Not Important

Cuts and Back Stories

I open the door and hesitantly walk in. Everything looks the way it was, except for the mail scattered on the floor, having just been pushed through the mailbox. I pick them all up, and look through them as I make my way to the living room. No Crazy Joe in here. No unusual, unfamiliar smells. Looks the same. But it feels different. So different.

I sit down on my horrible hard settee, and go through the mail. I'm getting somewhere with money, but I'm still a little low. After going through the boring mail, I find I have a bit of time before Mark comes. 45 minutes. 46, if you want to be exact.

Having nothing to do, I decide to write in my notebook. Finding that I can't think of anything to write, I start to scribble and doodle over the page. But I can't concentrate. This house feels weird. Nothing feels the same as it was. My phone ringing in my pocket makes me jump a little. I answer it, not knowing who it is.
"Hello?".

"Hi Devon. I'm sorry. I can't make it right now. This problem is going to take a lot more time. When I get a chance, I'll call you back. It's just...it's hectic here", Mark says, sighing.
"Okay. It's alright, Mark", I say.
"Okay. Thanks for understanding...", he says, sounding like he's going to say more, but he gets cut off by a smashing sound.
"Ooh. Gotta go. I'll call you later. Bye!", he says through the phone before hanging up.

I put my phone back down. What now?

I look around the room. Normally the settee would be a lot of help when I feel strange. But, I guess it's not enough today. I look into the corner where there's the weird, broken table that holds the opened pile of mail. There's the window that overlooks the lack of a front garden. There's grass, but it's dead and overgrown. I used to cut it, but I gave up a while back, finding that I have more important things than to tend to the grass.

Normally, cleaning helps, but I'm pretty much out of cleaning products and buying more would mean spending money on things that aren't my priority at the moment. I don't know what my priority is anymore. It's dad. Or, it was...
I stand up abruptly, grabbing my keys and phone, and walking out of the door, pulling my hood up. I just start walking. Who knows where to?

I end up in front of Kerry's house a while later. How, when I wasn't even thinking about coming here, I don't know. I hesitate before ringing the bell. I wish our house had a bell. I mean...my house. Dad doesn't live there anymore. Just me...

Brian opens the door, and a smile breaks out on his face.
"Well, hello Devon. It's been a while since I last saw you", he says, cheerfully.
"Um...Yeah. It's good to see you too, Brian", I say.
"Kerry's upstairs in her room", he says, letting me past.
I thank him and walk up. When I get to Kerry's room, I can't hear a thing. I knock, and there's no answer. Making the courageous decision of opening her door, I walk in, seeing the room as it always has been. Pink, purple and girly. Everything in place.

Then, I see a smashed lamp bulb on the floor. The pieces lay on the floor like an unfinished puzzle. Having always known what broken glass looks like, I can easily spot that a large piece is missing. Then, I hear a guttural noise. I run to Kerry's bathroom, and pull on the handle. Nothing. It won't budge. She must have locked it.
"Kerry! Open the door!", I call through.
No reply.
A horrible feeling crushes my stomach, and I start pushing on the door. Finally finding sense, I hold either side of the doorframe and kick my foot at the door. I do it again and again, the door denting. Once I've done enough, I grab the golden box her Nan had given to her years ago and bang it against the door. A piece of it soon breaks away, splinters jutting out. I reach through it, feeling the splinters drag through my skin. I mess with the lock, until it clicks. The door opens. On the floor, leaning against the wall is a crying Kerry, some blood seeping from her wrist and a large piece of glass on the floor next to her.

I crouch down, and grab her head, making her look at me. She's still alive. She's crying her eyes out. Her hair is a mess and her face is all messy with make up dripping down her face. I grab her wrist, gently, observing it. It's not as bad as I thought it would be. There's definitely marks in her skin, still bleeding a bit, but it won't kill her.
"Kerry, it's alright. I'm here. Don't cry", I say to her in a low voice, as she cries quietly to herself. I sit down next to her and put my arm around her. She leans into my shoulder and cries into my top. I wrap my other arm around her, hugging her close to me. We stay like that for a while, before I pull back.
"Why don't we get you cleaned up?", I ask her.

After she shows me where the first aid kit is, I close the toilet lid and let her sit on it. I kneel in front of her, stitching her wounds up.
.........

After she's all closed up and the crying has lessened, she sits in her bed as I instructed and dries her eyes with a tissue.
"Do you want a drink or anything to eat?", I ask her.
She shakes her head.
"You must think I'm a stupid overreacting attention-seeking bitch", she mumbles.
I sit down in the seat next to her bed.
"No. I would never think that of you, Kerry. Never", I say, meaning every word.
"Oh please. You just walked in and saw me with cuts on my arms and crying on the bathroom floor!", she scoffs, sniffling.
"Kerry, listen to me. You're my friend and friends help each other. Friends are there for each other and would never hurt one another. Friends would never think of each other as anything other than a cool person who they would never change for the world", I start, watching her head swivel to me.
"You're so much more than that. You're the awesome person who I may have thought had the perfect life, and I was jealous, I admit. But, I know now that you're so down-to-earth, and hands down, the most beautifulest amazingly strong person I know", I tell her.

"Strong? I could have killed myself", she whispers.
"Strong because you've been smiling for so long, not letting anyone know what is going on with you. Strong because you stopped yourself from killing yourself", I tell her.

She starts crying again, the tears falling down her cheeks. She wipes them away with her tissue.
"Devon, I think you should know why I did what I did", she starts.
"You don't have to, Kerry. You can take as much time as you need", I start to object.
"No. You need to hear this", she says, making eye contact with me for the first time since I saw her in the bathroom on the floor.

"I was in an accident. A car accident when I was nine. I was crossing the street to go to the park one day, not even bothering to look where I was going. I was in a rush to get to the swings before any of the older kids took them. I was so self-centrered", she says, shaking her head at the memory.

"A woman and her child were driving that day. In that car. They were going to the zoo. And...if stepped onto the road. The woman was so close. So close to me that she would have killed me if she hadn't swerved off the road...the car hit a tree stump and turned into it's side. Windows smashed. The woman got out with the least damage. A head injury that was stitched up and some cuts and bruises", she carries on, and I cannot believe what I'm hearing.

"The child...Neil...the glass cut deep into his legs and paralysed him. He ended up in a wheelchair. He's been in a wheelchair for eight years. He had dreams. He wanted to be the best soccer player in the world", she goes on, her voice wavering a lot, but I can still hear what she's saying.
"He's in the hospital again now. I just got the call a few hours ago. He had a heart attack", Kerry says, a stray tear travelling down her cheek.

"Is he...?", I start, not being able to finish that sentence.
"No. Not yet", she says, bringing her knees up and resting her elbows on them, putting her head in her hands.
"Do you want to go see him?", I ask her.
"I already did. I can't go again", she mumbles and I nod, knowing she wouldn't be able to see it with her gaze on the wall at the other side of the room.