Disclaimer: Nothing's mine. :) It's all Marvel's. Except the story idea. And since Marvel gave up on GenX, I would gladly receive the rights to them. I mean, Marvel's not gonna do anything.
Notes: No real changes to this fic except that it's now in html format instead of text. And I'd also like to note that this is now part of a series called Normal Again. I will be putting up other Normal Again short stories soon.
I did, however, want to change some of the notes. This fanfic deals with self-mutilation. It's a serious problem. If you can't handle it, you shouldn't read this fic. This story was done out of complete respect for everyone dealing with cutting.
I would
also like to comment on a reply I've gotten, pointing out something I wrote
about Jono's parents. I know it's not their faults. The rest of the series
might show the frame of mind he's in. Hopefully. I hope that can clear up some
of his rationalizations.
He couldn't remember hurting more. And it had nothing to do with the fresh,
angry cuts displayed on his left forearm. He was supposed to be fine, so why
was there something wrong with him?
Well,
okay, admittedly, he had a good idea. He was fairly sure his manic depression
didn't help any. But still . . .
Life was looking up for him. Couldn't he enjoy it?
How good
was life if he had to trade one handicap in for another one. He couldn't help
but feel gypped by the deal.
"Goddamn
chemicals."
That's
what it all came down to. A chemical imbalance.
Kind of.
His
cutting had something to do with that and something to do with the way his
parents had been treating him for God knew how long. One of the psychiatrists
he used to see had told him that.
That just
pissed him off. Who were his parents to ruin his life when they weren't even in
it any longer?!
"Ass
holes."
Yeah.
That's right, Jono, you tell the world.
He huffed
a bit and slouched further into his beanbag chair. On dreary days like this,
his basement room felt deeper than it was. Like it was some kind of tomb or
cave or something. He knew it wasn't any more humid there than it was anywhere
else on campus. But for some reason it felt like it was.
"Dank."
Just
great. He was talking to himself. Again.
Well,
whom else was he going to talk to? Everyone expected him to be happy. Why
wouldn't he be happy? That's how a normal person would feel. But not Jono. Jono
wasn't normal.
He
brought his cigarette up to his mouth and took a long, lingering drag. He
watched as he slowly let small tufts of smoke escape his mouth.
Mmmm . .
. he was so relaxed now. What a freak. A little blood and nicotine and the kid
was alright.
That
wasn't normal.
He knew
it.
He didn't
care.
Jono
choked a bit, and he pounded on his chest. He didn't know why he'd done it.
Wasn't like that was going to help him. He couldn't cough up the smoke that had
been pestering his lungs. Well, he could. But . . .
"Oh
bloody 'ell. Shut up."
He hated
thinking now. When he thought, he thought stupid things. Unless they were
disturbing or uncomfortable thoughts. They were almost the same thing to him
now, though.
He spied
the small amount of skin on his chest that was exposed. He raised an eyebrow to
it and licked his lips. He lowered his cigarette down. The whole thing felt
like it was being done on an impulse, but he did it too slowly for it to be
blamed on something like that.
The cigarette
touched his skin for no more than a second before he jumped to his feet. His
handsome face was marred by an angry, pained scowl.
What had
he done that for?!
It was
like he had been making sure he was whole. Like all the other times he had
mutilated himself because he "thought it was a dream." Yeah, Jono,
keep telling yourself that.
With a
snarl, his lanky legs carried him across his room where he aggressively rubbed
the cigarette out of commission. He let out a big breath and then kicked one of
his speakers for good measure.
"Fuck
me." He frowned and brought up his right hand and gently rubbed the small
burn on his chest.
So this
is what he got? A mouth. A chest. Manic depression. The ability to bleed again.
Yeah.
That was exactly what he needed.
Be
careful what you wish for . . .
Yeah. No
shit.
For
several years, he had wished for nothing but his mouth and chest. And then when
he got what he had been wishing for, he was able to function like a normal
human being, producing hormones and chemicals and blood. But it came with a
price. His manic depression came back. And with a vengeance. It was worse than
he ever remembered.
And then
the cutting . . .
Ugh!
Jono
stood in front of his television, his back to it and his head slouched.
"Fuck me."
