"Hey Jerome! YOU WON THE HUNGER DEENS!!!" Mitch yelled in the microphone. I laughed, and yelled,

"With BETTY! BE PROUD OF ME!" Mitch laughed, and completed the outro, as I slurped in the background. We both stopped recording, and I laid back in my seat, staring at the Skype call.

"Jerome, are you doing okay?"

"I'm fine, why do you ask?"

"Well, you haven't been yourself lately, and..."

"It was probably just something in your mysterious brains, BENJA! I better leave. I think I'm starting to get a cold."

"Okay biggums. Talk to ya soon!" he ended the Skype call, and I sighed, looking down at my long sleeves. I pulled one up, to uncover an assortment of different scars. I couldn't help it! I went into my bathroom in the Team Crafted house, and felt the salty tears well up in my eyes. I looked in the mirror. All I could see was a man who hated himself for the way he was. I saw a man who was fake, left alone, and rejected. I was always teased for the way I looked. My eyes and nose were hideous to me, and everyone knew it. I let the tears slide down my face, as I locked the door and grabbed something I never would've touched again. A blade. I felt a jolt of energy, as my mind began racing. Was I going crazy? Was I really going insane right here, right now? I looked at the small blade I held between my fingers, and I looked back at the mirror. I threw the blade in the mirror, pieces of the mirror shattering before my eyes. I watched as the shards fell to my bare feet, lightly cutting and forever scaring my body. I closed my eyes, and waited for the never-ending avalanche of glass to wipe me out. I opened my eyes, and stared in horror at the boy before my eyes. I was covered in blood. Pieces of mirror were sticking to my skin, and I felt absolutely nothing. There were still pieces of mirror on the wall, but behind it was a faded butterfly. I looked at it, and looked down at my hands, which were smeared with blood. I took a piece of glass from the shirt, and cut the tip of my index finger, a pool of blood dripping from it. I looked back at the faded butterfly sketch, and started to trade it with my finger. Blood poured onto the wood, staining it and creating a finished version of the butterfly. I carefully traced it, tears making my vision blurry, and burning across my whole body. I was feeling more and more light-headed as I drew over the sketch. I stepped back, into glass, and looked at the butterfly. It seemed as if I was... freezing. In time. Flashbacks played on their own in my head. Everything from a baby, meeting Mitch and Rob, to present day. I sobbed, as they were spinning around. I couldn't handle it no more. I wanted out! My thoughts were quickly interrupted by banging on the door.

"JEROME!" Mitch yelled. "PLEASE! OPEN UP! SPEAK TO ME JEROME!" he pleaded. I refused to speak. I didn't want to see anybody. Especially Mitch. He would be crushed if he saw me like this. He continued to cry and bang on the door, as I tried to snap into reality. My knees were wobbly, so I hopped into the shower, where there was no glass. I closed the curtains, laying on my back. I wanted to die in peace anyways. The curtains were sightly opened, the red butterfly wings popping out from the lightly colored wood. I smiled, then instantly frowned after Mitch yelled, "JEROME, I WILL KNOCK THE DOOR DOWN IF YOU DON'T OPEN." I sighed, closing me eyes, glass still in my skin, and blood still soaking my shirt. My eyes flew open when I heard a huge crash. Mitch had successfully knocked the door down, and his facial expression was filled with horror. He looked at the shattered mirror pieces on the floor, then the butterfly, then me. "J-Jerome... Why?" Mitch whispered, his eyes filled with tears ready to fall on his cheeks.

"Mitch, just leave me be." I whispered.

"No, you've told me that too many times! I refuse to leave you be! I'm calling the hospital." he grabbed his phone from his pocket and quickly dialed 911. "Yes, my friend has gotten glass in his skin and he's cutting from almost everywhere. Please, send the paramedics quickly!" he frantically spoke, the tears from earlier pouring out like a waterfall. I wanted to hug him so badly, but I wanted to leave. Forever. He looked at me, the tears pouring out.

"W-why J-J-Jerome? Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"It was too much. YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME DIE!"

"NO! I can't bare to see my best friends since the 4TH GRADE die in front of me, and this is too far. You're going to the hospital, and you're going to live, OK?!!?!"

"I'd rather die. I hate myself."

"Don't say that. Please, everyone loves you! You have your subscribes, Team Crafted, and your family. Not to mention your girlfriend! Please! Stop doing this to yourself, Jerome! I care about you too much to not be worried!" Jerome closed his eyes, sighing. He slowly whispered,

"All I wanted to be was part of the Butterfly Culture."

~~~

;-; OMG I did another one. I am so sorry for this! It's just I really liked the first one, and I wanted a sequel for you guys, since all of you seemed to understand the concept of what Butterfly Culture really is. Now I know is a bit different compared to what I normally write, but it's just I've been working on this ever since the first one. Again, thanks to TaxeyCab for sparking in interest in me to write a story made for my followers who have once or do cut. Now, every one of these has a message based on my life. So, read this:

~~~

Everyone has those days,

Days of insanity,

to the point where it seems almost everything you loved or treasure disappears.

Even I have those days.

Those days, you just want to, curl up in a corner listening to sad music.

Believe me, it will get better.

Don't let the childish, might I mention rude ones fool you.

They mean nothing.

Every insult thrown at you means nothing.

I've been spat at for being reserved, shy, stupid, and occasionally goth or freak.

But words can't bother me, right?

Listen here, please don't hurt yourself.

There are so many people out there who care.

Like I said before, someone is looking for someone just like you,

whom they may want, forever.

It may be a rare occasion, or it may seem like everyday,

but things will get better. Because,

Everybody has those days.

~~~

Love you all and thank you for the support given on these short stories.

<3, MusicalMorgan305 (Remember I care, and don't be afraid to private message me for help. I reply every time)