Author Note: ''- Means a journal entry - Means song
Disclaimer- JJ doesn't own EEnE or 'Bother' by Stone Sour
BotherED
'Wish I was too dead to cry
My self-affliction fades
Stones to throw at my creator
Masochists to which I cater'
The red candle wax dribbled across a maticulate desk, covering the torn pages that had been vicously ripped from the abused spine of one misguided teenager's soul.The fire both within the candle and the boy quickly extinguished afterward, leaveing crimsons stains amoungst the artifacts, memories of a whimsical childhood.
At 12 one doesn't see beyond the yellow caution tape that somehow gets pulled over your eyes. All he ever wanted was to please these people. To achieve some sort of praise. When he was little, he assumed the neatly handwritten notes were pleanty enough acknowledgement. His mother, father, all they'd ever wanted from him was to follow the program they'd instilled in him since infancy. The robotic little child that had to do as he was told, get good grades, make some friends, play some sports; the all-american carbon copy. To be there in person could ruin things, make him clingy. After-all, he wouldn't know the difference. Even as he saw his best freinds play baseball with their fathers, or help thier mothers bake cookies and cakes, he'd be content scrubbing toilets and doing extra-credit homework, all in the name of finding a sticky note with a hastily scrawled 'We Love You' placed upon the front door as he readied for school.It had taken until he was 15, when he realized he couldn't remember the sound of his parent's voices. To figure out that he'd lived a lie.
At 15, this boy started to change. Somehow, it wasn't worth it, to keep up these tasks for the sake of them.He'd began to only do the manditory school work and attend the neccessary Lacrosse practice. He'd traded his friends for a notebook, spending most of his weekends inside, scribbling down his pent-up emotions and thoughts, sometimes in the form of poetry. In a way, his friends knew there HAD to be something bothering thier normally cheerful pal, but they couldn't catch the signs, after all, they were still taped-blind.
You don't need to bother;
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on,
I won't let go 'til it bleeds
'Wish I was too dead to care
If indeed I cared at all
Never had a voice to protest
So you fed me shit to digest'
Peach Creek had a lovely little cemetary a few blocks away from the cul-de-sac in which this boy lived. There was a gigantic weeping willow in the corner, whose shade sheltered the child residents of this cumbersome feild. And there, gathered a couple dozen black-clad, sobbing patrons around one, teenager-sized mahogony coffin. As biblical poetry rolled off the redundant tongue of a reverand, sun shimmered through the breeze-disturbed leaves, casting its warmth upon grief-stricken faces. It danced across the wood encasment, unable to reach the marred, cold, dead skin of the blonde boy it held as an eternal hostage. Friends, classmates, teachers and even his bewildered parents weeped and wailed as he was lowered six feet closer to oblivion.
One voice was lost to these final tears though, one persons' cries would not fall upon the headstone that boldly read 'Eddward'. Eddy had chosen to stay home from the funeral of his best friend, though noone present thought down of him. It was Eddy after all who had found thier beloved 'Double D' motionless upon his bedroom floor, in a pool of cooling blood and a razor-tool lying carelessly by his slit-up arm. Of course, being the scholar he was, Double D knew exactly where to cut to ensure he got it right the first time. 'Precision means perfection', as one of his father's notes had said. Now, Eddy lay upon his bed, convulsing sobs into his pillow, parents not daring to bother him today. Tossed upon the sheets next to him were the wax-ruined journal and the black 'sock' that had always adorned Double D's blonde crown.
He'd picked up the hat the day Double D had died. As paramedics loaded the already lost boy into the ambulance the trademark of his life-long friend slipped off his blood-crusted head and fell into a puddle upon the street. It waited but a second before being resuced by a shocked, crying Eddy as he looked on from the curb as the vehicle sped away. It was the last time he'd see his friend.
The book he'd happened upon as he and his other best friend Ed helped Double D's parents clean the tarnished room. Double D had apparently tried to destroy the words he had written, as some paper-ashes lied in the trash can. But some pages had survived and Eddy carefully placed them into the dilapidated journal. In selfish remorse, Eddy stowed the book into his baggy pants pocket, the adults and poor, still-confused Ed too distracted by the blood stains to notice.
'I wish I had a reason;
My flaws are open season
For this, I gave up trying
One good turn deserves my dying'
You don't need to bother;
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on,
I won't let go 'til it bleeds
'Wish I'd died instead of lived
A zombie hides my face'
Eddy rolled over and grabbed a tissue, wipping his sore eyes and blowing his nose, feeling utterly exhausted from crying for so many days. He lied on his back for a few moments, trying to calm his erratic breathing, before reaching over and picking up the book that he'd been trying to carefully clean up in order to read it. The green eyed boy pulled himself into a sitting postion and set the journal in his pajama'ed lap, cautiously turning to the first dechipherable page.
'Eddy asked me to dye his hair today! He wanted red but of course his parents would NEVER approve of that so he had me concot a dye of my own. Well, needless to say I "accidently" mixed up some pink dye instead! Boy, was he furious! I belive he would simply KILL me if I told him I did it on PURPOSE! Eddy hardly ever sees the good I try to do him by these things. Doesn't he realize how lucky he is to have parents who care like that? But no matter, he will be paying for a few months! '
Eddy felt a smirk twitch at the corner of his mouth in spite of the sadness he felt. He remembered well that day, almost 6 or 7 months ago. He still had some of the pink lingering amoungst his brown locks. Over a few weeks, Eddy had forgiven Double D for the incident, having actually grown to like the look. He sniffled and turned a few unreadable, half burned or torn pages until he found an entry that was in fairly good condition.
'I stayed in again today. Eddy whined and complained as usual to me but I just don't feel like putting up my facade today. I don't know why I can't just tell him everything! I have this lingering feeling that soon it will be too late to. But... I am afraid because for once I have no idea how he will react ! Why must everything be so hard!'
Eddy raised his brow and re-read the passage, trying to understand. What had been so important to Double D that he couldn't tell him? He felt confusion wash over him and he turned a few other pages, hoping to find something, anything that could help him understand his lost friend's words, but all he found was his last entry, a suicide note, in the form of a poem:
'Wish I was too dead to cry
My self-affliction fades
Stones to throw at my creator
Masochists to which I cater
Wish I was too dead to care
If indeed I cared at all
Never had a voice to protest
So you fed me shit to digest
I wish I had a reason;
My flaws are open season
For this, I gave up trying
One good turn deserves my dying
You don't need to bother;
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on:
I'll never live down my deceit'
Eddy felt his weak heart jump in his throat, his hands began to shake as angry tears welled up inside him. Why! Why hadn't ANYONE noticed this! These thoughts Double D had. Were they all so ignorant? Eddy threw the journal across his room, the brittle pages scattering to the floor as it contacted the wall. He gave a fit-filled scream and grabbed the black beanie, twisting the material around angrilly as tears stained his face once again. He gritted his teeth and cried out loud, taking out his frustrations on the defenseless head-wear. He threw it to his bed and began punching it relentlessly, almost daring it to scream in agony, wishing for a victim that were more real.
"WHY!" He screamed, voice cracking and shuddering as he continued to abuse the still-bloodied hat. " WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY ANYTHING! WHY DIDN'T YOU, DOUBLE D! WHY!"
Eddy felt his dam crumble and he collapsed on the bed, sobbing uncontrollably as he clutched the hat to him. Everything came flooding over him, all those little signs seemed so obvious now, so blantant. All this time, Double D had been silently screaming for help and he hadn't bothered to pay attention, to lost in his childish pranks and games. Damn it, if only... If only...
"Why didn't you tell me, D?" He sniffled, feeling that exhaustion take its toll and try to pull him into sleep. "I would have helped you if only you... I should have should have seen... I should have..."
Shell forgotten
With its memories
Diaries left
With cryptic entries
And you don't need to bother;
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on,
I won't let go 'til it bleeds
You don't need to bother;
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on:
I'll never live down my deceit