Two months. Two months I had been tearing myself up over a buy. A stupid boy that I'd do anything to please, a stupid boy that I wanted to hate with all I had, but seemingly just couldn't. Our friendship was right on the borderline of platonic and romantic, but I had a feeling that it was all one sided.
Two months I'd been beating myself up over all my mistakes. Every word I had ever mouthed to him him, every breath that I wasted trying, it was all wrong. Everything was wrong, but I didn't know how to fix it.
Two months I had been slicing my skin and hiding scars. No one noticed, so there wasn't any motivation to recover. There wasn't a true reason for it to start, so, in my mind, I saw no reason to stop. The feeling was so relieving, so relaxing, that there was no chance I'd ever willingly let it go.
I'd fallen in love with a boy, an emotion, and marks on my skin in two months. A lot could happen in two months.
All of it left me wanting to tell someone. Maybe it was the attention whore in me surfacing or the emotional stability rating of 2 and a half out of 10 that I had, but I was desperate for something and I had no clue why. I wanted to see how insignificant I was to them, and then pretend how little they meant to me. I wanted to see if they would say "I want you to get better," or if they'd make fun of me. I wanted to see if they'd react at all.
One day, I spoke before I thought.
"Simon?" I yelled. His room was in the attic, what were the chances he was going to hear me? Whatever, if he comes, he'll come, I thought. After two minutes of no response, I did the only thing I knew I was good out and took out my blade.
It was too full on my arms. Cuts lined up, down, vertically, and diagonally. Small words were written and retraced. Wide, unhealing scars on the backs of my hands made by my own fingernails were red and irritated. I picked at them before they could even attempt to heal. How had no one noticed? You know what… There weren't enough vertical cuts…
"Vik! What are you doing!" I heard Simon's voice yell. I guess he did hear me. With my back to the door, I emotionlessly answered.
"What do you think I'm doing?" I asked, innocently, drawing a small heart on the palm of my hand. The way it bled out in tiny droplets hurt me in a way it shouldn't have.
That was my heart. My real life emotions. I was losing it, but nobody seemed to notice. I had always figured that going out silently would create the smallest blast radiation, though, so I couldn't be whining about it.
"I mean, it looked like you were jerking off or something," Simon answered, nervously laughing.
"Yup, because I'm moaning and everything. I love to jerk off," I muttered, sarcastically. I looked back at my hand and nearly screamed in frustration. His name was there on my hand. I wasn't even thinking. I furiously tried scratching over it.
"Vik, are you okay?" Simon asked. I could hear his footsteps getting louder behind me. Maybe I didn't want to tell people after all… Who would understand? Surely not Simon.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I signed. I placed my blade near my elbow and pressed down hard.
:Are you sur- Vik!" Simon's hand was on my shoulder, and I could practically feel his eyes staring at my arms.
"Yes?" I replied, as if nothing were wrong.
"What's all this?!" he demanded,
"My consciousness in physical form," I answered, dragging my hand upwards. Blood was already dripping down my arm.
"O-oh. Okay…" he said under his breath.
Silence. Deafening silence after that.
"Can I be alone?" I tried to say without being rude.
"Sure." And then he left.
Sure? Sure?! What does that mean? He just left without saying more than "okay" and "sure." Then a wave of disappointment washed over me. I didn't know how I wanted him to react. I just expected something. Not whatever happened just then. Maybe I had a naive mindset, but it seemed to me that people made a huge deal out of cases like mine. I guess I'm not a big deal.
Besides, it wasn't fiction. Was I expecting my friends to swoop in and save me from my self-destructive behaviors? It was stupid of me to think that; I wasn't everybody's top priority. Anyways, it was Simon. He's a Sideman. The Sidemen, at least in my eyes, were close to those guys in high school that always picked on other people. Not necessarily bullies, but they ridiculed people who they saw as different or wrong. I've seen how they reacted to people who were depressed, and to people that are gay. It was horrible. Especially considering I was both those things.
It was hard for me to understand why I hadn't already moved out, or cut off communication with them. It just seemed like removing them from my life, was removing a literal part of me. They had been in my life for so long, even if they could be assholes sometimes. The Pack, though, that was a different story.
They were different than the Sidemen, but I couldn't tell whether that was a good or bad thing. I was always hesitant to trust them ,and I had no clue why. I'd always figured because he's in the Pack, but sometimes I couldn't tell. I couldn't tell how they'd react if I showed them my scars. Would they be 100% understanding? Or would they distance themselves from me until I was "better?" He would think I was a freak if he saw. I bet that was what Simon thought when he saw.
My biggest problem wasn't my friend situation, though. It was the upcoming vacation with the Pack. I committed to it before my mental state went to ruins. If I were to cancel on them, it'd eat away at me for the next few months. And besides having to see Lachlan again, face to face, I'd have to hide my scars. To hide the length of my arms in Florida's summer weather of thirty degrees?
I was so fucked.
