He walked with his head down, dragging his feet from the stares that were being given. He walked from the people and their lives, as they had stopped them to glare at his forsaken body. Still at the tender age of ten, he had many scars on his soft, lightly tanned skin. Tears made their way down his face, only to hit the dry, dusty ground of the streets of his hometown.
Yet despite all these things he still walked on, pulling his head up and fixing a smile on his saddened face, even though it got harder to do so every day. His eyes sparkled from the tears yet to be shed, as he planned to cry at home.
'Home,'
His feet stopped moving, for at home he was, if that was even what you could call it. This home was just another thing that wasn't his.
He drew in a shaky breath, remembering that Christmas always hurt. His hand moved involuntarily to his chest, resting lightly over his heart. He pulled out the letter and sat on the couch, being careful not to put weight on his left arm, as the village football team had decided to have a little fun. Taking a shaky breath he opened the letter once more.
I'm sorry
that I bought you roses
to tell you that I like you
I'm sorry
That I was raised with respect
not to sleep with you when you were drunk
I'm sorry
That my body's not ripped enough
to "satisfy" your wants
I'm sorry
that I open your car door,
and pull out your chair like I was raised
I'm sorry
That I'm not cute enough
to be "your guy"
I'm sorry
That I am actually nice;
not a jerk
I'm sorry
I don't have a huge bank account
to buy you expensive things
I'm sorry
I like to spend quality nights at home
cuddling with you, instead of at a club
I'm sorry
I would rather make love to you then just screw you
like some random guy.
I'm sorry
That I am always the one you need to talk to,
but never good enough to date
I'm sorry
That I always held your hair back when you threw up, and didn't get mad at you for puking in my car,
but when we went out you went home with another guy
I'm sorry
That I am there to pick you up at 4am when your new man hit you and dropped you off in the middle of nowhere,
but not good enough to listen to me when I need a friend
I'm sorry
If I start not being there because it hurts being used as a door mat, only to be thrown to the side when the new jerk comes around
I'm sorry
If I don't answer my phone anymore when you call, to listen to you cry for hours, instead of getting a couple hours of sleep before work
I'm sorry
that you can't realize.. I've been the one all along.
I'm sorry
If you read this and know somebody like this
but don't care
But most of all
I'm sorry
For not being sorry anymore
I'm sorry
That you can't accept me for who I am
I'm sorry
I can never do anything right, and nothing that I do is good enough to make it in your world.
I'm sorry
I caught your boyfriend with another girl and told you about it, I thought that was what friends were for...
I'm sorry
That I told you I loved you and actually meant it.
I'm sorry
That I talked to you for nine hours on Thanksgiving when your boyfriend was threatening you instead of spending time with my family.
I'm sorry
that I listen to you at night talking about how you wish you could have done something different.
I'm Sorry
That I cared
He grunted in satisfaction at the words he had written and placed neatly on the coffee table in front of him.
Closing his eyes he placed the cool metal to his left wrist and pressed down desperately, quickly drawing a stream of blood. Switching hands he slashed his other wrist, hissing slightly at the pleasure it brought along with the ample amount of pain it gave him.
Lying back on the couch, he flinched at the loud ringing of the phone. He let it ring til the machine buzzed with the voice of the person calling.
'Please answer.'
'Please I'm scared. I was hoping I could ask you to stay over, but,"
'My father, he kicked me out. He thinks you're a monster and calls me one too, for I think of you as a friend.'
'Please, don't be mad. I am going to be over in a few minutes.'
He laughed, a painful sound, a broken sound. His eyes grew heavy, the amount of blood lost finally kicking in. his chest began to lose the steady rhythm of the calming rise and fall with each breath, as even those he had to fight for. He wasn't sure why he was fighting; he had wanted to die in the beginning, why did he want to live now?
'I love you, Naruto-kun.' The voice sobbed, sounding, if possible even more broken than his laugh.
His pupils dilated and then contracted till they were almost unseen. There was someone who held hope for him, a light at the end of the tunnel, who wanted him to live. He hoped she would forgive him. It was too late to save him now.
The lock on the door gave a click as the person opened the door. Their steps inside were muffled by the door closing with a slam, the noise heard by dying ears. A soft thump was heard, by the deaf ears of the dead.
A young boy died that night, while a girl that was last seen walking into his home disappeared. The two were the rejected and unwanted uniquely gifted teenagers. They were a match that would have been perfect had they not been torn apart and pushed down every step of their life.
As for the life of the young teenage girl, that is another story altogether.
