A/N: We're nearing the end of the story, I'm sorry. But there is still loads more to come! Oh, I'm sorry I took so long to update, I had the chapter written for nearly a month, I just never uploaded it.

Chapter Six

"I've been looking all over for you Zack!" Maddie sobbed.

Fuck it; I cannot take this right now.

"You were right Zack; Jake is a lying, cheating asshole, not worthy of my time!" She tried to hug me.

"So why are you crying?"

"Oh, I'm not even sure," she gasped through sobs. "Oh Zack!"

I pushed her back suddenly, despite how good it felt to hold her. "Look, I'm a rebound to you, I'm not going to put myself into a situation where I'm gonna get hurt yet again, it's not worth it."

"Wait! Zack! I want you, not Jake!"

I snorted. "Right. Because you're crying of happiness that Jake broke up with you."

"Well, no… but I realize now that—hey, when did you get so tall? Taller than me?"

"Almost a year ago," I answered gruffly, resentful that she didn't notice such an obvious thing as height.

"And when did your voice get so deep?" She giggled a bit.

"It's called growing up. I'm not thirteen anymore." I said impatiently.

She looked me up and down and ran a hand down my chest suggestively. "No, you most certainly are not."

I shrugged her off. "Let go of me."

She snatched at my wrist as a last ditch effort to making me stay. "Stop it," I told her. "You're hurting the cuts on my wrists."

"What..?" She asked questioningly.

I, once again, rolled up my sleeves angrily answering. "These cuts. But, don't worry, it's okay that you didn't notice this, unlike something as obvious as my height. No one noticed about my cuts until a couple days ago. Now fuck off Maddie."

I lumbered out the door, ignoring Maddie's shouts. "Zack, I didn't know! I'm sorry!"

I'm sure you are, I thought.

But finally letting go the love of my life, is something I'm pretty sure that I'm NOT sorry about. No matter how much it hurt.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

I think Cody and mom made a mistake. They left me in the suite. Alone. With plenty of knives and extacy. True, they didn't know about the drugs (underneath a bunch of socks in my dresser drawer) but they should have known better.

They should have known that constricting me would want me to make me rebel. In fact, I need my blade right now. I quickly located it's hiding spot and set straight to work, pressing firmly on my skin and drawing a solid red line across my wrist, as though with a marker. Ahh, that's better.

Fuck it! They guard me like some little child that's done something wrong. They cringe when I mention the cuts. Just with the thought, I sliced my wrist again. To spite them. Maybe I'll let the blood stay on the ground, I won't clean it up so they can be disgusted by it tomorrow morning when they're happily eating their breakfast and spot the horrible puddle on the nicely cleaned floor.

And you know what? I thought to Cody and mom, and even Moseby. I don't need help. Not from you. Not if your idea of help is smothering me with love and care as if I'm an overemotional abused child that will break if dropped.

Fuck, I thought. I DO need help. I really do. But I won't admit it to them, and I really should clear my head. I turned on Taking Back Sunday on my Ipod, and put it on "Cute without the E" on repeat. That way, when they found me, they'd know. They'd know what went on in my head. I turned the volume up all the way.

But I still couldn't block it out; I still knew that I was in too deep. I was destroying my life. Suddenly, I was beyond pissed off at myself. Why was I destroying myself? Why am I messing up the rest of my life? With the thought, I got a hold of my razor again, and angrily started butchering my wrists, as if punishing myself.

You like that? I thought to myself. You like the feeling of pain? I thought so, you're so pathetic, you can't stand the sight of your own reflection in the mirror, you're scared of your future, hell, you HAVE no future.

And suddenly I was crying. Not tears rolling down my face, but full out crying, can't think straight bawling. Where the fuck did mom put that bottle of Prozac? Hell, I needed it, I need to be happy for once. I started up towards the medicine cabinet, throwing out all the bottles that weren't the right one, still in a frenzy. I knew that my cuts were still bleeding, so I left a fair amount of blood… mostly everywhere. I finally stopped crying enough to remember that it was probably still in mom's purse, and sure enough, it was.

I opened the bottle, and thought, Mom thinks I need these pills, does she? So I wonder what she would say if I took all of them, or at least half. I could be cured. I shakily poured a glass of water, and swallowed as many as possible.

And then I sat. For ten minutes, and nothing happened. I was still wallowing in my FUCKING self pity, I was still scared of the future, how I have no hope of being successful. And I'm a FUCKING FAILURE. failure. failure.

What is wrong with me? I take about twenty pills and I'm STILL not happy. In fact, my hatred of my own reflection built up. How could I let myself go like this?

How the hell can I just fail all my classes? How can I just blow off Maddie, the love or my life like that one of the only times she needed me? Why couldn't I just help her again, even though I knew that my heart would be shattered in a million pieces again? Why don't I feel like it's alright to cry in front of anyone, why do I put on a brave front in public? WHY DID DAD HAVE TO DIE? Why did mom send me to a shrink? WHY AM I SUCH A FUCKING FAILURE? Why did I start cutting? Why did I take extacy?

Well, I knew the answer to the last one. To make me happy. And these fucking Prozac pills don't really work, do they? I was riled- how could they think that a little pill could take all my pain away forever? I flung the bottle of pills against the room, and it hit the wall, white pills shattering everywhere.

Good, I thought. They'll have to clean it up. I'll just watch them and laugh. Because I can't seem to do anything right anymore, I'm always messing something up.

Tears started forming in my eyes but I blinked them back. No, I thought to myself. I cried once tonight, that's more than enough. Instead, I grabbed my razor yet again, and carved my feelings into my flesh in the form of just one word. It felt good, to look at the crimson letters carved into my arms in all capitols.

FAILURE

Somehow, the cut was special, maybe because it was an actual word carved into my arm, maybe because it finally showed what I really am, I don't know. Because that's what I am- a failure, no denying it. I started to feel slightly dizzy, whether from the blood loss or the Prozac pills. Huh, I thought. The pills actually work, imagine that.

But they don't work nearly enough, not to me. I fumbled through my sock drawer and pulled out my trustee Ziploc bag, and took out one of the pills with a smiley face on it. Some of my blood accidentally got on it, dripping from my cuts. I smiled back at it. Why didn't I think of this before? I gulped down three, and stared at my cuts. They really were getting out of hand, staining everything, blood leaking everywhere.

I let out a little giggle; mom and Cody will have a hell of a time cleaning up my mess. They'll be here for hours, cleaning. They should have been here now, when I really needed them. Just to stop me from myself.

But Cody is busy being so DAMN successful he has no time for helping me. He's out with Gloria, his amazing girlfriend. I looked at the bulletin board where a picture of the two was pinned up, covering some old pictures of me and him. Well, if THAT'S how it is. I threw down the bulletin board, watching the thumbtacks fly off, some going on his bedspread. I laughed some more. I vaguely knew that something was wrong, very wrong with me, but I was too far gone.

I looked up at Cody's trophy shelf. He had a trophy for practically everything. I looked at my undecorated side of the room, and suddenly, I snatched the trophies, and slowly snapped the shiny gold plastic apart on each of the figurines, and smiled every time I heard a crack of wood. It was such a nice noise, destruction.

Actually, speaking of destruction, I tripped over my own feet, dizzier than ever, the room spinning, in search for my razor again. I managed to make it back to where my razor was, right in a puddle of half dried blood, right where I left my Ipod, still playing "Cute without the E" on repeat. I held the razor once more in my hand, before gracefully, suddenly, collapsing to the floor, not even aware of the blood on the ground soaking through my T-shirt. Only one thought was on my mind, and that was, "Fuck."

And they told me later on, that's how they found me that night when they opened the door. Destruction everywhere, "Cute without the E" still playing, and me, lying motionless, blood spilling out of my wrists, still holding my razor, faithful to the end.

A/N: Intense. I know. I wonder, will Zack recover from this with the help of Cody and Maddie? Hint hint.

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