**ALL CHARACTERS AND EVERYTHING ELSE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS RELATED ARE OWNED BY CASSANDRA CLARE** No copyright infringement intended.
He looked out the window and saw a flash of bright red. It resembled nothing of the blood flowing from his hip, but of fire. The brilliant color was attached to a person; a girl. She seemed to glow. It was almost if her soul shining. I will never be worthy of someone so pure, the boy thought to himself as he cut another deep gash into his right hip. He now had blood flowing from both hips.
It started three years ago, after his mother died. He was 16. His father was a drunk and his mother was a coward. In the beginning he mourned her death, but over the years he became angry. He was angry at his mother for killing herself, for being so selfish, for thinking she had suffered the worst. But now, what of his suffering? He didn't understand how she could leave him here all by himself. His father rarely came out of his room. He abused the boy, verbally and physically. The boy was struck, spat at, and screamed at. After a few long weeks of heavy abuse the boy's father retreated into his room, only coming out when he needed to restock his alcohol supply. This is when the boy began cutting himself.
Keeping mostly to his chest and hips, he soon found that the flowing blood was the only proof that he was still alive. He cut his arms only when he was feeling particularly selfish or when he craved attention, for he know what people said: only those who wanted people to know about them cut their arms. And so, the boy cut open scar after scar. He never let anyone see his scars. He insisted on keeping on his t-shirt when he was with past girlfriends and when it came to exposing the scars on his hips he made sure that both parties were too drunk to remember ever seeing them.
Hearing a high-pitched laugh brought him out of his thoughts. He looked out his window and across the street. The short red-haired girl was standing on the corner with a much taller girl with long black hair, approaching them was a lanky, nerdy boy. He hugged the red-haired girl, kissed the taller girl on the cheek, and grabbed her hand and the three of them walked down the street.
I will never be worthy, he thought again as he gracefully slid his razor across his arm.
A/N: So, I'm not too fond of really long author's notes, but seeing as this is my first chapter of my first (ever) story, I think I can make an exception. I know this first chapter/prologue is super short, but hopefully it will give you insight as to where the story will be heading (also I should be starting at least one of my three papers due next week). Because I am a busy college student, updates will be slow - I'M SO SORRY. I will do my best, I promise. So for now, enjoy this little tid bit of "Worthy"! Reviews are always welcome :)
~E