Part 1: Flame
Grell felt woozy so he carefully set his hands on one of the bathroom sinks in order to support his weight. He stared at the filthy mirror screwed to the wall in front of him and mentally recoiled from his reflection. On the outside he would appear normal to anyone, but underneath there hid a monster, an abomination so revolting that he wondered how no one else could see it. Although there are some certain individuals who'd rather see him rotting in a ditch than standing within the same vicinity as them, almost everyone in Grell's high school saw the redhead as an animated, comical, and very perceptive, easygoing young lad. But it was all a façade—ways of masking the corrosive pain that afflicted his inner being. Numerous cuts and bruises decorated both sides of Grell's face, caused when he was shoved to the ground during a brutal pummeling that transpired after lunch period from Shane and his gang of stupid jocks. The redhead winced as he tentatively touched his chest—a couple ribs might be broken. Wouldn't be the first time. But Grell couldn't be sure since the familiar echo of bones cracking apart were absent throughout the skirmish. The whole incident left his body sore and mind fatigued.
Why did they always have to show their enmity whenever he was around? Was he that much of a stain on society that they felt the need to torment him constantly? Like it's their damn duty.
Without warning, Grell suddenly felt nauseous and quickly ducked into one of the stalls, slamming the door shut behind him. Retching noises could be heard from outside the bathroom door as a fountain of vomit was ejected from his mouth to fill the crap-stained commode below. Minutes passed as Grell just stood there, hovering over the toilet as he let saliva mixed with bile ooze without consequence from his lower lip. The aroma of vomit violently assaulted Grell's nostrils and it took all of his strength in order to subdue any residual puke that sought a means of escape. Carefully, so as not to upset his stomach any more than it already was, Grell reached over to the toilet paper roll and tore off a chunk of the cheap white material. He spit multiple times into the toilet bowl and weakly wiped away the excess liquid that had settled on his lips. Tossing the soiled paper into the toilet, Grell flushed then, observing as the spewer frantically spiraled into oblivion. Once it's out of the body, vomit and other forms of organic waste are virtually worthless. It's promptly discarded like garbage. Far as Grell knows, he can see no difference between him and a pile of steaming shit.
Useless. Meaningless.
Grell repeated those words in his head like a mantra. And why not? Despite the smiles and the laughs and the optimistic wishes, he knew that buried deep within their cores everybody loathed him. They wanted to trick him… and they succeeded. Wanted him to trust them… and he did. Wanted him to believe he was loved and that his presence held some degree of significance for them, and he sucked up all their lies like a newborn vampire. Because Grell is desperate. Everyone knows desperate people do stupid, sometimes irreversible things.
Emotionally worn out, Grell rested on the crapper he had just spewed his guts into not even minutes ago. A bulge in the left back pocket of his dark Dungaree jeans distracted him from unsettling thoughts of suicide. Curious, he inserted a hand into the tight pocket and to his surprise extracted a golden lighter. 'I forgot about this,' he thought while staring at its beautiful sheen. A fiery phoenix stared back at him, beak open to emit a chilling screech, as it rose from its ashes. Underneath the mythical bird were the etched words: "To rise is to live." The lighter had been a reluctant gift from his cousin William on his sixteenth birthday. Although Grell had no actual use for it, he chose to carry it everywhere.
With a flick of his thumb, Grell lifted the lid and turned on the lighter, intently watching the flame as it danced before his eyes. He drank in the radiant hues of blue and yellow and orange, enthralled by its beauty. Powerful is the term that inserted itself in Grell's mind when describing the fire. It had no need to be touched in order to attest to its treacherous nature. Like him it was a special type of monster—one that enticed like bears to honey, whether it desired to or not. And Grell was too weak to resist its burning temptation.
"Don't do it. Just let it go," he mumbled as he held the fire dangerously close to his right hand. But those commands never carried any real weight, despite how many times he's uttered them in the past. Grell sometimes wondered why he even bothered to say them. Was it a true, albeit poor attempt at ceasing his self-mutilation? Perhaps he is afraid. Once he decides to no longer speak the words, it will be for him undeniable proof that he is beyond any chance of redemption. For now, though, he would cave in.
Grell situated the lighter beneath his hovering palm, moaning in equal measures of pain and gratification as the undulating flame slowly burned through his pale flesh. Salty tears rolled along the curves of his cheeks, not from the flame's stinging bite, but from acute emotional turmoil in which the fire graciously released. The aroma of singed skin wafted toward Grell's slender nostrils, soothing him with its acrid cologne. Any pain, any fears, any anxiety he had was soon subjugated by the flame's intense heat. Grell shut off the lighter and lowered the lid, replacing it in his back pocket for later use.
Placing his assaulted hand before his eyes, Grell examined the damage done. Bright red blotches covered the palm's outer layer. Even though it resembled a first-degree burn it still hurt like hell whenever he tentatively nudged the afflicted area. Thank god for that. He hadn't intended on burning any deeper. Not yet.
Long ago Grell had made up his mind to gradually torment the monster inside, just as it tormented him. But he could never figure out how. What would be good enough to cause serious pain, but not kill him? Cutting was stupid; every emo kid on the block did that shit. Binge drinking usually resulted in the opposite effect. And then it hit him.
Burning.
There weren't too many cases of youths burning themselves where he lived. Probably because a lot of them were too chicken-shit to actually go through with it. Not him though. Before Grell had been stalling, merely because he coveted the right moment to commit the act, not because he had second thoughts. Today was his first time, and like a virgin the redhead had felt apprehensive, but when all was said and done he nailed it. From that day forward he would only burn whenever the monster's urges became too strong to disregard anymore.
BRRR!
The bell buzzed to indicate that it was time for students to switch to their next class periods. Grell sighed wearily. He already missed English due to the pummeling he had received, so he wasn't any more inclined to go to Biology class, even though they were starting the dissection lesson today, something he had looked forward to all week. 'Guess I'll just go to the nurse for a salve and call it day,' he thought. Grell exited the stall then, not bothering to check his appearance before he departed, and opened the bathroom's swinging door.
The hallways were void of human life by now, aside from one nerdy brown haired guy standing a few feet away. He appeared to be frantically sifting throughout his locker for something of importance. Grell ignored him and walked the length of the hallway, turning onto another hallway once he reached the corner, and then continued until he finally arrived at nurse's office. He stood before the white door for almost a minute, as he read the black stick-on letters in bold print stuck to the smart glass.
NURSE'S OFFICE
Just as he raised his hand to knock on the door and make his presence known, it swung open to reveal a beautiful blonde wearing dark blue rectangular specs and a white lab coat. She gazed up at Grell in pure horror, her well-rounded cheeks turning a lighter shade of red as she held a dainty hand to her colored lips. Grell had known her long enough to know that the natural display signified she wanted to cry. He found it endearing. At least someone would weep for him.
"Oh… Grell, honey… not again."
~X~
Note: Just wanted to let you know that I do not believe that all (if any) emo individuals cut themselves. I am merely writing from Grell's POV. Don't know why I felt the need to say that… but there it is lol. If you enjoyed the first chapter and would like to read more, then please fav, follow and/or review. Thanks for all your support!