really wants is to feel accepted and appreciated. He can’t help the small sob that escapes him. Boys weren’t meant to cry, yet that's all he wanted to do. He wanted to curl up in his mothers arms and tell her all his problems, as she played with his hair and promised it would be ok.
It was not ok.
Curling up in a ball, Liam lets himself cry. Here in his room he could cry. Here in his room he could be openly gay. Here in his room he could be himself. Here in his room, he was safe.