Chapter 01:
Johnny's POV:
I looked over the scars I had permanently carved into my flesh only two months ago. It's not like it hurt when I started, but I was crying. Crying like a bitch from the emotional pain I felt. Not only had my girlfriend broken up with me over a stupid fight, my best friend, Jimmy, had just died from domestic violence because he forgot to take out the trash like his dead beat father had ordered.

What else could I do while feeling hopeless and lonely? I never showed my parents my scars, nor did I tell them I'd cut myself to feel better; or anything at all for that matter. No one knew I went to school with razors in my pockets, wrapped in a tissue or a paper towel to prevent it from cutting through my jeans. No one knew I would sit in a bathroom stall in between classes to make little notches in my flesh that would bleed for minutes to hours at a time. And no one knew I would do it from boredom either. No one knew about it. No one that is, until a surprisingly sober Zacky caught me coming out of the stall one day, wrapping the blade back up and pulling down my shirt sleeve.

"What the fuck were you doing?" Zacky demanded more than asked as he glared at the wrapped up razor in my hand.

"Nothing..." I lied, scratching at the bleeding and irritated open flesh through my blood stained shirt sleeve.

Zacky snatched the blade from me, unwrapped it, and stared at it angrily. He grabbed my arm firmly, and gently lifted my shirt sleeve up. His eyes grew wide as he stared at my arm. The old scars were pink, but not fully healed enough to fade. On top of the old scars were deep cuts that scabbed over one another, ready to mature into those pink scars if I didn't pick at them. Some cuts were deep, others shallow. Some long, and some short.

Zacky broke his gaze from my arm and looked up at me through watery hazel green eyes. I could see the hurt and the many questions of why falling in the tears those eyes made. I said nothing, just sort of looked around the bathroom, and tried not to look at Zacky. He dropped my arm then stomped out of the bathroom. That's when I realized he still had my razor. I quickly pulled down my sleeve, ignoring the sting of the cloth grazing over my cuts, and ran out after him.

"Zacky, wait!" I yelled as he stormed off quickly for his locker. I caught up with him, and tried to catch my breath.

His locker was on the other side of the school, away from the bathrooms.
"Johnny, why?" Zacky asked me calmly, but angrily at the same time. He turned on his heels to face me.

"Why what?" I replied, pretending like I didn't know what he was talking about. I just wanted back what was mine, so I could get on with the rest of my day.

I saw the tears swallowing his eyes again, but he didn't let them fall.

"Does it hurt? When you cut yourself?" Zacky asked, lifting my shirt sleeve again to reveal myself mutilation problem that started two months ago.

I shook my head.

"No, the only thing that hurts is my heart." I answered shrugging my shoulders.

There was an awkward silence between Zacky and I. The hallways were empty of already at home students, and that was over 20 minutes ago.

"Why did you start doing this?" Zacky responded with a raspy voice that caught me off guard as he gently caressed my incisions; I winced some.

I didn't dare look Zacky in the eyes when I answered him, so I looked at the ugly tan locker.

"Jimmy's death hurts, and my girlfriend just kicked me out of her life. I don't have anyone else." Stupid answer... Zacky was going to kill... Well, he would have if he wasn't so emotional over it all.

"You have me, Brian, and Matt! You also have Jimmy, in your heart. Don't ever say you don't have anyone!" Zacky cried, on the verge of yelling at me.

I had nothing to really say about the whole ordeal, but I understood why he was so upset. I kind of did over exaggerate that I didn't have anyone, when I had my family and friends.

"Do your parents know?" Zacky questioned, still caressing my arm; I shook my head a second time.

"How am I going to my mom and dad that this is what I have dissolved into over a two month period?" I thought to myself as I felt Zacky's hand grazing over the scars, making me wince again.

"You should tell them." He whispered.

I looked at him through confused grey eyes, and without thinking asked, "Why?"

Zacky stopped rubbing my arm, and glared at me; hard.

"You should tell them because if they find you in your bathroom doing this, you're going to get in even worse trouble than you will if you were to just tell them!" He replied, dropping my arm after pulling my sleeve down over it.

I looked at my Converse sneakers in shame. Why I felt shame, I couldn't understand. It was more regret than anything that I felt. Regretting taking my anger out on myself through self inflicted harm. Instead of mourning my best friend's death, I was angry and harmed myself to make the emotional pain disappear. As for my girlfriend, I had no idea why I just couldn't let her go. I heard a locker slam, and saw Zacky holding his skateboard.

"Yeah, you're right. I'll try to tell my parents tonight." I said, smiling weakly. Zacky smiled back soberly, and handed me my blade.

"Nice to see you sober for a day." I smirked as Zacky and I headed for the exit of the school. Zacky said nothing, just shrugged.

We went our separate ways home after stepping out into the California sunshine. Zacky waved goodbye, and I made an incision onto my pale flesh through my shirt sleeve, then headed for my house...