Carbon Monoxide (Kellic) [go to AndehCrossley account for further updates]

Sweet Release

Kellin's POV:

I ran into the bathroom that was joined to my bedroom and frantically searched through the drawers to find my beloved razor. Tears still streaming down my face, my sharp breaths burning my throat. My hands were shaking from anger and despair as I picked it up; my razor; my only release. I longed for it; I craved it; the feeling of a blade running across my flesh was what I needed right now.

I looked up into mirror infront of me and stared at my reflection. I looked myself up and down; my eyes red and stinging from tears, my hair a mess from running home, my mouth bleeding from where Aiden threw my to the floor; I looked horrible. Why do I put myself through this every day? What is the point? Why don't I just end it now? Once and for all. I lift the razor to my throat. With the blade just inches from my skin I stare into my own eyes. I stood there for what could have been forever; just staring at the pain in my eyes. Could I do this? Do I have enough guts to actually do what everyone wants? All I need to do is press the razor to my throat and slide. That would be it. All of my pain will be gone; I'll finally be free. Come on, Kellin, do this already.

I suddenly started feeling dizzy; my reflection blurring in the mirror. Only then did I realise I was holding my breath. As I gasped for oxygen, everything burst out. I burst into tears, my feet giving way beneath me, causing me to collapse onto the floor. All my emotions escaping as I laid on my back. I couldn't do this, I didn't want to die, not right now; I just needed a release.

I stood up and locked the door behind me. Walking over to the sink, I picked up the razor from where I dropped it. I slid down the wall and sat on the cold tile floor of my bathroom. I rolled up my sleeve and took off the bandage that kept my sweater from rubbing against my recent scars. The razor was in my hand, between my thumb and forefinger, I was twiddling it around my fingers like magicians do with coins. The thin metal glinted in the light, the blade still ridiculously sharp even thought I've been using it for years; it has never let me down; I've never had to sharpen it.

I lifted my hand and moved the razor to my left arm. I lightly pressed the edge into my skin, a small amount of blood escaping as my flesh split open. I pressed a little harder, my arm burning as the metal went deeper. That was the burn I loved; the feeling of my skin separating and my blood escaping from my veins; letting the pressure inside me go. It is painful, but a good kind of pain.

I watched as more blood ran down my hand and dripped onto the floor. The dark red liquid highlighting the bleach whiteness of the bathroom tiles. I rolled my eyes back and rested my head on the wall behind me, as I felt all my stresses leave my mind. The sweet release that follows the pain of the razor is amazing. It's like a high. The feeling you get when your body rushes with endorphins is like a natural heroine. It takes all the pain away, both physically and emotionally; it is the only way I can feel alright. Even if it is for only minutes, it is better than nothing at all.

* * *

I look down at my wrist as the blood starts to clot and the skin begins to heal. I pick up the bandage and wrap the fresh wound in the surgical cotton. Picking myself up off the floor, I look into the mirror and place the razor on the sink edge; I'm such a fucking disaster. Running the faucet, I splash my face with warm water and then clear away the excess blood from my hand and wet a cloth to clean up the blood on the floor.

I unlock the door and walk back into my bedroom to grab my PJ's; some three-quarter length pyjama shorts and a graphic design shirt. I pull of my clothes and throw them onto the back of my desk chair and get changed. As soon as I've pulled the shirt over my head I walk out of my room and downstairs, into the kitchen.

I open the cupboard and get out a box of pop-tarts. I take two pop-tarts out and place them in the toaster. I think they're supposed to be put in the microwave but I've always used the toaster because it tastes better to me. I boil the kettle and grab a mug from the dishwasher and place it on the counter. When the kettle finishes boiling I pour the hot water into the mug and add a tea bag. The pop-tarts spring from the toaster and I put them on a small plate.

As I walk to the fridge to grab the milk for my tea, I look out the window above the sink, and unto the front yard. The house across the street has been on sale for a while now, but the sign has changed since this morning to say "Sold" instead of "For Sale". I wonder who's moving in.

I turn back to the fridge, take out the milk and pour a bit into my tea. Picking up my mug and plate of pop-tarts I start to walk out of the kitchen to go upstairs and back into my room. When I get into my room, I take a sip from my tea and a bite from the pop-tarts and place them both on my desk. I pull my sketch book out from my school bag and put my headphones in. I close my bedroom door and sit at my desk, multitasking between eating and drinking, listening to music, and continuing with my drawing.

It's already 5 o'clock, jeez, where did the time go? I got home at one. Oh well, I still have all evening to myself; it's not like dad's going to be back any time soon, God knows what he's doing right now; and mom works until late (well, that's what she says, at least, she's probably out drinking or something).

* * *

For three hours I draw more sketches, and listening to all the music I have on my phone. I finished the design I had been working on for ages, it only needs colour now. I ate my pop-tarts hours ago; I've hardly eaten all day, I'm super hungry now. Mom's still not home so I decided to go down and make myself some dinner.

I walk into the kitchen and fill a pot with water, then turn on the gas on the stove. As the water heats up I grab the spaghetti packet from the cupboard. When the water starts boiling I put two handfuls of spaghetti in the pan. Daym I'm thirsty. I grab a bottle of Coke as the pasta cooks and take a large gulp. I empty the pot of pasta into a bowl and grate some cheese on top.

I sit at the counter and eat my pasta and start daydreaming about who will move into the house opposite. The first thing that comes into my mind is a boy, roughly my age, with long brown hair and beautiful dark eyes. He's truly amazing, my dream guy. Stop it Kellin, your gay is showing. I've never told anyone I like guys; I get bullied enough as it is, I'm not going to give them something else to beat me up for.

* * *

I finish my pasta and wash up the bowl I used. It's quite late now, so I'm getting a bit tired. I walk back upstairs and brushed my teeth in the bathroom and washed my face before walking back into my room. As I climbed into bed, the image of the boy came back; my heart fluttered with the thought. How could I feel this way towards him, if he wasn't even real?

I slide under the covers and rest my head on my pillow. I closed my eyes a fell asleep, my cheeks still flushed red from the thought of the boy. I wonder who is going to be my new neighbour, it can't be anyone as perfect of the boy in my mind. Right?

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A/N: Okay, that's the next part, hope you guys liked it. Vote and comment if you want; I always love to know what you think. :)