Make it stop - cherimon

He sat in a corner of the room, his eyes wide, and staring, and numb, his knees to his chest, the gun beneath his chin. The cold of the metal, and the chill of the building, with no heating, made him feel like he was already dead. There was a drumming, pounding in his head, and the sounds around him were muted. He felt hte blood in his body, and he remembered it. He felt the bone holding him together and he remembered it, and he felt the teeth in his mouth, and he held them in his head.
He remembered.
The new school only had 12 pupils. And they all were quiet and kept themselves to themselves. He made friends with someone who knew as much as he did about the internet, about all the youtube stars, about video games, about Dr Who. Charlie was standoffish though. You couldnt hug him, and you couldnt say that you were friends, in case you scared him away. You had to be in the moment with him, but never in forethought or retrospect. He ate sparingly, and had trouble sleeping, but Alex didnt really know why he was at the Park Centre.
The Park Centre was where you went if you were too messed up for normal school. No one reminded you that, but if you ate under the table, because you felt safer, or wore bright colours, because for so long you'd been grey, then they still gave you the odd looks that they had in normal school. And then somehow, they'd been talking about sex, and relationships, and It had slipped out.
"I'm gay."
And no one said a word at the time, except to nod, and then they carried on the discussion, and Alex felt lucky that no one had moved away from him, or given him odd looks. The girl, Becky, she laughed with him too, and talked boys, and watched films together, but when it came to discussion, when it came to getting on, he and Charlie laughed them all out. He and Charlie argued with teachers and won. he and Charlie were Good.
Mitchell had walked up to him, one day as he went to get on the bus home. He had said he wanted a word. He had hit him, square across the cheek. "Fucking FAGGOT." He'd said, and punched him in the stomach. He kicked him, as he lay there. He hit him over and over. He ignored his physchiatrist when she asked, ignored his mum when she asked, ignored his  teachers. When Charlie asked, Alex looked at him. He was suprised. Charlie spent most of his time locked in his own head, thinking about himself.
"Uhmmmm..." But Alex couldnt. Couldnt a million times over. He realised he'd....he'd got attached. He text Charlie randomnly at night, and they wrote silly things to eachtoher, and laughed.
And then Alex was sat here. Because Mitchell had cornered him today. Mitchell had told him, and Louise had tried to kiss him, and they'd both LAUGHED. And then Mitchell had got serious. He'd hit him again. And then he'd cut him, with his switchknife. FAG. Spiky red white letters in his skin.
Alex looked at the wounds closing up on his arm. He ran a finger along the cold metal trigger. He shut his eyes and listened to his heart beating, listened to the door slowly opening, heard the gasp. Felt the warm skinny fingers on his face, felt the hand around his wrist, felt the touch on his wounds, and winced. Felt the lips on his, felt the soft chapped lips. Opened his eyes, to see pale skin, and floppy brown hair. Those eyes opened, and Charlie looked at him. Big blue orbs, shimmering in front of him. They kissed again.
Alex put down the gun.
Charlie got up, and walked away.
Alex got up. And lived.