Chapter Text
Oliver knew his family wasn’t normal.
He had grown up with a mother who gave tough love, a father who was nice enough but had a creepy smile and far too many rules, an older brother who pretended he didn’t care about anything, and a younger brother who was hyperactive and clearly had ADHD.
But this was Oliver’s life, and there wasn’t much he could do to fix it.
Oliver sat on his bed, black grunge eye makeup smudged across his cheeks and temples. His usual long, very curly white-blond hair was tangled into a messy high ponytail on his head.
Last night, he had been crying over something he couldn’t remember now.
Oliver sighed and got out of his bed, wincing as his feet hit the cold wood floorboards. He made his way over to the vanity that his father had installed in his room a few years ago. Turning on the massive speakers that sat on the edge of his vanity, loud punk music pumping through the speakers.
“Turn that shitty pop band down, Oliver!” Victoria, Oliver’s mother, yelled from her room down the hall.
“It’s not pop, it’s Linkin Park,” Oliver mumbled to himself as he turned down the volume on his speakers.
Oliver sighed heavily as he sat down on his chair.
Ugly.
That was the first thought that went through his head as he stared at himself in the mirror.
‘Shut up, brain,’ Oliver thought as he picked up his makeup wipes, cleaning off the makeup from yesterday.
One of the only things he actually enjoyed doing was his makeup. He loved putting on heavy eyeliner under his eyes, black eyeshadow on his eyelids, and a little mascara that tied the whole thing together.
No matter how much he got bullied for being a boy wearing makeup, he still wouldn’t take it off. He loved it too much.
His older brother, Dee, wore eyeliner and eyeshadow, which is how Oliver learned how to put on makeup. When he was younger, he would watch Dee put on his makeup, and it was Dee who gave Oliver his first makeup. Heavy, Oliver and Dee’s younger brother, didn’t wear makeup, but he did appreciate Oliver and Dee’s makeup.
Satisfied with how his makeup looked, Oliver stood up and walked over to his closet, pulling out his combat boots, baggy camo pants, and long-sleeve black shirt, before putting on his clothes.
“Oliver!” Heavy called from outside Oliver’s room. “Dad says to come get breakfast!”
“Coming!” Oliver said as he walked to the door of his room, his eyes catching on the floor-length mirror on the back of his door.
Ugly. Fat. Disgusting. A disappointment.
The words swirled around in Oliver’s head as he stared at himself, unable to look away.
‘You should kill yourself.’
The voice in Oliver’s head told him. It wasn’t a scary, demanding, or threatening-sounding voice, it was a calm, protective, and soothing voice.
“Shut up,” Oliver said quietly to himself as he shook his head to get rid of the thought. Taking a deep breath, Oliver opened his door, grabbing his messenger bag off of his desk on the way out of his room.
“Good morning, Oliver,” Glam, Oliver’s father, said as Oliver walked past the door to the kitchen.
“Morning,” Oliver said as he forced a smile onto his face.
“Come eat breakfast, I made toast, eggs, and bacon,” Glam said as he placed a plate full of bacon onto the table, Victoria instantly grabbing the whole plate and scoffing down all the bacon. “Well. All I have are eggs and toast now.”
“I was actually going to head to school early today, I need to study for my math test, I’m going to head to the library,” Oliver said as he walked to the front door of the house, grabbing his keys off of the hook by the door.
“You’re only doing that to avoid us,” Dee stated in a factual voice, not looking up from his phone.
“No, I’m not,” Oliver huffed as he walked out of the house, slamming the door behind him.
Oliver made it to the school fifteen minutes before the first bell rang, but instead of going to the library like he told his parents, he headed to the boys’ bathroom on the second floor.
Oliver pushed open one of the stall doors, sitting down on the closed toilet seat, and locking the stall door behind him.
It had become a habit of his to get to school early and do all things he swore he would never tell his parents about.
He pulled out a cigarette that he had stolen from his uncle Ches. Ches wasn’t his biological uncle, but he felt like family to Oliver, so he did feel bad stealing cigarettes from him, but he also knew that Ches had an addiction to smoking, and also drugs and alcohol.
Oliver did still like Ches, even if he did have an addiction and lived in a spare room in his house.
Sighing heavily, Oliver lit his cigarette with a black lighter that he had painted a skull on. With slightly shaky fingers, Oliver brought the cigarette to his plump lips, breathing in the smoke.
He felt better already. But it wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t enough to stop the voices in his head that told him he should die, that he was ugly, fat, and a huge disappointment to everyone around him.
But it still wasn’t enough. He could still feel everything. And it was too much.
So he did the only thing he could think of. He reached into his bag and pulled out his a small razor blade.
Oliver’s breathing quickened as he pulled up his sleeves, removing the black wrist cuffs his parents had bought him for his birthday when he was ten. His parents would surely he taken aback if they knew that he used the cuffs to hide the bandages, cuts, and burns on his arms.
Taking a deep breath to steady his hand, Oliver pressed the blade into his pale skin, inhaling sharply through his teeth at the sting. He watched the blood trickle out of the cut like rubies flowing out of his arm.
Oliver continued to cut his arms in a trance like state. He cut over old cuts, he cut across new cuts, he cut deep and hard across his skin, relishing in the pain.
He deserved the pain, the sting, and the scars.
He was horrible, unloveable, teenager anyway.
He was actually surprised that his father still let him help with breakfast. He was surprised his mother still let him ride on her motorcycle. And he was surprised his brothers still talked to him.
They shouldn’t have to put so much effort into talking to him, or even looking at him for that matter.
He was too ugly to look at.
Oliver wanted to throw up at the sight of himself. He hated what he’d become. He hated what he’d made himself out to be.
The bell for the first period ringing brought Oliver out of his trance.
His eyes snapped open, and he looked down at his arms, which were now completely covered in cuts, there was barely a patch of pale skin that wasn’t covered in a scar.
“Fuck,” Oliver mumbled as the pain fully washed over him. Everything hurt too much.
He wanted to cry, but he knew that would mess up his makeup, so he snuffled back his tears and started to bandage his painfully scared arms. He pulled the bandages tight around his wrists and pulled the cuffs back onto his wrists, wincing in pain at the pressure of them.
Oliver slipped the razor blade back into his bag along with his first aid kit he kept with him at all times.
Along his bag over his shoulder Oliver made his way out of the bathroom and to his first class.
“Hey nerd!” Some random boy Oliver didn’t know called out as he walked down the hallway. But as he walked past the taller boy, he shoved Oliver into the lockers that lined the hallway.
Oliver flinched and winced in pain as he was painfully shoved into the cold metal of the lockers. He ignored the boy who had shoved him and continued walking, pretending none of that just happened. He used to talk back and stand up for himself, but now he just took the blows.
It was easier that way.
-———-
At lunch, Oliver went and sat outside, leaning up against the school building as he pulled out his phone, scrolling through some random social media posts.
His feed was filled with depressing quotes and posts about depression and stuff like that.
It was never the depressing quotes that got to him though; it was the sweet ones.
The ones showcasing someone’s happy relationship, or the ones showing off someone’s happy outing with their friend, really got to him. Mostly because he knew he could never have something like that. He knew he was too ugly to ever have someone that close to do fun things together.
“Hey, dipshit,” some random dude said as he walked over to Oliver with a smirk on his face. “My buddy said that you brushed him off this morning. That’s not very nice, is it?”
“N-no,” Oliver mumbled as he stared at the ground, his fingers nervously picking at the dead grass.
“I think you should go say sorry, hm?” The boy said as he smirked down at Oliver, who still refused to look the taller boy in the eye. “He’s right over there.”
“I don’t want to say sorry,” Oliver mumbled in a scared little voice as he pulled his knees closer to his chest, making himself smaller.
“Go say your sorry. You ignored him this morning, and it hurt his feelings. He just wanted to have some fun with you,” the stranger said as he grabbed the front of Oliver’s shirt, yanking the smaller boy up by his shirt.
“O-okay,” Oliver stammered as he nodded his head, his fingers trying desperately to make the bully let go of his shirt.
“Good,” the boy said as he let go of Oliver and shoved him in the direction of the guy who had pushed Oliver into the lockers that morning.
Oliver stumbled as he walked over to the boy, hands clenching into nervous fists at his sides.
“Sorry I brushed you off this morning,” Oliver muttered in a quiet voice as he stared at the ground, holding back tears.
“That’s a good boy,” the stranger said with a smirk on his face. The boy used his hand to roughly tilt Oliver’s head up to meet his eyes. “Now, how are you going to repay me?”
“I don’t know,” Oliver said in a frightened voice as he tried to hard not to cry.
“How about you let me kiss you,” the boy said as his hands slid down to Oliver’s ass, gripping the flesh roughly.
Oliver flinched at the contact and tried to pull away.
“N-no,” Oliver stammered as he tried to sound firm.
“You don’t get to say no when you’re wearing all that makeup, you’re basically asking for it anyway. I mean you look like you’re trying to act like a girl,” the guy smirked as he pulled Oliver against his chest, firmly keeping the smaller boy there.
Oliver was too scared to speak, his body went numb as the guy then forcefully pushed his lips against Oliver’s, the stander’s tongue pushing its way into Oliver mouth.
“S-stop! Please!” Oliver pleaded in a small, shaky, voice as he pushed the boy away.
“Fine, but here, take my number,” the boy said as he pulled out a piece of paper with his number on it and shoved it into the back pocket of Oliver’s pants, making sure to grope Oliver’s ass as he did so.
As soon as the boy stopped touching him Oliver instantly bolted for his bag, grabbing it and running to the bathrooms.
Oliver’s breathing was uneven as he slammed the stall door closed, locking it behind him. He frantically pulled out a bottle of pills from his bag, popping open the lid and dumping a few pills out into his hand.
Before he could even think straight, he threw the pills into his mouth and swallowed them.
He knew he had taken too many, but the pills helped ease his nerves. He had stopped taking pills six months ago when he almost overdosed, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Oliver was itching to cut again, but he knew he would bleed out if he cut his wrists anymore.
‘Then just cut your legs’ the soothing voice in his head said.
Without contemplating it too much, Oliver pulled out his blade again for the second time that day. He yanked up his pant leg and pressed the cool metal into his far too thin thigh.
It felt good.
He knew it shouldn’t feel good but it did.
It felt like he had control over his life, and he liked that feeling, even if that feeling caused damage to himself.
He kept cutting, realizing that his thighs had a lot more space to mark up than his thin wrists. His breathing came in uneven gasps as his vision started to blur.
He was loosing too much blood, he knew that. But he still didn’t stop. The voices would come back if he stopped. The feelings would come back if he stopped.
“Oliver?” Heavy’s recognizable voice called out as he entered the bathroom. “Oliver are you in here?”
“Y-yeah?” Oliver said in a hesitant voice as he quickly stopped cutting and started bandaging himself up.
“The bell rang like ten minutes ago, and Mom’s here to pick us up,” Heavy said in a slightly concerned voice as he stood outside the bathroom stall that Oliver was in.
“Okay, I’ll be out in a second,” Oliver said as he hastily pulled his pant legs back down and picked up his bag. Then he flushed the toilet to make it seem like he was just going to the bathroom.
“Mom’s going to be pissed if we take any longer, so come on,” Heavy said as Oliver walked out of the bathroom stall.
The boys walked together back to the front of the school where their mother was waiting for them.
“Where’s Dee?” Oliver asked as he sat on the back of his Victoria’s motorcycle behind Heavy.
“If you actually ate breakfast with us, you would know that Dee is going over to his girlfriend Lif’s house,” Victoria said as she put on her helmet and started her bike.
“Sorry,” Oliver mumbled as he held onto Heavy’s waist to keep from falling off the back of the motorcycle as they drove back home.
-———-
Dee barged into Oliver’s room without knocking later that evening. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
“Dad says it’s dinner. Also, is this what you spend your time doing all afternoon?” Dee said as he gestured to where Oliver sat at his desk doing his homework.
“Yeah, this is what I do all afternoon. Don’t you spend all your free time studying?” Oliver asked curiously as he looked up from his papers. Dee had always been really smart, so he had assumed Dee would spend all his free time studying just like Oliver.
“No? Why would anyone want to study all day? I just look over my notes before tests, and I get straight A’s,” Dee said as he rolled his eyes at his younger brother. “Come on. Dad doesn’t like it when we’re late for dinner.”
“Okay,” Oliver said as he closed his textbook and put his papers away before following Dee downstairs to the kitchen.
“Ah! Oliver, there you are! I was wondering what you were doing up there all day. Dinner’s been ready for fifteen minutes,” Glam said as he placed a big plate of pasta in front of Oliver as he sat down at the table next to Heavy.
“I was just studying,” Oliver said as he looked at the food in front of him, his stomach already feeling nauseous just looking at the amount of food.
“It’s important for the brain to take breaks sometimes, you know,” Glam said as he smiled at Oliver.
“I know,” Oliver mumbled as he started picking at his food, taking small bites to make it look like he was eating.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Victoria asked after watching Oliver pick at his food for a while.
“Not really. I ate a big lunch at school,” Oliver lied as he stared at his plate, not daring to look his mother in the eyes.
“I didn’t see you in the cafeteria at lunch though, and I was sitting there the whole time,” Heavy said with a mouthful of food in his mouth.
“I brought some food from home,” Oliver said in a slightly uneasy voice as he took a tiny bite of his food, trying not to throw up.
“No, you didn’t.” Glam said in a matter-of-fact voice as he shook his head. “I didn’t see you take any food from the kitchen this morning or last night.”
“I had some granola bars in my bag for a while ago. I ate those,” Oliver said, not liking where this conversation was going.
“Granola bars aren’t a big lunch, Oliver,” Dee said as he looked up from his phone to look at Oliver with a disapproving look.
“Well, I don’t have to explain myself to you!” Oliver said in a frustrated voice as he stood up from the table and grabbed his plate and scraped his food into the garbage before putting his plate into the dishwasher.
“I’m going to go study,” Oliver said as he huffed and stormed out of the room.
Oliver slammed his bedroom door closed behind him before he walked over to his bed and flopped down face first into the sheets.
“Fuck” Oliver mumbled as he sighed heavily and clenched the white sheets into his hands. He hated lying to his family. He hated the disappointed looks on their faces. He hated how the must think he was a terrible person.
-———-
Later that night uncle Ches knocked on Oliver’s bedroom door.
“Ollie?” Ches said as he pushed open Oliver’s door. He was at the dinner table when Oliver stormed off and he wanted to check in on Oliver.
“What?” Oliver said in a slightly annoyed voice as he lifted his head off of his pillow and looked up at Ches.
“I wanted to check in,” Ches said as he sat down on the edge of Oliver’s bed. “I know you’ve been stealing my cigarettes and pills, Oliver. I don’t mind, I just want to know your okay.”
“You- you what?” Oliver panicked as he quickly sat up in his bed, looking at Ches with a shocked and scared look on his face.
“It’s okay, just calm down first. I don’t mind that you took them, just ask next time,” Ches said as he held up his hands in surrender.
“You promise you don’t mind? And can you not tell my parents about this?” Oliver asked in a shy voice as he fidgeted with the bedsheets nervously.
“I won’t tell if you promise not to over do it and overdose or something,” Ches said as he smiled slightly and nodded his head.
“I promise,” Oliver said as he nodded his head, smiling a small smile at Ches.
“Good. Also I brought you a pack of cigarettes,” Ches said as he pulled a new pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and handed them to Oliver.
“Thanks,” Oliver said as he smiled at ches and tucked the cigarettes into his side table drawer next to his bed.
“Also you can tell me if somethings going on,” Ches said as he walked to the door, pausing and looking back at Oliver for a second before closing the door behind him.