Chapter Text
Mike Wheeler. The perfect boy, walked down the hallway. His headphones were on blasting some sort of hard rock music; droning out the background noise of the other teenagers wanting to get through the day like he did. Near his eyeline sat Dustin and Lucas. Smug, laughing, and happy. But without Mike. How could he have let it gone so far that they don’t even care about his appearance? The screaming music artist was the only way to feel sane. All he wanted to do was sing how he sang, screaming at the top of his lungs. The freeing feeling of getting all of your emotions out.
The bell rang, alerting him of his first lesson. New year, new him. But was it for the better, he thought? He’s lost everyone. Not only has his “summer depression” lost his friends Dustin and Lucas, and his girlfriend El (who he totally was not ‘acting weird’ with!! ..), his bestest friend is drifting too. Will Byers. Oh, he loved Will Byers. They used to stay up all night giggling as Mike read Will comic books when he couldn’t talk, and Will told him fun facts over his new obsessions of the day. He loved his friends, especially Will.
..And El.
The bathroom called Mike’s name and the perfect boy sat down locking the stall. English was such an enjoyable subject for Mike. It was. All the perfect boy could do was cry until he couldn’t cry anymore; he rocked backwards and forwards trying to regain peace. But how can you regain something you never had?
Schoolwork was always his thing. He never backed down from a challenge. But now, the perfect boy sobbed his eyes out. His shaky hands reached for his phone case, wet eyes blurring his sight. His quivering fingers fiddled with his trouser buttons, tears dripping onto his thighs as he pulled them down. The blade, dyed red from dried blood lay there in his hands. Waiting for him to make the decision. Lines of previous work lay like a haunted painting in front of his eyes. He couldn’t stop the pain. It needed to be stopped.
Wincing, he dug the weapon into the side of his thigh, silently crying. The perfect boy, creating a secret painting of his pain. Crimson blood started to flow but he needed to feel more. Feel worse. Deeper he went, not thinking of the consequences. Sobbing, he carried on slashing at his flesh.
“Mike..?” a familiar voice asked nervously.
Will.