Me: Yeah, I know that you all hate me for updating so late… but school is winding down, bringing exams with it. But, you will all be happy to know that I have made this chapter extra long so that way you won't kill me… It's about 6 pages long on word.
Danny Muse: Like it or I'll kill you! XD
Me: … you have got to be the most violent ghost in existence.
Danny Muse: Half ghost, and what about Vlad?
Me: Vlad isn't violent, he is just a fruitloop.
Danny Muse: Oh…
Me: Yeah… okay so my WONDERFUL readers… if you would just go ahead and press that little review button when you finish this chapter, then I promise to update faster next time okay?
Chapter 7
Danny's POV
My screams are muffled by the cool fabric of my pillow. Hot tears stream down my face as I sob. I have absolutely no recollection as to why I am currently sobbing into the white fabric that is my pillow… I was fine when I returned home from school… and then suddenly I simply fell apart. It was as if someone had given me the grave news that my entire family had died. The hopelessness and anger that I currently feel is a mirror image of those emotions.
The emotion I am currently feeling has been called by the name of depression throughout society, but I disagree. Society sees depression as merely sadness, and not for the true pain that it truly is; therefore what I am feeling cannot be depression- at least not by a social standpoint. The medical standpoint may be more accurate, but nobody except for doctors looks at things at a medical standpoint anymore. They merely judge you as different… and hate you for it. No, society refuses to accept the blatant truth that depression is far more than pure sadness. Depression is emptiness, anger, tears, and an extreme sense of self- loathing… although, because society is insistent upon naming this dastardly emotion as depression, which in their minds means little more than sadness, I have renamed it. This emotion is not depression, this emotion is HELL!
I doubt that many have felt the sting I have deemed to be known as hell, but for those unfortunate enough to have been infected… I apologize. I apologize for every tear that you have ever cried. Nobody deserves hell…
…except for me.
I am a failure to my family; never to live up to the wondrous expectations my sister has thrust before me. No matter how hard I try, there is always someone who gets hurt because of me… why am I such a failure?
The pillow's once cool fabric becomes so warm that it is suffocating from my cries into it. I sit up and throw the dastardly thing across the room. I hate that pillow, I hate my life, I hate everything, and I hate myself.
Good grief, I wish I was dead.
I run over to the pillow and kick it violently, stomp on it, and yell as loud as I can at the fluffy object. I don't know why I am beating and yelling at an inanimate object… I suppose it brings me some sort of comfort… but it's not enough. I bend over and start beating the pillow, attempting to tear the thing apart. I scream in frustration and try to rip it to shreds with my bare hands. I throw the thing again when it doesn't work and I stomp over to my bottom dresser drawer. I throw the clothes concealing my weapon across the room and grab my razorblade from it.
I run over to the pillow and pull back the blade, its silver edge glistening in the dull light radiating from my lamp. I thrust the blade forward, plunging it into the pillow. I pull back and repeat the process repetitively. Stuffing flies from the pillow similar to that of blood. I stab it again in my frustration and anger. Why is it that I have to feel like this all the time? Oh cruel thorn known as fate… why have you done this? Why have you shattered me… thrown my broken shards until they were impossible to glue back together? Now dear fate… what have you left me? You've left me with hell… oh and how I wish that I could end it all… so that this hell may fade into oblivion. I plunge the blade back into the pillow as I choked sob erupts from my throat, warm tears kiss my cheeks. I look down, the pillow has become so torn that there is nowhere left for me to cut it… but I still need to let this bottled up emotion out on SOMETHING…
I guess it's me.
I use my right index finger to wipe the remaining stuffing off my blade then rest the silver upon my left wrist sighing for a moment before I apply pressure. I let out a choked up laugh in the bittersweet relief that it brings. I pull the blade up from my wrist, staring for a moment at the sweet crimson that drips from it.
I smile.
I don't know how long it has been since I started my cutting rage today. It may have been 15 minutes, or even an hour. I set the blade upon my right leg, about to cut again… when a sudden wave of nausea flows through me. I resist the urge to vomit, and look down at my hand which holds my razor. Blood has drizzled down from my wrist and stained it crimson. It shakes violently from the excessive amount of blood loss, and I sigh. I know that it is time to stop… at least for now. I shakily make my way to my feet, and stumble over to my bed. Colors are swirling, mixing with each other until I can only vaguely see shapes. I shut my eyes in a vain attempt to stop the dizziness that I feel… before I give up and flop down on my bed. I lie there for a few minutes… or perhaps it is longer… I honestly have no idea. I finally sit up and my vision has cleared up for the most part… but I still feel ridiculously dizzy. I stand up and carefully put my razor back into my dresser drawer and cover it with the clothes I had thrown out in my rage. I throw the torn up pillow in the garbage and pull my first aid kit and towel out from under my bed.
I open up the plastic first aid kit and fish through it until I find the once thick, now thin roll of white gauze. I pull about 3 feet off the roll, then use the small scissors in the kit to cut it off. I lean over my left arm, and begin to expertly wrap it. As I wrap my forearm, I count the wounds which I inflicted.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7…
Seven cuts.
I sigh as I tie the gauze tightly, the guilt of the deed already setting in… although I have not yet observed all the damage. I cut another piece of gauze and begin to wrap my right arm.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5…
Five cuts.
I hold my breath as I count the fresh cuts on my left leg, as I wrap it with gauze.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10…
Ten…ten cuts.
As I wrap my right leg, I am almost fearful to assess the damage… I count slowly…
1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7…8…
Eight cuts.
Thirty… thirty cuts total…
Warm tears run down my face. I am a failure. I have failed my family and friends by doing this. Why am I such a horrible person? I wish that I was never born. My life is a worthless piece of… NOTHING. My life is so freaking worthless that it doesn't deserve the respect of being called anything else.
And that is the ultimate hell.
I glare at my bottom dresser drawer in anger I really wish that I didn't have to go through the pain that I do. A fresh set of tears cloud my vision. I hate cutting, yet I love it. It is my only release…
I have come to a conclusion long ago about this matter. This conclusion has three parts. 1.) I am worthless, my body is worthless- therefore it shouldn't matter if I ruin it any further than it already is. 2.) I am a terrible person… so I deserve this pain. 3.) I am in too deep. Cutting is the only thing which grounds me to this life. Without it…
…without it I would die.
Overall, my reasoning is this… if my life is to be damned to my own personal hell… is it not in my right to grasp the few joys that remain of my shattered life? This bloody pleasure… it is all that I have left that can make me smile… if only for a moment. Is it wrong that I should take advantage of it?
I shake my head… who am I kidding? I know that this is wrong… but sometimes it's just easier to pretend. If my family ever knew about this… man it would tear them to pieces. I sigh, I deserve to die.
"Oh, but it's true," I laugh and sob simultaneously, "I should just tell them of my inner demons, I should tell them of how I cry at night… I should tell them of how I want nothing more than the bittersweet taste of death to bless my lips. And yet- I can't." I pause, gasping through my onslaught of tears.
"I can't tell them of my demons… I can't tell them of my cries. I can't tell them of my desire for death. Why? Why? Because I am ashamed…" I take a deep shuddering breath, "…Ashamed of the fact that I CAN'T DO THIS ALONE!" I pound my fist on the side of my bed as I sob.
"I just need to suck it up… I can handle this… I fight ghosts for heaven's sake… I can… I-I can't. Who am I kidding?" I laugh dryly at fate's cruel hand, "I hate everything… I wish that I was free… but I should really stop whining, nobody cares enough to hear anyways."
I shake my head and grab an extra blanket from the end of my bed. I bunch it up and use it as a replacement for my demolished pillow. I curl up and snuggle into the makeshift pillow. Life sucks.
Jazz's POV
Oh my gosh, sometimes I just want to throttle the living heck out of my teachers. What is with them? Two book reports, 50 math problems, and a history test review, all due tomorrow. I swear that they all group together and choose a day to attack the student body with an impossible amount of homework. Ah… the joys of being a junior in high school. I shake my head and laugh at myself as I walk up the steps to my house. Despite the large quantity of homework I have to do tonight, I had a brilliant day. My friend Katie had me laughing until I cried, and then Katie, Rosie, Jayne, and I stayed after school to work on some of our homework- although we joked around more than we actually did any work. All in all, today was a pretty good day… and to top it all off Mom and Dad are at a ghost convention and won't be back until tomorrow… so the house will be nice and quiet.
I fumble with my keys and open the front door. I sigh in the relief of finally being home, and flop on the couch. I pull out my math book and begin to work on those oh so wonderful 50 math problems, which are oh so conveniently due tomorrow. I sigh again and begin to write down the first problem, when I hear a sound from upstairs. I drop my pencil in surprise, before remembering that Danny is home and the silly klutz probably dropped something. I lean back over my paper after picking up my yellow no. 2 pencil and am about to continue the problem, until I hear another bang and I am curious. I set my paper and pencil down and walk upstairs. I am about to call out his name, when I hear a quiet murmur from his room. I shut my opened mouth and silently walk up to his door. I carefully press my ear against his faded blue door. His words come to me muffled through the door- yet they are clear enough for me to make out.
"-I should just tell them of my inner demons, I should tell them of how I cry at night… I should tell them of how I want nothing more than the bittersweet taste of death to bless my lips. And yet- I can't." I hear his voice through the door and I am shocked. It's worse than I thought… is my baby brother truly dealing with such a pain? Tears form in my teal eyes, but I push them back. I need to hear it all… or at least what I can.
"I can't tell them of my demons… I can't tell them of my cries. I can't tell them of my desire for death. Why? Why? Because I am ashamed…"
"What are you ashamed of Danny?" I ask myself, and Danny unbeknownst to himself responds.
"…Ashamed of the fact that I CAN'T DO THIS ALONE!" My brother screams and I hear a dull thud, possibly from him hitting or throwing something. I stumble back in surprise. He wasn't ashamed over feeling the way that he did… he was ashamed that he needed help. The tears that I had been holding back cascade down my cheeks. My makeup becomes a sloppy mess but I could care less.
My brother needs me.
I make a step to go an open the door, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, but I stop after a moment. He would be angry at me for listening to his monologue… I can't let him know that I've heard him… at least for the time being. I press my ear upon his door again, to see if he has anything more to say. His words are nearly whispered, and I have to strain my hearing to even barely catch them.
"I just need to suck it up… I can handle this… I fight ghosts for heaven's sake… I can… I-I can't. Who am I kidding?" A small shiver runs down my spine when Danny gives a dry laugh, full of pure pain and emptiness, "I hate everything… I wish that I was free… but I should really stop whining, nobody cares enough to hear anyways." I am stunned into silence. Did he really just say that? Does he honestly think that we're not listening? I shake my head. Danny cannot keep going on like this… at this rate he is going to do something stupid… and I absolutely refuse to let harm befall my brother if I can prevent it.
With tears swimming in my eyes, I listen to see if he has anything left to add to his tragic speech, but all that I hear is soft rhythmic breathing coming from his room, signaling that he had fallen asleep.
I slowly open the door, checking to make sure that he is honestly asleep, before wiping my eyes and running across his bedroom and wrapping him into a gentle hug. I whisper softly into his ear, being careful not to wake him.
"I will save you Danny… I promise. I am listening, and I will always be there for you Danny, always." I whisper, and Danny snuggles deeper into the blanket that he is using as a makeshift pillow. I wonder vaguely what happened to his original pillow, but find that I really don't care. My baby brother is safe… at least for now. I lean forward and kiss his forehead; it is still warm from his frustration and anger. I stand up and run my hand through his onyx hair, before I walk into the hall.
I turn to the right and walk to the end of the hallway, open my door, and enter my room. I lock the door behind me, and sit cross legged on my bed. I sigh and pull my phone from my pocket. I press 2 and let speed-dial do the rest.
"Hello?" The phone asks.
"Hey Sam, its Jazz…I'm calling about Danny…"
