Post by TATE KELLIN KIRKWOOD on Jun 24, 2012 21:10:23 GMT
tate kellin kirkwood
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tate kellin kirkwood • 22 • jack barakat • professor • optimistic[/center]
“So, c'mon, man, who do you like? I mean, you've got all these girls on your tail – don't see why – who're you gonna pick?”
Tate laughed, shovelling some ice cream into his mouth as they trailed around the school aimlessly, “Well, I don't actually like any of them. Poor them, right?” He laughed, swallowing the cold substance down. “We'll just say... I don't like anyone.”
“Bull. Shit.”
“Well... If you really want to know...” Tate smiled to himself before the sentence that changed his life left his lips, “I like you, Jamie.”
There was a long pause, long enough for Tate to realise that what Jamie was thinking wasn't good. Wasn't good at all. And, funnily enough, he was right. After his best friend's brain seemingly kicked into gear, Jamie started backing away. Pointing. Yells left his mouth and when Tate focused on them, he realised what he was saying: “Faggot! Faggot! Gay! He's gay! He likes guys! He's gay!”
“Ja-”
Tate's plead was cut off with a sharp punch, blood flying out of his mouth.
high school in florida. Walking through the corridor.
“Faggot.”
“Gay.”
“Scum.”
“Piece of shit.”
“How the hell can you like guys?”
“Well, well, well. Look who we have here.”
The voice that Tate thought was the biggest part of his life a week before now sent terrified shivers down his spine, and he ground to a hault, chewing his lip as he looked up at Jamie. He had a smirk on his face, one that Tate had quickly linked to his getting a beating. He choked out a plead, one word, "Please."
It was a kick to his groin first, one that send him to the ground, curling up into the featus position.
home.
He'd tried desperately to keep his mind off it. Even writing in his journal-y thing had reminded him that the boys that bet him up at school would think of it as a "faggoty" thing to do, and so he'd left it. Mindlessly watching T.V., he suddenly stood up, not even thinking about anything in particular. He wandered around the house, the empty house. His mom was out whoring herself out, as usual, and his dad was out "working", which was just his excuse to leave the damn place and ignore the fact his mom was always, always with another man, and Tate? Tate was just ignored.
Finally he stopped outside of the bathroom, a glint from the cabinet catching his eye. He opened the door slightly, his eyes scanning the place. Finally, he found it. Found the tool.
Razor.
He sliced open his arms without a second's thought. It was weird; he was caused so much pain every day, just to come home and cause some more.
He put the razor back when he was done and found a towel, holding it over his shaking his arms.
His parents wouldn't even notice.
class, two years later.
"Tate, please wait behind after class."
He was ordered to take off his jumper. Angry red scars littered his arms. He hung his head, ashamed. He wasn't even entirely sure how they'd even found out. It wasn't like he'd told anyone. He didn't have anyone to tell; not his parents, he had no friends, and the rest of his family lived in Australia.
The teacher, of course, was shocked. She rattled off, asking questions, being gentle, trying to tell him everything was going to be okay.
Tate didn't believe her.
psychiatrists'.
".... We've diagnosed Tate with depression. So, the best thing to do is keep him on these pills."
His parents were there. His father had somehow managed to tear himself away from work, and his mother was amazingly not with another guy. The thing that bothered Tate the most was the looks on their faces. They should be shocked, crying, asking Tate what was wrong, blaming themselves for not seeing the signs. They were silent. Eerily silent. Nodding. Like robots, like machines.
Because they didn't care. After all of this, they still didn't care. And it was that one, heart-splitting fact that was the decider for him.
He didn't have anything to live for.
home.
You all hate me. There's no point. was all that was written on the bit of paper, the tub of pills in front of him. It took about five seconds for the pills to be in his mouth. And, as Tate now blocks this from his memory, he isn't sure on how long it took for him to drift into death's grip.
hospital.
When he woke up, he groaned. Mainly because he didn't want to wake up. But another reason was the fact that Jamie was at the end of the bed, looking worried as hell, relieved when Tate woke up, groggily.
"Tate, mate... I'm so sorry."
"..."
There was a long silence. Then:
"So are we cool now?"
"... What, you think you can waltz in here, apologise for driving me to killing myself, and we'll all be okay? Everything will be fine? I tried to kill myself, Jamie! I had no one." A small pout lined his lips, and then he demanded Jamie out. He then thought.
Tate thought for a long time, coming to the conclusion this was no way to live. Trying to kill himself, as stupid as it seemed, had opened his eyes. He had things to live for. Feeling that way hadn't
helped him, not in the slightest, and it was so much more painful than anything he or Jamie had physically inflicted on him. And it would be hard, he knew that, but he had to get over this. He wanted to be happy.
Soon after beginning to take his tablets again, Tate's mood lifted. He soon graduated high school, earning qualifications in music and modern studies. He went to college for two years, studying both subjects. He went to many social gatherings and soon gained many friends. He was happy - genuinely happy around people again, laughing and never showing any signs of sadness - mainly because most of that was all gone. After leaving college, he moved to Beechshire, trying to say goodbye to his parents - who, as usual, didn't care. He managed to obtain a job as a music teacher at Beechshire high, which is where he's working now.[/size][/ul][/ul]
alias: ur admin
age: ten gazillion
random fact: I made music today
other characters: rhys ~
rp sample: nope [/ul][/ul]
