Not Good Enough

Frank's POV


Frank hated skipping class, but he just couldn't sit in a classroom and pretend to be okay right now. He almost ran into the bathroom before remembering that would just make things worse, so he escaped the school, running into the woods behind the building and curling into a ball at the base of one of the trees, letting hot wet tears roll down his cheeks and soak the sleeves of his hoodie.

He just couldn't fucking take it anymore. He didn't want to be here, he didn't even want to fucking exist. Today...today was a bad day. He decided he didn't want to go to school at all. He slowly got up, pulling his hood up to hide his face and slowly taking the two-hour walk home.

By the time he got home he had worked himself up and was halfway between pure rage and complete hopelessness. He almost went right past the bathroom but at the last minute violently threw the door open, glaring at himself in the mirror as he grabbed his razors. He was a terrible fucking person, he told himself, he deserved to fucking be punished. He wanted blood.

He drew the razor across his skin, admiring the beads of red blood before licking them up. He liked the taste of blood, and it was the only part of him that was in any way beautiful. Suddenly he realized he probably didn't even deserve to see his own blood, tossing the razors back in the drawer and screaming at himself in the mirror. At this point he was just a mess of fucked up emotions that he didn't want to be having. He screamed again, in frustration, before pulling his shirt off and wrapping it around his arm, running to his room and locking the door, collapsing on his bed and starting to sob again.

Oh yes, it was fucking fun being transgender.

Notes

Aaand he's trans. If you look back you can see at least three hints at it, not that it matters.