Inspired by "The Red" by Chevelle
"Loser!"
"Weirdo!"
"You're crazy!"
I clench my teeth and ignore the insults but a shiver runs over me and I start to feel warm. My sight gets blurry and my muscles tense up as I try not to lose it. It's hard to contain the rage as they insult me, to keep the fury down while they ridicule me for trying to be their hero. But I'm not a hero; all I am is a weak boy. The tingles fade away and I walk down the hall blocking it all out, until I hear that one name. The one that always drives me over the edge.
"Freak." I stop. I let my books fall to the ground and I turn to face to person who said it. I already know who it was though, the same person who torments me constantly ever since I told him the truth.
"What?" I say in a deadly whisper. "What the fuck did you call me?"
He walks closer to me and shoves one of those pointed claws into my chest. A triumphant sneer lights up his chartreuse face and he snickers. He looks straight into my golden eyes with his fake violet ones.
"I called you a freak." He saysit so quietly that no one else hears.
My sight turns red again. I clench my fists and breathe through clamped teeth. I don't know if I can move. The anger has taken over my body and right now I have two desires that are so strong I don't know if I can act on either of them. I want so badly just to hit him, to hurt me as much as he has hurt me. Yet I also want to pull him right to me, to crush him against me and give him no escape, no other option but to accept me.
I shove him away from me and run. I can't see where I'm going because everything is scarlet. My heart is pounding and I can't think straight. I need it. I need it now. I think through the haze. I yank the door open to the first bathroom I see and scramble across the linoleum to the last stall. I sit down on the seat and pull out the small box from my pocket. I need it. I think. No I don't… I do… I do need it. I always cave, and this time is no different.
I shrug out of my trench coat and throw it on the floor. I open the small purple box and look at the small shiny blades that are lined up so neatly. I pick out the most attractive one. The one that is clean and brand new. I look at my forearm and choose a spot that is pale and unmarred. Slashing down on it I don't cry out. My breathing actually calms just a bit. Crimson spills out of the open wound and tears overflow when I see it. Not because I am ashamed of what I'm doing, but because it's the color of his eyes. My blood is the exact same color as his eyes, his real ones.
I cut again and again. Each time the blade goes deeper. I don't feel angry anymore, I don't feel anything but the sharp metal slicing through my skin. I'm not going to lie and say it didn't hurt. It does. It hurts a lot, but not as much as his rejection, the disgust he had when I told him that I loved him... That I had fallen for my arch rival.
"Stop!" I shout and pin him to the ground. He squirms viciously but I just keep him there by his wrists. My face flushes as I realize I'm straddling him. I don't dare move though because if I do I won't get another chance.
"I said stop!" I yell again.
He glares up at me with real eyes and my heart flutters.
"What do you want hyyyyuman?" He growls and I can hear the Irken accent slip into his voice that he tries to hide so hard. I love it though, in truth I treasure the few times I've heard him speak Irken. I'm not even going to tell him, I'll just show him.
I lean down slowly and press my lips to his softly. He's soft, softer than I imagined. And he tastes like sweetness. He doesn't move for a moment and I savor the moment that I've been fantasizing about forever.
Then he let out an inhuman shriek and he broke away from my grasp that had loosed during the kiss.
"YOUBURNED ME!" He yelled, clearly scared and furious. "YOU BURNED ME WITH YOUR MOUTH!"
"Wait…" I whisper. I reach out a hand to him and he slaps it away. Hard.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!" I swallow and sit back on my heels.
"But I love you…" I say it quietly. "I love you."
His small green jaw drops and he lets out a little breathy gasp. He shakes his head like he doesn't believe it. Then he composes himself.
"GET AWAY FROM ME. IRKENS DO NOT FEEL. I HATE YOUAND CARE NOTHING FOR YOUR LOVE!" My heart broke. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! FREAK!"
I left without another word and went home. That was the first time that I did it.
I'm getting light headed and I can't see very well because my eyes are still watering. The floor completely soaked with that beautiful shade of red. The shade of red that is my favorite. I put the blade in my other hand and feebly begin cutting the other arm because I've ran out of space on my right one. It's hard because I'm left handed and because I'm injured. But I press forward and cut so deeply that I actually do cry out.
I drop the metal and take deep breaths. I'm not getting enough air and what I am getting feels stale. I can't see, my vision isn't red anymore, it's going black. I fall against the wall, and I slide off the porcelain seat. I know that I over did it this time, I always knew I would over-do it sometime. I wonder if I should have written a note but I know it doesn't matter. No one will miss me.
I look at the floor as I feel my will to live fade more. All I can see is my blood. The red, it filters through. I imagine that it's his eyes. That he's looking at me and he can see what he's done.
"Zim…"
