Well this is what happens when I stay home from school sick, you get the next chapter of a story early! Yay! I'm not thrilled that I'm sick I just get excited over updating stories. But here ya go chapter 3. Warning: Some people may find this a little graphic. And I'm sure everyone knows already but I don't own South Park or any of the characters.
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I was going to do it. It would only hurt for a minute and then everything would be better. I have tried before but Kyle caught me and made me stop. This time no one could stop me from feeling better, I was going to do it and no one was getting in my way. Where the metal touched my skin felt like it was charged with electricity and that wasn't necessarily a bad feeling. I leaned my head back and looked away trying to muster up the courage to actually do it. I knew people who had done it and they felt better afterwards. But why? Why did I have to resort to something like this to feel better? I couldn't do it after all. I had tried and failed again. But I needed to feel better I needed a way out and this could be my escape.
I looked back down at the knife in my hand and pressed it into my flesh drawing a few drops of blood, but I didn't feel anything. That little bit wasn't good enough, I needed to feel something. I picked up the knife and moved it about half an inch up my arm. I pressed the knife against my flesh but paused and didn't break the skin. What was I doing? I could seriously hurt myself, but the hope that I might feel was tantalizingly close and I needed to hold on to that hope any way that I could, this was the only way I could think of I had no more options.
I took a deep breath preparing myself for another slice that, hopefully, would make me feel something. I tightened my grip on the knife, the muscles in my arm tensing. As I began pressing he knife into my skin once again a loud ringing unexpectedly filled my room and my hand slipped, cutting deeper than I thought I could. I was overcome with pain and closed my eyes but then a wave of pleasure crashed over me and I smiled opening my eyes again and looking at my phone. Guess who had texted me. Now this is what my English teacher would call ironic. The one person who would care enough to make me stop in the first place was now the one who had caused the damage that was giving me oh so much pleasure.
It may seem twisted, and I guess it is, but wouldn't you do anything you could to feel better? It wasn't that bad as a last resort, at least I was still alive. I cupped my hand over the wound which was bleeding profusely. The blood seeped through my fingers and began dripping down my arms. It may feel good but this was going to make a huge mess. I opened my door as quietly as I could, leaving behind a few drops of blood on the doorknob. No sign of my parents meant it was safe leave my bedroom, they must have been sleeping still.
I closed and locked the bathroom door behind me and turned the knob next to the sink starting the flow of cold water. Putting my arm under the water I held my breath waiting for the initial sting to subside. When I had washed all of the blood down the drain I wrapped a bandage around my arm and went back to my room whipping the blood off the doorknob and knife with a tissue. I hid the knife under my pillow; there it would serve two purposes. If I needed a little pick-me-up and couldn't go the kitchen without unwanted attention, or if my dad figured out how to pick my lock or kick the door in I would now have some form of defense.
By this point I had completely forgotten about Kyle's text that had caused so much blood. I put my parka on to hide the bandages and went to the kitchen in the hopes that we might have some sort of snack that would keep me from starving until I got my next free school lunch. Looking into the fridge I was pleasantly surprised to find some peanut butter that hadn't expired yet and I grabbed it and made myself a sandwich with the last two pieces of stale bread in the house. I put the peanut butter back where I found it and turned around to find my sandwich in the hands of my one and only father. He glared at me as if challenging me to say something. Strangely enough I was tempted to argue with him, it would be a suicide mission, but hey, what did I care? I made the sandwich so it was mine and I was sick and tired of him stealing food from his own son whose welfare he should have been putting before his own.
When I didn't immediately say anything he smirked smugly and turned to walk off to some other part of the house. "That's my sandwich." I growled and those three words made him stop dead in his tracks and stiffen, I had hit a nerve, not like that was hard to do. He turned back towards me and I stared him in the eyes wondering where I had gotten this new found confidence that would end up killing me.
"What did you say to me?" he asked dumbly as if he hadn't quite understood or heard what I said.
I took a step forward and ripped the sandwich from his stunned hands biting off a corner and with a full mouth repeated myself, "This is my sandwich."
He didn't do anything right away and I thought maybe his reflexes weren't as good from the hangover that he was almost definitely suffering from. I took another bite and began walking around him but as he got his senses over the shock he grabbed me by the throat and pushed me back in front of him. I didn't even cringe as I would have in the past, not in the least affected by the physical contact. He pressed his hand into my jugular cutting off my air supply and angrily said, "I don't give a damn what you think is yours. Give me the sandwich if you want to breathe again."
What a loving father right? I had held my breath for long periods of time when swimming but that was different. I didn't want to give in to him but either way he was going to get that damn sandwich, either I would give in and hand it to him or he would kill me and pry it from my dead hands. I could feel my face turning blue and my vision blurred but I didn't let go. You may think that a simple sandwich isn't worth this much but it's not even about the sandwich anymore. At this point I just wanted to prove that my dad was losing control of me, he wouldn't be able to boss me around so easily. I was growing up and realizing that pretty soon I would be able to fight him fairly and quite possibly win and I needed to let him know that.
As my chest tightened in pain I reached my empty hand up to grasp his wrist in the hopes that maybe he would unclench his hand slightly but as bright lights began to flash in front of my eyes I knew he wasn't letting go until he had the god damn sandwich. I unwillingly placed the sandwich in his hand, his other hand remaining at my neck for a few more seconds. When he finally let go I breathed in deeply and glared at him allowing pure hatred to wash over my features.
"Get the hell out of my sight." He ordered eating more of my sandwich. I lingered for a moment before giving in and heading back to my room. There would definitely be more bruises for me to cover up with my hood. At least I got a few bites to eat, a rare occurrence around here. Don't be surprised by the confrontation with my dad, he does stuff like that all the time, I just don't usually challenge his authority like that. At my house it's every man for himself. Kevin was lucky to be out and never have to deal with this again. I was happy for Kevin, he wouldn't be subjected to our father's violence anymore, but he left me alone in the house and now I was the only person for our parents to point their rage at. He did stop by every once and while to take me out to dinner with him, he had a job and apartment and was doing way better on his own then he ever did when he was living with our parents. At least back then we had each other for support.
My relationship with my brother had always been strong but I could feel it fading as he tried to distance himself from his past, I was part of his past so I figured I would be pushed aside soon enough. I layed in bed gingerly rubbing my sore neck wondering why Kevin couldn't take me with him, I don't take up that much space and he wouldn't have to take care of me, I could take care of myself. I just never wanted to come home to this place again. I reached my hand under the pillow and felt that the knife was still there. Good, after my little battle with my father he might decide to reestablish his dominance in the middle of the night and I was fully prepared to fight back.
You want to know what's ironic? For a while I had thought about killing myself. I never actually tried but it was always a thought in the back of my mind. I would always think of how easily I could end it all by doing this or not doing that but I never actually did it. Sometimes I would tell myself that the next time the opportunity arised I would do it but earlier when my life had been threatened by my own father I couldn't let myself die. Isn't it funny how people will talk about doing something so much but when it comes down to it they just can't? Well I couldn't, I guess that just proved that I wasn't supposed to die, not yet anyway.
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Sorry that it wasn't very long, I thought we needed a glimpse of Kenny's home life and there wasn't much else I wanted to write about it, not at this moment anyway. Poor lil Kenny, I'm making things horrible for him. But I have big plans for this story so he must suffer for now. I hope you liked it and that jazz. Review or IM if you'd like, let me know what you thought blah blah blah. I'll be going now, I'll probably be starting chapter 4 later on tonight, I did tell you that I disapear for long.