Zach pov:

"It feels like I live my life in purgatory.

Feeling so many things at once and having so little understanding.

Feeling so much pain and feeling empty."

Empty. That's all I ever felt. Anger, hate, jealousy and emptiness is all I ever felt. But mostly, I just felt empty. No love. No happiness. No reason to live, with this hole in my soul that could seems will never be filled. Empty.

If I could just feel something new, maybe I'd stop. But what's the point. All I ever feel are these dark feelings that cloud my mind, blocking out all light. But I could cut into that cloud. Slice it open, and watch it bleed. Slim rays of light, of feelings, would shine through.

I watch as this blood falls down to the floor. One cut, two cut, three cut, four.

But I couldn't stop. The sound of their yelling was still outside the door. It wouldn't stop. So neither can I.

"If I only could feel something new,

Those days are long over dew.

The razor has become my closets companion,

Bent from all the work I put it through,

Slicing up my skin as the blood trails through."

(A/N: My own poetry.)

I put the blade down, and see it's bent from wear I had held on to it so tight. I look down at my arm and see the new pieces of artwork on my arm. I trace the white scars around it and the new red ones. I wince as I wash the remaining blood of my arms and hands. The water in the sink turns pink, mixing with the blood. I watch as it drains away, and a numbing feeling takes over my body. The relief I felt washed down the drain with the blood.

No one knows my secret. No one ever will. They all just think I'm some psychopath who would kill you (too say I'm antisocial would be appropriate) when in reality, I want to do that to my self. Some man I'm meant to be.

"I just stared at that rope and wish my life would expire."

I look up into the mirror and stair at myself.

My black hair falls into my green eyes. There once full of life colour, now reduced to a lifeless green, the colour of a forest that has long since died. The shine wiped out of eyes, now all that remains in a glaze over them. The bags under them make me look older than I am.18 and life's already beat me down.

My black hair, once soft is now dry and shaggy. My addiction had taken it's toal on me; inside and out. The only things that shined anymore was the piecing in my eyebrow but even that couldn't hide the lifeless and drained look.

Shuffling out of the bathroom, careful to not let my 'parents' know I was walking about, I went to my bedroom and turned on my radio full blast to drown out there yelling. I could still here them though, their yells burning into my head.

"I just want to have my music so loud that I can't hear my life crashing and burning around me."

As I listened to the screaming music, I stated punching the punchbag I had dragged back here when I was 15. It was well used, the stuffing and stitches starting to come undone with every session with my anger. It helped me get rid of my scrawny body that the others used to tease me about. Now people think twice before even looking my way, let alone in my eyes. As my 'mother' always used to tell me growing up: where there's fear, there's power.

She didn't think to tell me about the beatings I'd get if I showed fear to my stepdad, Greg. If I so much as whimpered, I would be met with the end of a belt. The scars on my back a constant reminder of my weakness. I punched the bag harder as my memories came back.

"I'd rather feel pain then nothing at all."

Hours later, long after my knuckles had gone bloody and raw,as I crawled into bed, I ignored the stinging feeling on my arms. The burning sensation I got when ever I moved. It didn't matter how much it hurt now, it was going to be twice as bad in the morning so there was no use about crying about it. Huh, crying. I haven't cried in over three years. Besides, the feeling over the years became one of my closest companions. It took up the space of where I was meant to feel other emotions. Which ones I can't tell you, as I've never felt them. They were always just something other people had, like holidays and gifts. Such things were not considered a priority in my life.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Cammies pov:

I stared down at the people across the street at my neighbours house. There were people drinking, making out, throwing up and passed out in the front yard, with the music in the house in the background.

It was hard seeing what people find so attractive about house party's, having to dress up showing skin, being judged about what you wore and how it looked. I never understood why people would want to be judged even more than they have too.

Maybe if I went to one I would understand the culture of getting trashed and hanging out with friends. But that would consist of actually having friends. Something I haven't had in a long time.

"I was already alone, now I'm trying to fined a friend, got no friends, so hear I am now wishing it would end."

I listened to the house I was in. Nothing. There was no sound anymore, just silence. Mom was gone again, so I was left alone. Again. And I hated it.

"I don't wanna be the girl that has to hear the silence.

The quiet scares me because it speaks the truth."

Ever since dad had died I had been alone. My 'friends' bailed, my mom shut off, and nobody wanted to deal with a grieving 11 year old. After I realised this, I stopped talking. No one noticed. No one noticed when I started missing meals. Or when I only ever wore long sleeves. No one noticed my red eyes, the dead look you saw if you looked into them, and they never saw those long scars on my arms and legs. No one noticed because no one looked. And that's what kills the most.

"She got quieter,

Her nights got longer,

Her blades got bigger,

Her sleeves got longer,

Her meals got smaller,

She became skinnier,

Her music got louder,

And no one

Noticed.'

But they did notice the clothes I wore. How it was all black and had bands names they had never heard before on them. How they were different. After a year of leaving me alone to grieve, they decided that was long enough to keep quiet about my choices. And that's when the taunting started.

They would make up all these silly Scenarios in there head as too why I dressed the way I did. About how I came from a messed up family. They called me names, tripped me, pushed, shoved, hit, and pulled my hair. And I let them. Maybe it was because I was an easy target or because I had somehow offended them when I hadn't said a word too anyone of them in two years, but what ever the reason, they just kept on coming back. I was the rag doll of the school, the person you could make fun off and nothing would happen. But it killed me.

"They would call me up, they would always bring back up.

Call me a slut and say my family was jacked up.

Death threats every time I logged in,

Always on some other shit,

Damn here we go again."

Then they went technical. Every chance the would get, they would send messages to kill myself, to just give up. News had got around one day that I cut after Someone saw the scars in P.E in the changing rooms. That just made their fire burn even more. Walking down the corridor they would move their hands across their wrist, send messages to cut deeper. Told me I was nothing. So I took their advise when I was 14.

" I mean fuck it, if I am really nothing, then no body would stop me from taking that rope and jumping."

It didn't work though.

If it did I wouldn't be here, in a new house alone. After trying to hang myself, my mother moved us far away so no one new us. She claimed she would try harder. But three days after moving and she's gone again. I can't blame her though. I'm not the only one who lost someone, who had scars. I know she doesn't like what she's become, just like I don't, but it was inevitable.

Going back to the window, I close the shades and go back to my bed. I'll never be one of those girls who have girly nights with friends or go shopping.

I could have been, but no one could see past the scars. They couldn't care less that I've been clean for a full year now. But that's life.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Cam prov:

School. The habitat of my personal hell.

Were the government decided that we were not judged enough, so they put hateful, still developing teenagers in one building for six hours. A high school is were super villains should be put as punishment in my opinion.

This place that was thought to teach the youth to socialise and care for each other, is now just a battle ground for teenagers trying to make it through their 4 years here alive.

There isn't much here in Roseville, I mean the most famous thing about this town is a giant great oak stump. No one wants to be stuck in this town, but it's inevitable. Peoples parents were born here, they were born here, and there kids will be stuck here in this shithole, just like them. It's Roseville circle of life. I'm not staying here though. I'm gonna get through my last two years here and get out of here with out a second to lose.

"I hate this town, it's so washed up, and all my friends don't give a fuck, they tell me that's it's just bad look, when will I find where I belong."

The people aren't much better. Small town kids, trying to escape, parents stuck in medium-wage jobs, old folk talking about the good ol' days when everything was simpler. I always loved learning about the past, how much we changed.

How a cultured Society which was based on freedom, could be reduced to every person being labeled.

How equality is now based on the products you wear.

Life really does suck.

If one thing came out if me losing all friends and now hating social media, it's that I had a lot of time to study. That's why this year, I got most of the senior classes but unfortunately that doesn't mean I can graduate with them and get out of this pit of serpents a year early.

Slamming my locker shut as I make my way to home room as the shrilling bell rings only one thought comes to mind...

Life is a bitch.

A/N: hello my survivors! I'm sry it took my so long to update, but this is really just a filler chapter to get a better look into Zach and Cammie's lives. If anyone has any questions or just simply wants to have a chat feel free to comment and/or pm me. I'm going to try to respond to all comments from now on, as I feel you guys deserve that as I respect you for taking the time to comment and help:)

Song: I really think you guys should listen to 'suicide' by clariyah. Such an inspirational song and I've used some if the lyrics in this chapter.

Songs for the chapter:

I think the song should be "All signs point to lauderdale" by A Day To Rember. They are one of my favourite bands and they're song is so inspirational, and I think the start of the song fits it well when cammies talking about the town. The rest of the song will make more sense in the next chapter;)

Stay strong,

~ Fredo

'' to live in a world where someone believes that they must die instead of being who they are, is truly terrifying."

- Me