The End of My Life

***TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE***

I take the razor and make a few slashes across my wrist. The blood comes almost immediately, but I deepen the cuts. This is it. No more pain, no more problems. I was a mistake, and now I’ll be erased from the world. My moms won’t have to deal with me anymore; their burden will be lifted. I watch as the blood keeps pouring into the bathtub. Everything fades away, and my body hits the water.

* * *

When I was 8, I watched from my bedroom window as a van pulled up in the driveway of the house neighboring mine. Two dads got out, stopping to share a kiss in the yard. A girl about my age hopped out of the car, smiling, in a bright yellow dress that matched her sunny disposition with “Ladies’ girl” written on it in flowery cursive. I couldn’t help but notice how silky her long, brown hair looked in the sunlight. I watched as she glanced around at the neighborhood and finally looked through my window at me. I quickly ducked, hoping she hadn’t seen me staring.  

I didn’t think much of this incident. Sometimes I’d be wrestling with Brock in our yard (as two brothers do), when she’d come out of her house and I’d stop to smile and awkwardly wave at her. I always felt inexplicably happy and my hand would jump to fix my hair. I never realized what I felt for the girl in yellow.

But now that I’m getting older, and the high school hallways are filled with boys kissing boys and girls cuddling with girls, I finally figured out what makes me different.  

My best friend and I are sitting in a classroom, waiting for debate practice to start. A streak of yellow catches my eye as a girl in a yellow dress walks by. My childhood memory of my neighbor flashes back into my mind for the first time in 8 years. I leap out of my seat and start exiting the room. “Charlie?” Lois notices me leaving and stops me. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie, “Just going to get some water.” I fake a smile and push past her to exit the classroom.  

“Whoa, whoa, I know that look,” she says, stepping in my path and placing her hand on my chest to stop me.  

“What look?” I laugh, brushing her off.  

“The Charles Hassell “I’m too cool to not be okay” look. The one on your face right now.”

“Look, I really am fine. Just thirsty,” I say, irritated. Ignoring her protests, I begin to walk down the hall to the water fountain. The sounds of the theater kids grow as I get closer. I listen for a second. They’re doing Romeo and Julius again. You’d think they’d get sick of that play after doing it every single year.

I lower my head to drink the cool water. As I’m calming down, I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around. It’s Lois. “What?” I say, annoyed.  

“Are you sure you’re okay, Charlie?” she asks, a genuine look of concern on her face. I soften as I realize how much my friend cares for me.

Taking the random girl in the yellow dress that I had seen moments earlier as a sign of sorts, I hesitate before breaking the silence. “Lois,” I start, “I have something to tell you. I like girls. But I’m still the same me that you’ve known for 11 years,” I add, avoiding her gaze, but I can feel her eyes on me. “Lois, say something,” I say, looking up and chuckling nervously, “You’re scaring me.”  

“I don’t even know what to think anymore,” she whispers.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, my voice trembling. “There are heterosexual people everywhere.”

“I get it. You’re sixteen. You’re experimenting. It’s just a phase,” she says, but her initial shock quickly transforms into disgust. Without any further words, Lois leaves, slamming the door to the debate room behind her. I stare at the wall, feeling the heat rise to my face. I have an urge to scream or punch something. Instead, I throw my face into my hands and try to resist tears, but a few escape down my face.

It’s too much. I feel a wrench in my stomach as I get up slowly and trace my hand along the cold wall as I walk, slightly disoriented. My tears are so close to spilling out. Not yet, I tell myself, making my way out of the building. I walk through the mostly empty halls of my school and pass a boy on top of another, their lips and bodies pressed together. I look away, disgusted, and the hallway suddenly seems so small. When I finally get outside and breathe in the fresh air, I sigh and sit down on a bench. I see so many women holding hands with other women, men holding hands with other men. There’s no one like me. I finally let the tears fall. 

The next morning, I can see the golden light through my eyelids as I come to life, letting the slight warmth of the sun hit my face. I open my eyes, not bothering to shield them. As I take out my phone, my eyes reach the date. February 14: Valentine’s Day. The day that I dread most all year, where everyone flaunts their homosexuality even more than they already do every single day.  

My door opens suddenly, jarring me back to the present. Brock comes bouncing in, yelling, “Charlie! Charlie! I can’t wait for today! I asked Eric to be my Valentine yesterday, and he said yes! We’re going to sit together at lunch and pretend like we’re married!” I sigh heavily, pathetically envious of the simplicity of the love life of normal 12-year-olds. “That’s great,” I say flatly, “Now will you get out of my room so I can shower?” I playfully shove him off my bed and he gets off. As I watch him leave, he stops at the door and turns. “Charles, I want to make sure you know that I’m here, just in case you ever want to talk about anything.”  

I smile at his newfound sensitivity. “I know, Brock. I really do need to shower, though.” He grins at me and closes my door behind him. I flop back onto my bed, putting my hands over my face and taking a deep breath. After a few minutes, I force myself to get up. I quickly get ready and jog to school, hoping to get there early before the hallways fill with couples.  

The hallways are disgustingly pink with heart-filled posters everywhere and although several couples have already taken over the small space, there aren’t too many people there. Still, I throw my hood on and keep my eyes glued to the floor as I make my way to my locker. As I approach it and begin loading my notebooks into my backpack, I take a quick glance down the hallway and see Lois and Ashley, her girlfriend. Ashley has Lois against the lockers, their faces pressed together so tightly I can barely distinguish them. Their bodies are so close together, with Lois’ hands around Ashley’s waist and Ashley cupping Lois’ face. I stare for a while, not even realizing what I’m doing, when Lois looks up. We immediately make eye contact and I quickly turn away, my heart beating so forcefully that I can feel it in my head. I rush to stuff my books into my bag and am about to slam my locker shut when Lois appears. “Hey,” she says cautiously, biting her lip. 

“Hey,” I respond, unsure of where this conversation is going.

“Come on, Charlie, what are you thinking? Please don’t tell me you’re still convinced you like girls. You just haven’t met the right guy yet, but I can help you with that!” she says, looking me in the eyes.

 “Yeah, to be honest, you’re probably right,” I lie. “I was being stupid. I don’t like girls. I like guys.” I fake a smile weakly but instantly know that she can tell I’m lying.

“Charles, don’t give me that crap,” she says, her smile fading. “That’s complete crap and you know it. If you’re choosing to be a hetero, I don’t want to be friends with you. Don’t talk to me again.”

I’m in shock. I don’t move or say anything. I feel tears approaching my eyes and as hard as I try to stop them, one tear slips out and rolls down my cheek.

“Aww, you’re crying because you don’t have a Valentine,” teases Lois loudly, “No one would want to be a hetero’s Valentine!” I try to shush her but know that it’s a mistake as soon as it leaves my mouth. “Guys, Charles is crying because he wants a girl as his Valentine!” she yells. The hallway erupts in laughter and I hear shouts of “Hetero!” As I scan for anyone that might be on my side, I see a sea of faces red from laughter. I make eye contact with Ashley, begging her silently to make Lois stop, but her disgusted expression makes me look away.  

I look at Lois, anger rushing through my whole body. She laughs smugly. “Oh, stop being such a baby,” she says, punching me lightly, “It’s just a joke.”

I glare at her. “Screw you,” I say, pushing her away.  

I run to the bathroom, and I burst into tears as soon as I’m alone. I don’t stop crying until my eyes hurt and I can barely breathe. I splash my face with water and my senses are shocked back to reality by the cold as I let some cool droplets linger. I stare at myself in the mirror, breathing heavily. I don’t recognize the crying boy in the mirror.

I begin to calm down and console myself. It’s okay, I tell myself, there weren’t even that many people in the hallway. Everything will be okay.

I wipe my face with my sleeve and take a deep breath as I leave the bathroom. As I walk down the hallway to my first class, I tell myself that the whispers can’t be about me. There’s no way everyone has found out this quickly, even if they had social media on their side. Besides, who cares? Today’s Valentine’s Day drama would be a far more interesting topic to gossip about.  

When I sit at my usual lunch table several hours later where the debate team is already seated, they get up and I hear my name in a flurry of whispers as they move. I survey the cafeteria and see mouths pressed against others’ ears in hushed voices. Some are pointing at me or throwing glances that they think I can’t see—or maybe they know I can see them. I swallow and feel the blood rush to my head as it dawns on me that everyone knows.

I blink a few times as my heart pounds in my chest. My feet are glued to the floor and I feel like I’m drowning. I can’t breathe. It’s all too much. I need to go home, but I can’t move. I see Lois and Ashley enter the cafeteria, holding hands. They spot me immediately, and Lois smirks in my face as she sits down at the table with the rest of the debate team.

I snap. “Lois!” I march over to the table, drawing the attention of everyone in the cafeteria, which has suddenly gone silent. Lois turns calmly. “I’m so done with you,” I scream, “If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, that’s your problem, but who gave you the right to tell everyone in this whole school?” Lois looks shocked, and for a moment, I swear there’s a glint of regret in her eyes. But it disappears as quickly as it came. I’m waiting for her to say something. I’m waiting for her to apologize and tell everyone to knock it off.  

Nothing comes out of her mouth. I turn to leave the cafeteria, which is still dead silent. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. But I’ve only taken two steps when I hear Lois speak.

“Get him.”

The stillness of the cafeteria is instantly replaced with chaos. I drop my bag and run. I don’t know where I’m going, but all I know is that I need to leave. As I race down the hallway, I can hear a group chasing me. I’m getting tired and winded but don’t dare stop. Adrenaline rushes through my body as I sprint, and suddenly I’m outside. The second I think I’m safe, a body slams into me.

My arms brace my fall as my face hits the ground. Someone’s hand is holding my head there. I feel feet slamming my entire body as the debate team kicks me. All I can think about is the bitter taste of dirt in my mouth.  

After what seems like an eternity, I’m flipped over onto my back. I’m blinded by the sun but as my eyes focus, I see the people that I had once considered to be my closest friends. One of them holds a permanent marker above my head. As the debate team jeers at me, he clenches my face and writes on my forehead. A few seconds later, he releases my face and leans back, pleased. I immediately sit up. Laughter echoes around the field. “That should do it,” he says, standing up and brushing the dirt off his pants. As the team leaves, one girl yells out to me.

“Go kill yourself, you disgusting freak!”

The team roars with laughter and the noise fades as they leave.

I know that my body will be sore tomorrow but right now I don’t feel anything. I take my phone out and open the front-facing camera, bracing myself. The letters are reversed on the screen, but I swallow when I realize what is written in dark, defined letters: HETERO.

I run home as if the wind will erase the hateful word on my forehead. It does not.

I hesitate before inserting my keys into the front door, my heart pounding. I ease it open but freeze when it creaks. Brock bounces over. “Charlie!” he yells excitedly, but his face falls as soon as he sees my forehead. “What in the world happened to you?”

I shush him as I stand in the doorway, listening for my moms. When my ears are met with silence, I sigh thankfully as I close the door and head upstairs. I’m halfway there when I hear a car in the driveway. I sprint the remaining stairs and lock myself in my room.  

I scrub furiously at my forehead with my sleeve but know that it’s pointless. Several pairs of footsteps approach my room. There are a few seconds of silence before my mom speaks. “Charles?” I don’t respond as I watch the doorknob jiggle. “Charles!” she yells, banging on the door. “Open this door right now!”

I know that I can’t prevent the inevitable. I slowly unlock the door and breathe deeply as I face my moms. Brock is shaking silently behind them. Their eyes creep up to my forehead as they read what is written. “Come downstairs right now,” demands my mom. I have no choice but to comply, and I trudge down the stairs, following them.  

“Tell me what happened,” whispers my mom, trembling on the couch. I recall my day to them, omitting any indications of truth to the taunts and praying that they don’t ask me. It turns out that I have rotten luck. When I finish, my mom asks, “But is it true? I mean...are you...are you…” 

She falters as she goes silent. I consider lying but know that it is pointless. I take a deep breath before speaking. “I am,” I say calmly, lowering my head.  

My mom breaks the deafening silence as she speaks. “Go upstairs, Charles.”  

I don’t need any encouragement as I race to my room. I’m about to close my door when I hear my moms downstairs, arguing about whose fault it is that I turned out like this. They don’t know that it’s nobody’s fault. It’s just the way that I am. I shut my eyes to block out their fighting. Tears stream down my face, but I don’t bother stopping them. I close the door and enter my bathroom. I start the tap on the bathtub and lower myself into the warm water. Snippets from my day fly into my head. The strange looks I got after everyone learned my secret. The hateful word scrawled across my face in permanent marker, reminding me of the sinful person that I am. My head hurts and it feels like the world is spinning at a million miles per minute. Shutting the water off, I lift myself out of the bathtub and walk to the cabinet. I open it and see the glint of a razor. I grab it and return to the tub, standing. My heart is pounding.  

The last thing I remember is the lingering taste of dirt in my mouth.