When Sadness Was the Sea, You Taught Me How to Swim.

*Tony's P.O.V*

"Tony!" Mikey groans in a whiny tone , dragging out the 'y' making him sound like he's five years old.

"What." I say flatly, looking up from my game of Draw Something.

"Cuddle me?" He pouts, his bigger than average lips sticking out.

I giggle, smiling at my adorable boyfriend. "Nope." I reply, popping the 'p'.

"Baby!" He wails, splaying himself all over his bed dramatically.

"Mikey," I huff. "Your the one who always cuddles me. If you want it, come and get it."

I loved joking with my boyfriend. I made him really work for this relationship, but now things were going to be a bit different.

He smirks, rolling off the bed and over to me. Lifting me up, he plants a kiss on the bridge of my nose before setting me on the bed and enveloping me in a tight embrace.

•••

My phone was ringing loudly right into my ear, disturbing my catnap. Of course.

"Hello?" I answered groggily into my phone, my voice scratchy and tired.

"Tony...can we talk?" Kellin's shaky sobbing voice asks through the phone.

"Kell, what's wrong?" I ask gently, trying to console the crying boy.

"I...k-kissed Vic!" He cries out, immediately being quiet after, the only thing to be heard in the background is sniffles and a bit of ruffling.

"Who is it baby?" Mike asks from next to me, his fingertips beginning to draw different shapes across my hipbone.

"Kellin." I reply quietly. "You might wanna go and talk to Vic, sweetheart." I say, taking his hand off of me. "He kissed Vic."

Mike raises his eyebrows skeptically.

"Kellin, did you do anything....you know." I ask nervously, feeling the breath stopping in my neck as I bit down on my tongue.

"I'll see you in a bit, babe." Mike presses a kiss to my temple and slips out of bed leaving the room.

"Kellin, are you gonna answer me?" I ask after the door closes.

There's a uncomfortable silence while I hear him sigh as he starts to speak.

"I did."

I sit, allowing the words to sink in, remembering the awful story that Mike had told me earlier about the huge crimson gashes that had went all the way up to the bend of his elbows.

"Where?" I ask, starting to get nervous.

Another detail of the story was that all of them looked like they needed stitches, and there was one in particular that had scared Mike to bits. There was a thick scar going straight across his wrist where it connected to his hand, he must have tried to commit suicide.

"My upper arms. P-promise me you won't tell." He says in a raspy voice, that actually started to hurt me physically.

"Kell, are they...d-deep?" I ask, nervously beginning to shift around in bed.

"Yes." He replies softly, sounding faint and distracted. "Do you...care about me?"

"Of course I do," I say, a bit stunned. "We all do."

"Thanks." He says, and I hear the small smile in his voice as he hangs up and the line goes dead.

I call back a few more times, only being sent to voicemail, his phone must have been shut off.

Mike comes back into his room quietly and sits next to me, hand on my thigh.

"How is he?"

I shrug, unsure. "He's...so broken, Mikey."

He drapes his arm around my shoulder and I rest my head onto his skinny chest."He'll be okay."

For once, the tone in Mike's voice has calmed me and put me to ease as we laid back down.

I stared up at the ceiling, attempting
to avoid a panic attack until my eyes could no longer stay open. Falling into a peaceful sleep, I couldn't help but ignore the faint cries coming from across the hallway.

*Kellin's P.O.V*

I laughed at myself.

'Suicidal thoughts' was such an understatement. How the fuck do things like this always seem to happen to me? What did I do to deserve a pain like this? Coursing through my veins and polluting my head, sending me into an early grave. Not like I would mind.

I threw my bloodstained razor to the floor, not even caring about hurting myself anymore, as blood dripped slowly from my new masterpiece and down my arm, sending an addictive chill down my spine as I let out a breath.

Cleaning myself up, I put my bracelets back on before I flop into bed, happy to finally be able to sleep.

•••

Waking up a little later than usual I decide not to go to school, in fear of seeing Vic or anyone else for that matter. Especially not Vic or Tony.

Laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I ignore yet another call from one of my 'friends', as today I would prefer for things just to stay quiet, and mellow around my house. But I guess today wasn't that day.

My door flings open and John wobbles in, giving me the death glare.

"Why are you home?" He hiccups, grabbing my by my wrists, causing a sharp hiss to escape my lips.

"Not feeling well, sir." I reply, trying to stop my voice from quivering, knowing how much that annoys him.

He rolls his eyes. "I decide if you stay home or not. Faggot!" He says, sending a hard punch right onto my right cheek.

I didn't feel it at first, but when I fell back onto my bed it felt like someone had just branded me, an icy yet furiously burning pain. But I liked it.

My head was starting to get morbid and fucked. What was I supposed to start doing with myself? My illnesses were getting worse, I wasn't functioning properly, and I was alone when I needed somebody the most.

I sat, holding my cheek and staring at him oddly as a smile stretched across his face.

"Y'know," He says, picking up the lamp from my bedside table. "If you were to just behave, there would be no punishments."

"I..I'm just not feeling well, sir. I didn't mean to upset you." I say quietly, not expecting what happened next.

Swinging his hand across hard, the lamp makes contact with my stomach, sending me flying into the back wall, chunks of lightbulb sticking out of my stomach.

He had never hit me with a fucking piece of furniture before! Although,
I was an idiot for not expecting it the second he picked it up. I suppose I had just guessed he would throw it at the wall to intimidate me.

Clearly it works, as I was now pulling my shirt over the pieces of glass sticking out of me at odd angles.

I feel tears roll down my cheeks, and I raise my hands desperately to wipe them away.

"Aww, poor Kellin." He coos, laughing sickly right after. "Let's finish up, shall we? As much as like disciplining you, I have things to do. Hand me the lamp, boy."

"Y-yes, sir."

I quickly pick up the lightbulb-less lamp, as he examines the base, tapping on it gently to find that isn't hollow like he had hoped.

"Good enough." He mutters, and with that, the wooden piece slams into my back, knocking me off of the bed and onto my knees as he smashed me over and over, ignoring my agonized screams.

Had he no mercy?! What was going to become of me? Surely he would kill me. I didn't mind, but I didn't exactly want him to. I wanted the pleasure of doing it myself.

Rolling me over, he rips my shirt up, slamming the base onto my stomach, pushing the glass even further into me.

Screaming, I push him off a bit, only to be punched on my browbone, feeling his large class ring rip the skin off. Blood drips down my face as he decides that he's bored with me and wants to do something else.

He gives me one last sinister smile before walking out through the door while mumbling to himself, another weird habit of his I'd observed.

The minute the door had slammed behind him, I felt an overbearing sense of being trapped, I desperately needed to vent. It was either through my mouth, or through my veins. I couldn't cut again...but then again, there was no reason not to.

Deciding against it, (a first for me) I waited until I heard the front door close, signaling that John had gone to the shops to run some errands.

Skipping down the stairs, I open the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water and a stalk of celery, a typical Kellin Quinn lunch. I loved celery, I really did.

It didn't taste like shit, to me anyway, and it was 70% water, and the rest was VEGETABLE! I was practically just eating water in more of a food form, which made me extremely happy with myself.

Standing on the bathroom scale, I stare down at it, fingers crossed as tight as possible. The needle finally settles on a number and...I had gone two pounds up. What?! How did I gain so much weight in such a short period of time? I...I didn't understand.

I threw open the door to my room and fall onto my bed, clutching my pillow and sobbing into if loudly, feeling absolutely disgusted in myself.

'TWO FUCKING POUNDS, KELLIN.' The voice in the back of my mind shrieks, pounding in my head.

"I-I know!" I choke out, sitting up carefully, pillow held closely to my chest, a weak attempt at comfort.

'You wonder why you keep getting fatter, you worthless piece of shit.' It hisses, much more gently this time, just more harshly.

"I'm s-sorry!" I cry, swinging my head back and hitting it hard against the wall.

A little too hard maybe, because afterwards, everything had gone black.

•••

My alarm rang as usual, waking me up for yet another annoying day of school. Deciding not to skip, what happened yesterday burned into my mind, I get up.

I always felt reluctant to go to school, but I don't think I've ever felt as badly about it as I do now. It was unreal.

Scared to look at my reflection was the best way to describe it.

I stood up, glancing at the clock. I had two hours to get ready like always.

Walking into the bathroom, seeing that my fear had only gotten worse with each step. Even though I had every right since the way I looked was so terrible.

This one-thousand times worse than anything I could had imagined.

There was dried blood on the back of my neck and running down my chest, standing the collar of my shirt and the bones that lie beneath it. Above my left eye there was a fresh cut, rather deep too. John has started to wear his rings again. Typical. That man is hot and cold.

A large, dark purple bruise had also formed on my right cheek. If it was anywhere else but on me, I would say the color was beautiful and that I liked it. But now wasn't the time for that since I looked so defeated, and disgusting. I had to shower.

Turning the faucet on and waiting for a decent temperature, I finally decided on a cold shower, just to wake me up and get my mind out of this haze. Pulling the plug up, and watching the water fall from the shower head, I take off my clothes, piece by piece before stepping in.

Goose-bumps form all over my body as I stand, staring down at my battered frame. Christ, I was disgusting!

I had these wide dark pink scars all over, especially my thighs, since the ones that used to have a home on my arms, had been reopened multiple times, and I had a scab picking problem. There were about fifteen deeper-than-usual cuts on each of my upper arms, as a result of kissing that stupidly gorgeous Mexican boy. While my wrists still held deep cuts, they were only cat-scratches compared to the violent reaction only a couple inches above them.

I was a monster.