I haven't written in such a long time. My dad was being a fruit cake though, so I worte this really depressing drabble and figures, "ahh. What the hell. Minds will post it"
So I am.
WARNING: cutting, and its pretty depressing.
Disclaimer: these are dumb. I wouldn't be writing on a fan fiction website if I owned them.
I hiss is pain as I slide the silver razor across my porcelain white skin. I sigh in relief when fresh blood seeps out of the wound, washing over all the old scars. I haven't cut for a few years actually. Not since my mom sent me to the whack job psychiatrist. I was just 12 when I started to cut; it was the year my dad left. I was scared, terrified actually. What kind of boy doesn't have a father? Who is going to teach me to do all the "manly things"? No one. And I was angry. Oh so angry. What kind of father just leaves his two kids and wife and never looks back? I fully didn't expect it to be my father that did something so heartless. That's right people. The popular, perfect Drake Parker doesn't have a perfect life. His father left and he has a terrible addiction to cutting. A little surprised? It was like someone smacked me in the face, someone trying to get it through my big head that the world wasn't perfect, when I woke up four years ago and my dad was gone.
I slide the blade across my wrist and watch the blood.
For weeks my mom was crying, holding onto my sister and I like we were the dividing line between life and death and if she let go she would cross to the worser of the two sides. I don't think she really knew which one was worse at the moment though, because I certainly didn't. I had to be the strong one in the family now though; I was the new man in the family. I never ever cried in front of her or Megan. I bottled up all my emotions and plastered a smile on my face. But when I was alone all hell broke loose. I cried and I sobbed and I cut. I still remember the first time I cut, it was only a few days after he left and my family was falling apart right before my eyes.
flashback
I walked up the stairs slowly, every once in a while glancing back at my mom. She was snuggled into the couch hugging a gallon of vanilla ice cream. I shake my head. Look what that bastard has done to my family. The thought made the cap on my bottle of emotions explode off. I run into my room, shutting the door quietly to not upset my mom. As soon as I heard the satisfying click of the door locking, the emotions flow from the bottle like fizz from Pepsi after you shook it for a while. I run around the room furiously, angry tears running down my cheeks in little streams. BAM! I punch the mirror out of pure rage and hate. It shatters into a bunch of tiny pieces, in the midst managing to cut my hand. Seeing the blood, I stopped crying, all the antagonized emotions left quickly. The deep red liquid told me alive. All my emotional pain was converted into physical pain, a pain I could control. Smiling, I eagerly picked up another piece of fragmented mirror. I dragged it across my arm. I sighed out, in the relief the injury brought to me. What am I doing? I asked myself. We learned about this "mental problem" in health class. When Mr. Jones taught it, it had seemed like the stupidest thing. Why would you hurt yourself? But now, now my thoughts have changed. It's wonderful.
End flashback
I had ended up taking a liking to hoodies for obvious reasons. My mom never asked. I don't even know if she noticed. It was many months later something clicked in her brain. I really wish it hadn't. She had swooped down on me, demanding I remove me precious hoodie. I had argued even though I knew she would win. I remember her exact face when she saw the cuts. It was shocked, horrified, and most of all, sad. Like she had failed me, which she had in a way. I don't think I will ever forget how she stood there, holding my arm out staring. Then she hugged me like this time she had to pull me to the right side of the line of life and death. The whole time she was asking the same question. "Why?"
Another cut.
So since there is that dumb thing called cause and effect I was dragged off to some crazy shrink named Mrs. Seiko. I refused to speak the first few meetings, but she was okay with it. She didn't ever yell at me to speak. So I eventually opened up. I ended up telling her everything. Like the first time I cut and why. She got to me I guess, because I did stop cutting. I don't know why I never started again, I guess I didn't need it. That's changed now though. I need it so much. My girlfriend of 7 months dumped me. You're probably thinking about how I don't care for any girl, right? You are half way right. Actually probably more than half-way. She is the first girl I ever really cared for. Most of my girlfriends are out of pure teenage lust. But her, she was different. She made me weak at the knees when she came near me. I knew after the first 2 weeks with her, that she was the one. This wasn't lust it was love. I gave her my innocence. Believe it or not, I actually was a virgin. I gave her my heart, and she took them both and walked away without a second look.
I grimace as the silver blade slices my skin.
How could she do this? She was the first person I ever loved. El oh vee ee dee. Loved. And she left me alone.
I wash off my arm, I feel better, for now.
PLEASE R&R. Reviews make my day. Seriously.
And I accept concrit, but please try to be nice.
My self esteem is lowered easily.