My Blood, Your Bones - Phan

Chapter 1 - Suffering

Dan's POV

They itched. I wanted to scratch at my arms again, for the third time that afternoon, and make them bleed again. My wrist, heavily covered in dried blood and cuts, shook and begged to be tampered with. I refused. I was in school. They would notice. I didn't have friends and nobody spoke to me, which I was ok with. The teachers never noticed me picking at my arms quietly in the back of class. I liked them - they were nice to me, and left me alone. Unlike many people at school, a few of my teachers tried to be nice to me. I think they knew, but didn't want to say anything.

Long sleeves and jeans in the warmer months before school let out did a number of uncomfortable things, but it was better than showing off my ugly arms and legs. The bell rang for class to be let out for the day. I stood up with my books, and was the last to walk out the door. A boy in front of me rudely stopped fast, causing me to run into him, and my raw arms to bump the corner of my own books. I held back a screech of pain, but I dropped my books to the ground.

"Oh, sorry," he said sarcastically, not meaning a word of it and running off with his stupid friends.

Painfully, I got on my knees, praying the cuts didn't reopen, and picked up my books. Our last teacher, Mrs. Grace, noticed me, and came out into the hall to help.

"Dan?" she said to me. "Here, let me help you." Mrs. G was young for a teacher. Her hair was thick and blonde, and she wore only a thin layer of makeup. She was my English teacher for my last period class. I liked her. She was kind, and seemed to look out for me. I was pretty sure she knew about my mom. She picked up my books and handed them to me.

To my despair, one of the cuts did reopen, and began to drip blood from the inside of my shirt. I quickly took the books from her hands and turned my arm the opposite way so she would not notice.

"Dan, did he bump into you on purpose?"

"I don't know," I said quickly. "I have to go."

"May I ask you something?"

Why can't you leave me alone? I thought. "What?"

"How are things at home, Dan? You seem a bit quiet lately, and I just wanted to check in. How is your father holding up?"

"Yeah, great. Everything's great. Can I leave now?" I rushed.

She looked sadly at me. "Alright. Have a good afternoon."

I didn't answer her, and just left. How dare she ask about my life "at home." That was nobody's business. My dad was as fine as he was going to be. I was as bad as possible. It was a matter of time before I wouldn't see any of these people ever again. Maybe I would see mum again.

I walked home swiftly, holding my arm against my side to hold in the blood. I ran to my room quietly. I wrapped my arm and took off my shirt, replacing it with a cleaner one.

My father was drunk again. He was drunk daily now. I was had to do all the house duty - laundry, cooking, cleaning, shopping - since he was out all the time.

My mother, his love, died almost a year ago. She had brain cancer. There wasn't anything anybody could do. But she died. He turned to alcohol. I began to cut, but only very little. When he began to care less and less, leaving me alone all the time, it escalated. I can't wait to die. I have a plan now. I will be hanging myself in several weeks. I planed this for months. I want to die the same day she did, one year later. There was no other way out of this Hell I was put in. He didn't care about me. No one did. I have no reason to live. It will all be ok soon.

Hours later, finally finished with my housework, and my father finally asleep, I moused up to my room, where I opened a fresh razor blade, marking a clear space on my forearm. I laughed at the pain. I looked in my drawer at the many notes I had prepared. No one to care, no reasons left.

I remembered, however, that I would wake up tomorrow. I'd have to do all of this again the next day. I'd have to go back to school. I thought about everything so fast. It wasn't something new.

Yes, everything would be ok. Just a little longer, and it would be over. I would see her again. Hug her. Tell her I love her. I would die and go where ever it was that she went, and the Satan I lived with would remain a drunken bastard on Earth. I once loved him too, but now, I want nothing more but for him to suffer as much as I do.