Sophie And Lane

Chapter 7

TRIGGER WARNING: CUTTING

Lane's POV

I went into my room after breakfast and laid in my bed.  Steve and Sophie were going back to his house to see their father.  I was tired.  I haven't told anyone, but I wasn't sleeping well.  I really wasn't eating much either.  I knew I had lost weight, I just wasn't very hungry. 

Pony walked into my room, "You ok?"  He sat down on my bed.

I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest, "yeah. Why?"

"It's ok if you're not," he watched me for a reaction.

"Naw. I'm good." I lied through my teeth.

"Darry said we gotta go back to school Monday."

My stomach dropped, honestly, the last thing I wanted was to go back to school, but I forced a smile, "yeah, get back to some routine.  Probably be good for us."

Pone shook his head, "who are you an' what the hell did you do with Lane?"

I chuckled, but inside I was thinking, you don't want to know.  I walked into the bathroom.  I pulled my switchblade out of by pocket.  I slipped off my pants.  My leg covered in cuts, all of them self inflicted, all in different stages of healing.  I cut across my thigh, watching the blood seep out.  I took a deep breath as it dripped down my leg.  I cleaned out the cut with peroxide.  The physical pain was so much easier to bare than the emotional pain.

Sophie's  POV

Steve pulled his car into the driveway of what I assumed was our house.  It may have been nice once, but the white paint was almost all chipped off and two of the windows were cracked.  The dilapidated garage looked like collapse with the simplest breeze.

"Look, if the ol' man is drunk, I want ya to run back to Soda's house, ok?"

"What about you?"

Steve gently tugged on my ponytail, "don't worry 'bout me, kiddo."

We entered the house.  The inside looked just as bad as the outside.  However, the inside was scarily similar to my mom's in Houston.  I looked around, it was eerily silent.

Steve took a few steps in, "Dad, you in here?" He called out. 

There was no answer, but we heard the toilet flush.  The ol' man was grumbling bout something as he came out.  He wasn't like I remembered him at all.  He was almost completely bald, with a huge beer gut and a dirty wife beater on and a pair of boxers, "dammit Steve, what I tell ya about bringing sluts home?" He glared at me.

I crossed my arms and glared back, "first off, nice to see ya too, dad.  Second off, ya shouldn't call your daughter a slut...bad parentin' or something." I spoke in a low, bored tone.

"Shoulda known, you look just that bitch," he took a menacing step toward me, "who said you could come here?"

"That bitch," I replied coolly.

"I don' want ya here," he jabbed his finger in my chest, "I don' need two ungrateful, punk ass kids in this house."

I pretended the words didn't hurt me.  Why should I care if some guy I just met didn't want me?  I picked up my duffle bag and walked out the door.  I headed down the street, laughing darkly to myself.  Soph, you're such an idiot. Did ya really think he was gonna welcome ya with open arms?  You're such a worthless piece a shit.  

I used to dream about meeting my dad.  He would be so excited to see me.  He'd pick me up and swing me around.  He would tell me that he never stopped lookin' for me.  He even called me princess.  You're a fuckin moron.  No one wants you. 

I sat in the vacant lot, just down the street from the Curtis house, pulled out my blade, and pulled up my shirt.  My torso striped with cuts.  I placed the knife on my side, and sliced the knife down, causing a line of blood to bead up.  I hated myself so much that I would punish myself for being so unlovable.  I hated myself as much as everyone else.  I don't even know why I was born.

I pulled my tank top down and headed to the Curtis house.