Vic Fuentes POV
I just sat there, feeling empty. Nothing would come out. I tried and tried but I still felt the feeling of nothing. I needed to feel something again. The feeling of the sharp edge plunging into my soft flesh revived me from dying. It kept me living. It made me feel. That was what I was looking for. My retreat. But I can't. I promised him that I wouldn't let the razor take hold of me again. He told me I was much stronger than that. That I was so much better than a blade. A dull, metal blade. But this is where it contradicts itself. That razor sparkles in that light, giving it a rainbow shine. The blade isn't just metal, it is a part of me. I need it. I need my blade. I can't be strong and brave anymore. I need it. I got up off my bed and race into the bathroom. I pulled the cabinet open and search for my weapon of destruction. Nothing. They were all gone. I ran back into my room and search the whole room. Not under my pillow, not in my cabinet, nowhere. I was starting to shake from withdrawal. God damn it where is it?! I continued to search frantically for them. Nothing. I just stood there, denying that Mike took them all. I need them. I can't survive without them. That is when I gave up and fell to the floor sobbing. I can't do this. I need help. Soon, I heard the door burst open and the person's breathe got caught in their throat. I honestly didn't care anymore. Soon the figure walks further into the room and bent down to my level. I was still curled up into a ball. I turned and look towards the person and saw it was Mike. I just went back into my ball and cried even harder. Now he will think I am a failure. Like I said before, I don't care anymore.
"I c-can't do t-this Mike. I nee-ee-d to c-cut. Please let me do it. I need to fe-e-l again. " I sobbed harder into the carpet. He remained silent and then I soon felt him picking me up and let me sob into his shoulder. Mike knew that I was addicted I couldn't hide it anymore. He didn't think it was that bad but for once, I knew he was wrong. I cried even harder now, knowing that one of these day that he will tell mom and dad and be put into a mental hospital in a blink of an eye. Mike then started to make those soothing noise and rubbing my back to make an attempt to comfort me and for once, he was somewhat successful. Soon I regained my composure but my wrist still itched for that familiar sensation. I climbed out of his lap and looked at him. His brown eyes were filled with worry, sympathy, and concern. I have never seen these emotions in his eyes. I feel guilty now. I got him involved. I knew I should of never gotten him in this mess.
"Mikey, I am sorry, i-its just hard the first couple weeks, y'know? Don't worry about me Mikes. I am fine." I tried to say as serious as I possibly could. The crowners of his mouth twisted into a frown and that's when his arms sprung around me, engulfing me into another one of his famous bear hugs. I was in shock for a moment. He knew better not to give me a hug. From what is going on, he knew better. I awkwardly put my arms around him and patted his back. He soon released me and just looked at me again. He still hasn't said anything yet which made my more nervous. I knida just nodded my head down and stared at the carpet.
"Vic, this is the fourth time in 7 days. I think you need help; or at least talk to mom and dad about it. I can't lose you Vic. You're my older brother and you're my best friend. I love you dude but you need help." His tone was something I have never heard before. It was soft and quiet and that was the push. I know I need help. I know I do. It's just I don't want to stop. It makes me feel alive and… and I'm addicted to it. I can't lie to myself. It is a part of my daily life and each day the cuts grow more deep, more long, more painful but yet it feels soo good. I love the feeling of the blade tickle my wrist before I cut and after it, the blood pours old and it looks beautiful run down my tan wrists. It is keeping me alive in a way. I sighed and looked back to Mike. If I agree that I need help, I might as well tell him that what happened yesterday. He is going to kill me b-but you know if I am going to get help, I will have to tell him. Here goes nothing I guess.
"You're right. I need help, Mikes. I can't go a day without cutting. Since we are getting on the topic of help-" I started to roll up my shorts and my hoodie sleeves. "I got a hold of the scissors from your room and-and I'm sorry but I had to." He then saw the long, fresh scars on my thighs and wrists. There was hardly any flesh left for me to cut on my thighs now and my wrists were just a fresh wound that needed to be fixed. It was painful at first when I started to cut my thighs. It hurt to walk anywhere and would continuously bleed but after a while, they just adapted to the pain. They almost felt numb now. My wrists are a whole different story. I started in 7th grade and when I pulled the razor out and slice my wrist, a feeling of relief filled my whole body and I felt so much better. Happy, even but the next few days I was okay until my body wanted more…and more…and more. I gave in and cut at least 10 times on my wrists at night. Soon that feeling was fading and I needed something stronger. I got another razor and cut my thighs and it was a whole new thrill for me. I felt the thing I needed to feel again. Soon, it got out of control. I remember being in the bathroom and was trying to see through my tears. It was such a bad week and I needed something. I got into the bathroom and the blade dug so deep, I passed out in my own blood. I, being the idiot I am, forgotten to lock the door and Mike found me. He freaked out and it made me come back into consciousness again. I will never forget the look on his face. Denial, anger and sadness filled him and all I did was nothing. I was limp, numb, I didn't even think. He just took me back to my room and fixed up the cuts. That was a week ago. Now it is been 7 days and I already failed his promise. I got out of my daze and looked to Mike and I nearly cried. My baby brother was crying. I caused him to cry. I have never seen him cry before in my 17 years of life. I am the worse person ever to make their little brother cry.
"Mike, don't cry. Please don't cry. If you really want me, I will get help. I promise you." Now it is my turn to comfort him. For once, I regret cutting. If it tore Mike up this much, I know I need to stop. Mike soon stood up and grabbed my hand and lifted me off the floor. I was confuse to where we were going but had an idea in the back of my mind. While Mike grasped my wrist, I rapidly pulled down my sleeves and pant legs. We managed to get down the stairs and into the family room. That was when I knew he was going to tell my mom and dad. There was my mom and dad sitting in there recliners watching some Spanish show. Tears were already forming in my eyes and I knew I couldn't hide it any longer .
"Madre y Padre, necesitamos a hablar."(Mom and dad, we need to talk) Mike said. My parents don't understand English so Spanish is the only way to communicate. I was starting to shake and Mike hasn't let go of my wrist yet. To be honest, his grasp was too tight and my wrist ache. My parents looked up and my dad turned the TV off and sat up.
"Si, ¿qué es?" (Yes, what is it). My dad said. At this point, I felt the hot tears run down my face and could tell that some of my cuts were starting to re-bleed. Mike turned to me and noticed my fear. He gave me a concerned look and I nodded my head. A small smile raised from his lips.
"Victor necesita ayuda." My mom and dad cocked their head to the side. Mike then turned around and nodded his head. I then slowly pushed up my left sleeve and a gasp came from both of my parents. I then moved onto my right sleeve and a worse reaction came out. I then slowly lift the my pants sleeves up my pant sleeves to reveal more cuts. U then heard the muffle sounds of crying and instantly looked down at the carpet. I can't see my mother cried.
"Victor, ¿Por qué? ¿Qué ha pasado? ¿Por qué has hecho esto?" My mother said through sobs and flowing tears. I couldn't help burst into tears. Mike instantly gave me a hug and as a reflex I flinched. After a few seconds, I relaxed and cried yet again and my sobs mixed into my mother's sounds. I soon stopped crying and turned to face my dad. Tears were streaming down his face. I then took a deep breath and faced my day.
"Padre, Necesito ayuda. No puedo hacer esto por mi cuenta más. Mike ha tratado de ayudar, pero no puedo hacerlo. Necesito ayuda medicial. Yo no quiero que te molesta más. Te amo chicos. Así que estoy pidiendo ayuda" (I need help. I can't do this on my own anymore. Mike has tried to help but I can't do it. I need medical help. I don't want to make you upset anymore. I love you guys. So i am asking for help ). My voice breaking here and there while telling them. My father nodded and nose sniffed. Mike walked over to comfort my mother. I just kinda stood there, disappointed at myself until I heard my mother walk towards me.
"Oh Victor, debe de nosotros dicho antes. Podríamos ustedes ayudado. Ya sabemos que te vas a llevar. Es un lugar especial para las personas que sufren de corte. Estarás mejor al poco tiempo." (You should of told us sooner. We could of helped you. We already know where you will be going. It is a special place for people who suffer from cutting. You'll be better soon) I sadly nodded my head and I do hope I will get
better soon. I then left the room where my brother and parents cried while I went upstairs to prepare for what may seem the worse two months of my life.