I sat in the gas station, on the floor. I had long since lost track of time. I think I left home around midnight, and I've been here for at least two hours. So that makes it about 2 a.m...
'Oh well' I thought. I stomped out the butt of my eleventh cigarette since I arrived, and only stopped because there was only three more left and I would save them. I rubbed the back of my head with the arm that was not more then likely broken and let out a sigh. Why had I left the house? House...I can't even call it a home any more. I rushed a hand through my shaggy blonde hair and stared into the darkness in front of me. I slowly leaned my head and back again the wall, careful not to aggravate the large welts any further. 'Why can't I stand up to him...Why don't I fight back..' I silently asked myself. 'Because your afraid to, your afraid it will just worsen if you say anything so you remain the weakling you are and take the beating.' a voice inside my head berated me. I knew the voice was right, I was weak. I felt that way too. Who cowers when ever someone makes a sudden movement around you, who flinches when ever someone comes close to your face. Weaklings...me. I let out a loud sigh and rested my head in my palms. 'What's happening to me?' I thought bitterly. I'm Richie Foley, the smart kid. The brainiac. Gear. The weakling. Never thought I'd put those words into a full sentence. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to clear my mind. It would suffice for now. I picked my lighter up off the ground and lite it, then slowly moved my fingers through the flame. They didn't become hot or burned, but warm to the touch. Like how they should normally feel. I moved my fingers away from the lighter and placed them against my cheek. The felt warm, like the only warm thing in this damnable place. I placed the lighter back down on the ground and rubbed my sore right arm which was now covered in welts and hands marks. As I'm sure the rest of my body is. My face, back, head ...you name it. God how pathetic that is. I slammed my left fist against the hard floor and let out a low growl.
I hated what I had become. I used to be happy, or thought I was. Maybe I wasn't even close to that and now it's just finale. Who knows. I certainly don't. I was just sick of being so weak and not being able to stand up to him, so sick of staying on the ground coughing up blood. God, how I wanted to change that. To be able to handle everything. I grabbed the pocket knife that was on the desk and opened the blade, then moved on to repeatedly stab it through the bag I had brought with me. I didn't care about the things inside, I was just getting rid of the steam that was slowly rising. I began dragging the knife down through the material in quick slashes, and accidently got my finger.
"Damn it." I cursed under my breath and brought my finger to my mouth and began sucking on it. The blood had an overly coppery taste and I slightly grimaced at it and pulled my finger out then gave it a small shake. I examined my finger and found I got the tip pretty deep and let out a groan. Cuts there were the worst and took forever to finally heal. At least I could handle a small finger cut. Probably about the only thing I can handle before I curl up into a ball.
"You fucking low life Richie." I berated myself and slouched down in my position. But how much could I truly handle before I couldn't stand the pain any more? As much as I hated to admit it, that thought intrigued me. I wanted to know just exactly how weak I was. I picked the pocket knife back up and pulled out the blade. I knew this wasn't a smart idea but I didn't care. I had heard of people doing this before, heard of people doing it to relieve pain. And yes substituting physical pain for emotional pain was "wrong" but was using smaller amount of physical pain to make up for more physical pain right? Or does it even make sense is the true question. I slowly shook my head, abandoning the true thoughts and rolled up my left sleeve considering it was the one that was bruising. I stared at the flesh and turned it so the vein was looking at me. I just noticed that it had a slightly green tint to it. I thought it was blue. Oh well, what does the colour of a vein matter any way. I placed the small blade in the middle of my arm and dragged it across gently. I didn't even feel a thing. I lifted the blade up and looked down. I hadn't even broken the skin. I silently berated myself again and placed the blade in the same spot and pushed down fairly hard and could see blood coming from the tip and I hadn't even drug it across yet. I sinisterly smirked to myself and pushed down slightly harder and dragged it across. I dragged it across the whole width of my arm and looked down at the cut to see blood bubbling up. I again sinesterly smiled and put the blade down. The blood then began in a small trickle and rolled down my arm and I stared at it in amazement. I just made a own cut in my body, made myself bleed and didn't feel a damn thing. I wonder what would happen if I tried it out again? So again I tried. And after that I tried. I don't know how long I sat there just carving my arm, each time doing something different. . There were about eight long cuts. As I was looking at what I had done I felt it. I felt the pain. It was only in the first cut I had, that had now stopped bleeding. It was almost a burning sensation and I twitched my eye a little and tightened my muscles but didn't do anything else. I could handle this. I could.
A little time later
I sat outside school with Virgil on my right. We were sitting on the grass seeing as how we had about fifteen minutes before home period and decided not to jinx it by going inside then getting a report of a bang baby. I slightly marveled in the idea of just sitting outside in the morning, versus fighting someone...or something. Or Virgil for that matter. Normally when ever he sees me with bruises I get the third degree about me having to walk around with full body armor, but not since I decided to start covering the bruising up with something. It still gave the appearance my eye was swollen, but it wasn't that much. As for everything else, it's covered up in clothes. Virgil was rambling on about something while I thought about this early morning at the gas station. It was a nice feeling that I had then. It truly was, but the only thing I had was that I really shouldn't of done that. Just adding to the pain I receive on schedule isn't exactly smart. Then again I can cut myself open and not feel a thing until after and even then it's only a very small amount of pain. I can handle that. Just the slight burning sensation. And I can prove to myself I can handle pain and I'm not weak. I'm not weak.
"Earth to Richie!" Virgil practically shouted, waving a hand in front of my face.
"Wha" I asked coming back to my senses and looking at him.
"You've been staring at the same spot without blinking for some time I just though I should warn you." He said, his eyebrow raised.
"Oh..sorry." I said dismissivly. Virgil just gave me a questioning look and looked down at his watch.
"It's still ten minutes to English lit. I can't believe there's been no bang-baby attacks. As a matter of fact their haven't been attacks for a while." Virgil said as if coming across an idea. I just nodded.
"Yea." I agreed. Virgil yet out a yawn and stretched his arms and I watched him through the corner of my eye. I watched as Virgil's shirt rode up just enough to show a peak of his slightly defined abs. I got the sudden urge to just reach out and touch them. His stomach...his lips. I quickly, however, shook my head. Virgil was my best friend, nothing more. Why am I even having these thoughts anyway. I was slightly disgusted with myself now. I was having these kind of thoughts about my best friend. I know some people swing that way but I definite don't. Then why do I always have the urge to be near him. I violently shook my head again, only succeeding in increasing my headache. I let out a small groan and fell back against the grass.
"You okay?" Virgil asked from above me and I just nodded.
"Just tired. I'll get over it though." I said
"What time did you go to bed?" He asked and I shrugged.
"I didn't." I said, stifling a yawn. Virgil just raised his eyebrows and did a nodding motion that told of 'You dumbass, get some sleep'.
"I know, stupid of me." I said dismissivly. Virgil nodded and looked across that small pathway to where Daisy was. He didn't get up, just stared at her with a look of longing. I was now slightly appalled. 'Richie your acting like an asshole, stop thinking that way.' I berated myself. I silently waited for the other half of me to retort, but nothing came. I raised my eyebrows and then lowered them in a manner that held meaning. I didn't know it though. It was probably just another dismissive manner of body language.
My eye glanced over at the clock and I noticed it was only a minute or to until the first bell rang.
"V, we should probably go in now. Actually have time to go to our lockers." I said. Virgil looked down at me and nodded, then got up and walked into the school with me following. Not really following, that makes me sound like a dog on a leash, more like 'walking with'. Since the lockers were in alphabetical order we split up so I could go to mine, and he could go to his. My locker was number '80' and his was two hundred and something. I didn't even remember anymore.