Hate Is An Evil Type Of Love

1. Loath

'I hate high school,' I thought to myself as I walked through the stupid gym locker room. Fifth period was the worst, because it meant I'd have to be doing P.E., and P.E. meant I'd have to deal with 'him'.
Ever since junior year, the high school's 'bad boy', Peter Jenkins, has made it his number one priority to harass and bully me.
Sometimes it was bearable, but more often than usually lately, he's been almost insufferable lately.

Ever since I came out as gay in the second semester of sophomore year, he's gotten ten times worse with the insults.
Every chance he gets, he calls me names, or pushes me around.

He's the reason I self harm. Today is the first day of the last week of school before graduation, and the only thing I'm looking forward to is getting the fuck out of this shit hole.

"Hey fag! Where d'you think you're going?!" A familiar, and very unwanted voice yells from behind me.
I just keep my head down and keep walking. "Oi, faggot! Don't ignore me!" Peter yells, grabbing my hoody, forcing me to stop.

"Just leave me alone, asshole!" I yell, trying to pull the black fabric out of his palm, but he has an extremely strong grip on it.
He scoffs at my sudden outburst of anger and let's go of my hoody.

The sudden release of the clothing surprises me, because I had been pulling against it, and I fall. Then, the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone at school, well, it happens to me.

My sleeves rolled up a little, showing row after row of all the damage I've done to my wrists.
I panicked, leaving my books and whatever else fell onto the floor, and ran out of the school, and away from the embarrassing scene that just unfolded in front of me.

Fear and anxiety pulsed through my veins like adrenaline, and I knew this was only going to get much, much worse.
I ran to my small, run down car, and drove like a getaway driver after a heist.

I tried to calm myself down a bit once I'd sped out of the school's parking lot, and down the street a bit.
I kept driving, not really paying attention to where I was headed, as I mentally scolded myself for running away like that.

I knew I could have gotten up, made some bullshit excuse about having found a litter of kittens in an ally earlier, and how I'd had to take them myself to an animal shelter; but I knew they probably wouldn't believe me anyway.
'They,' I thought, 'Who's they? Peter? He doesn't give a fuck about you. He's probably joking and making fun of me right now!'

I sighed as silent tears started spilling onto my cheeks, and grazing my nose and chin.
I tried to focus on the road, and get to a safe spot for me to fall apart.
I drove to the only place I knew I could go, the cliff side.
I live by the east coast, so there are a lot of cliff drop offs nearby, my favorite being the one I frequent the most.

Knowing the cliffs are usually empty during the weekdays, I drove to my cliff, wondering if this was it.
I kept telling myself I wouldn't, but in the back of my mind, somewhere deep and cold, I secretly wonder if I know why I'm driving to a cliff of all places.
I pulled into a space and put the car into park, and lost my shit.

I screamed, I cried, I sobbed, I yelled, I had a complete meltdown as I replayed the events of today over, and over, and over again in my head. I could never go back there, not now.
It was only the final week of school, who the fuck cares?
My teachers, maybe, but nobody else does.

My parents are dead, and my foster 'parents' would probably pay to have me sent to a psych ward. They try to find any excuse to lash out on CPS, and the foster care system itself, as to why I misbehaved in even the slightest way.
They called their lawyers over a broken plate once for Christ's sake!

I was beginning to question my life's choices, when I heard a knock on the passenger's side window.
'Fucking mind your own business, Karen!' I thought as I kept my head in my hands, not bothering to look up to at least see who it was. After a few more seconds, the knocking persisted, and it was really started to get on my nerves, so I looked. Peter.

"What the fuck do you want?!?" I yelled, threateningly.
He held up my belongings, saying, "You dropped these. I wanted to return them." I dropped my head back into my hands and said, "Just get the fuck out of here and leave me the fuck alone."

Several minutes passed, and I assumed he was gone, but I peeked to see anyway. He was still there, wearing the same stupid expression. If concern and pity had a baby, Peter Jenkins would be their fucking kid.

"Why the fuck are you still here?!" I yell, jumping out of the car and stalking towards him.
He hesitates, lightly biting his lips as he thinks of something to say.
"Oh for god sake, Peter, if you want to 'warn' me, or give me some shitty advice about seeing a therapist or 'life is beautiful' or bullshit like that, I will fucking throw us both over the edge!" I threaten, snatching the stuff out of his hands.

He backs off a bit, taking a couple steps back. I sigh, tossing my shit into the back seat, and start walking back towards the driver's seat.
A pair of hands stops me, pulling on the sleeves of my hoodie and inadvertently touching the slits all down my arms.

I hiss and pull away, yelling, "WHAT THE FUCK PETER!!"
I turn to face him, ready to punch his jaw into his fucking teeth, but I'm greeted with an almost apologetic look.
"I just...can I see? The cuts, I mean." He asks, hesitantly.

"Why? So you can laugh at me later? Or is it to 'satisfy' you, you fucking monster!" I spit out, backing a couple steps away.
As I'm stepping back, I realize I'm getting closer to the edge.
"N-no! I just...I feel bad for what I...did to you...what I've been doing to you. A-and, I want to see what I've been...I-I mean...I'm sorry, ok?"

I stop moving, surprised at his sudden choice of words.