Suicide Silence

Chapter 2: Getting Ready

Shuffling over to the bathroom, I turned on the lights and before stepping into the shower, took a look at myself in the mirror. Pushing my hair out of my eyes I checked my face for any blemishes, and was quite satisfied with the results. This was the first time in years that my face hadn't broken out the day school started. For once I could walk into school and actually feel confident about my appearance. I began making a few mock poses in the mirror, flexing my non-existent muscles and laughing. After my shower I stood in front of my closet in boxers deciding on what to wear. Realizing what a girly move that was, I swore to never do it again, reaching in and grabbing the first thing my hands touched. I was rather pleased with my accidental choice, dark jeans and a black shirt that bore the name of his favorite band "Pierce the Veil". I went back to the bathroom and plugged in the blow-dryer, then opened up the medicine cabinet and pulled out a stick of ultra-black eyeliner. Yeah, you heard me, eyeliner. With a flick of the wrist and swift, well-practiced movements both of my green eyes were rimmed with thin black circles. Yeah it was kind of girly to wear makeup, but who cares? Not me. I set down the eyeliner and picked up the blow-dryer, switching it to the "ON" position. Once finished, I stepped back and admired my reflection. My black and electric green locks were glossy and tamed. I had to admit, I looked pretty darn good. I suddenly frowned at my reflection, remembering that it was this same appearance, this same sense of style, this same taste in music that had wound up to be the cause of all my pain. I glanced down at my left inner forearm and grimaced. Prominent scars decorated the porcelain skin, and I paled at the thought of how they'd gotten there. I turned off the bathroom light and shut the door, walking over to one of my dresser drawers and gently pulling it open. While in search of a long sleeved shirt to hide my secrets, my hand brushed over something hard and flat.

My eyes widened when I realized what it was. Slowly I removed the flat, black box and placed it upon the dresser. I shut my eyes tightly and took a deep breath, undoing the latches and lifting the top. When I finally decided to open my eyes, a wave of emotion washed over me. Was it pain? Was it guilt? Was it.. glee? It was glee. You see, when you undergo years of self-inflicted pain, the feeling becomes almost addictive so to speak. My eyes settled on the razor blades that lay strewn across the bottom of the box. I gulped, and tried, to no avail, to pull my eyes away from what lay before me. Tears began to fill my eyes when I thought of the first time I'd held a blade to my skin. The cold metal raising a trail of goose bumps, the sharp edge digging in to my wrist, the crimson blood pooling over the sides of my arm and dripping to the floor as I cut again and again and again song lyrics filling my head "Oh what a waste of a perfectly good clean wrist..". I shook my head to clear my tear blurred vision and picked up a sparkling razor. By the gleam of the metal and lack of rust I knew I'd never used it before, which oddly delighted me, I gently slid my finger across the fine blade and blood rose to the surface. "Snap out of it!" screamed something deep inside of me. It was the little shred of sanity I had left. Throwing the blade and box back in the drawer, I turned away from it, bewildered at what I'd just been about to do. Blood now steadily poured from the wound on my thumb and I rushed to the bathroom, cupping my other hand underneath it so as to not get blood on the white tiles. I turned on the cold water and stared down at the blood rinsing down and out of my sight. "The red washing down the drain does not change the color of the sea." I whispered to myself. It was a quote that I rather enjoyed, and though it perplexed the many people that stumbled upon it, it made perfect sense to me. The red was my past, and the sea is my future. As I turned to leave the bathroom, my foot struck something and sent it skittering across the floor. Confused, I knelt to pick it up. Smiling at what I'd found, I stood and fastened it around my neck. The paper-airplane pendant dangled freely off of the long silver chain. Memories came back to me, vivid and fast. The day that my father had presented me with the pendant came into view. Andrew Carlisle crouched down in front of 7-year old Ethan and smiled happily as he instructed me to close my eyes. He took my small hands into his large ones and pressed something cold and hard into my palm. I opened his eyes and beamed up at my father's still smiling face. 'I thought you might like that." Andrew chuckled, his warm laughter filling the air causing me to giggle myself. After looping the chain around my neck, I hooked my arms around my father's neck in a bone crushing hug. "Thanks Dad!" I giggled as I stepped back. "I'll love this forever and ever and EVER!" I said, spinning around in circles with my arms out, imitating an airplane. "Now how about some ice cream?" my father asked, laughing deeply as I tripped on my shoelaces and fell to the ground in a heap. "Yeah!" I replied almost instantly, standing up and wiping blades of grass from my pants. The memory faded out and I sighed.

Matt sat down across from me and slid one of the heaping plates over, and setting to work on one of his own. Matt and I engaged in light conversation, cheesy jokes passing between the two of us freely. "Where's mom?" I said, words muffled by a mouthful of food. Matt's laughter faded and he went silent. "Sleeping off another hangover." he mumbled, stabbing viciously at the innocent eggs on his plate. Suddenly the happy mood Matt had put me in vanished, replaced by anger and disappointment. She was always drunk. Always. For the past 6 years, that's all she ever was. Ever since our father had died when I was 10, she'd completely lost her grip on the world, leaving a 15-year old Matt to raise me alone. Now Matt was 21 and still living at home. He'd passed up a chance to go to college on a full scholarship because he was just too worried about what would happen to me. Sometimes I felt like I was holding Matt back, but would never admit it. I needed Matt, without him I wouldn't survive, literally. "I thought things would be different, you know?" I whispered sadly. "I thought once she was home, things would change." Matt sighed and pushed his chair back from the table, taking his plate over to the trash bin and clearing it. "I know kiddo, but we're going to be late if we don't get going right now." he said, reaching for my plate. I nodded and pushed the thoughts from my mind, settling on what might happen in school today.