I'm Sorry- A Slipknot Story

Chapter 61

"Liz, where'd you go," Corey asks. He looks down the hall and back, not seeing me. He looks down and sees me about to cry, making him instantly sit next to me on the floor.

"Why did you leave," he asks. I don't answer and a few tears slip out, trailing down my cheeks and onto my knees.

"You hate the mask, don't you," I say.

"What? No, I don't," he says.

"You don't need to lie. I'm used to the truth," I say, the voices laughing at me.

"I'm not lying. I would never lie to you," he says.

"The other guys hate the masks too," I continue, the voices urging me on.

"They don't. They said they would've never thought of such a good mask ever," he says. He tries to cheer me up, but it's too late. I break out into silent crying and the voices howl with laughter, pointing at me.

"All of you guys hate it all. Everything that I've done," I continue, catching Corey off guard.

"What are you saying? This isn't like you," he says.

"I'm a bad drawer," I continue.

"I'll never be a good drawer," I say.

"Why do I even try," I ask myself. 

The voices scream with laughter now. I put my hands on my head and grab my hair, digging my nails into my scalp, making the skin break and stain my golden hair with red. My crying worsens and I start shaking a little, feeling Corey put a hand on my arm.

"I can't do anything right," I say.

"I'm letting all of you guys down," I continue, the voices laughing louder.

"I'm a bad friend. The fans are right, I shouldn't be on tour with you guys," I say.

"Liz stop! You're hurting yourself," Corey exclaims, trying to pry my hands away from my hair.

"It's all my fault. If I didn't go on tour, I would've still been with Arron," I say. 

"Arron knew what was right. He was trying to protect me," I say.

"Liz, stop this! You're bleeding," he exclaims, ripping my hands away by my wrists.

"I should've never been friends with any of you. My parents were right," I say.

"Liz, look at me," Corey says. I don't and he puts his hands on my tear-stained cheeks, turning my head to him. His eyes are welling up with tears from what I said.

"You're not okay, and I know that. But I can help you," he says. The voices scream at him to let go of me, that he won't help.

"I don't need help," I say. I take his hands off and stand shakily.

"But-"

"I don't need help! I'm fine," I exclaim, running out and to a place him and I only know.

-Corey's POV-

She runs out without her coat and I stay here, in shock from what she said. She's never like this; she always tries to think on the bright side, but it's like she flipped a switch in her mind and it went dark. It scares me that she thinks like this when she's alone, or when she does anything with us.

"Where did Liz go," Paul asks. 

I don't say anything and put on my coat, grabbing hers and two things for her. I pick up a pencil and a notebook, saying nothing and walking out to find her. I know where she is. She's at the place where she found me in kindergarten, hiding from my mom's new boyfriend. 

It's an abandoned mansion-esque house that's been around for god knows how long. Both of us would stay there and chase out anyone who would try to deface it just to keep it nice. I make it there and see the door slightly open.

"Liz," I call out as I enter. I hear crying upstairs, so I walk up the stairs to get to her. I enter the library and she's there, holding a knife. This has gone from 1 to 100 real fucking quick.

"What if I died? You guys wouldn't be sad. You wouldn't cry," she says.

"Okay, I'm not taking any of this anymore," I say. I walk to her and take the knife, putting it on the bookshelf above our heads. I turn her to me and drop her coat on the floor, pulling her into a hug.

"I told you-"

"Shut up and hug me," I cut her off. She hugs me and we stand there, her heartbeat slowing to normal.

"You aren't okay, you aren't fine," I start, letting go of her.

"But if you keep thinking like this, you won't get better. I'm not trying to make you feel one way or another, but I don't want you to ever say you're bad at being a friend. You're the one who would write to me when I went out of the state. You're the one who would ride your bike 5 miles to see me in another county. Without you," I sniffle and hold in tears, "without you, I would've been 6 feet under already."

She doesn't respond, and only holds in her tears. I take out the notebook and pencil, holding it out for her.

"Here. If you hear the voices say anything to you, you write it in here. I don't care if it's legible or on the lines, just write it," I say. She takes the notebook and pencil, staring at them with a smile.

"What if I fill it up," she asks, her voice hoarse.

"You'll see when you do," I say. I pick up her coat and drape it over her shoulders, feeling a little better.

"Let's get home," I say.

"You think I'm going home after that? I'm going back to the guys to finish the coveralls," she says with a smile.

"I swear, you're the most stubborn person I've met," I say, making her laugh.

"Maybe," she says.