Stupid Little Blue Haired Boy (boyxboy)

wattpad is lame and won't let me title this chapter how i want

um. so warning, there's a bit of triggering behavior in the chaper below, and even though it may not be as explicit as i could have made it, i am aware how easy it is to set someone off. please proceed at own risk. viewer disgression is advised. 

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"You sure you're going to be okay?" Teddy ducks his head to peer out the passenger's side window at me. "I can stay home if you need me to."

I nod. "Go to school."

"I'll be home at three. We can go visit Timmy then if you feel up for it."

"Okay."

He pulls out of the driveway and onto the street. The tires of Teddy's car kick up little rocks in their path. I watch him until he's turned the corner and I'm alone with the house.

It's been almost twelve hours since I broke down on Teddy, but it feels like minutes. There's no word to describe the level of embarrassment I feel in not being able to pull it together. I've been doing it for so many years and all of a sudden it's just too hard.

"There's a word for that kind of a person. It's pathetic. Or dependent. Both are equally as terrible, if you ask me."

I halfheartedly smile at the voice. "You're getting what you want today, so keep it quiet for another ten minutes."

I shuffle up the asphalt and onto the sagging porch. My socks from weeks ago have deteriorated into a moldy lump in the humidity, and I toss them from the wood to the grass below. They blend in with the green of the plants and the brown of the dirt, both colours rich.

"What's on the agenda today, Damian?"

The bathroom door creaks on its hinges. Almost out of instinct, I pause to make sure nobody heard, forgetting that the house is empty. It seems most bad things I do happen in the bathroom.

"Like you don't already know," I scoff, reaching for the loose tile behind the toilet. It comes free in my hand, exposing a small indent perfect for housing a razorless blade. I take it between my fingertips and pinch it tightly, afraid to let it go.

"I saw that smile. You're sick. You treat it like it's your child."

"You're sick."

I sit like that for awhile. The voice is right- I am sick, but who's here to see? Who's here to judge? "Not Justin," I mumble, before making two slashes across my forearm. It's a violent, desperate motion, and I hunger for more.

"Not Timmy," I add, and with it two more slashes.

"Teddy." Two cuts.

"Mom. Dad." Four.

"Annie." Two.

I continue the pattern until I've lost all open canvas to work with. By now the floor is a bloody mess, not to mention my pants, t-shirt and unmolding socks. And I don't feel the slightest bit better.

"Adam," I finish with, and two final incisions. The last name pulls the breath out of my lungs. "Adam," I find myself repeating, without the second action.

The voice is smiling in my mind. "What about Adam, Damian? What about him?"

That's where I lose it. Just completely lose it. My body sinks to the tiles and I'm racked with the sort of emotional pain that feels like something is clawing down the inside of my lungs.

"Please make it stop," I beg. "I don't know what to do anymore. Please make it stop, Justin."

"Justin?" The voice catches my slip up before I do, and it's a cruel teacher. "You're asking for Justin?"

"Please." My words are sharp in my throat. "Please just make it stop. The memories. Stop them. Please. Please."

"Could Justin do that? Could Justin fix all of this? Who took that away from you? Who did that?"

I reach to wipe the tears from my nose and get a face full of blood. It tastes so metallic I find myself dry-heaving into my lap in an attempt to get it out. I can't escape it. Not the blood or the tears or the acid in my lungs; not the hair rubbing into my eyes or the memories in the front of my mind.

"Please." I cough, and it comes up rusty. I'm so frantic that I slip on my own mess and hit my head against the wall. Again, I try to pull myself up on the edge of the towel- rack and find my body falling towards the floor. Over and over again and I still can't stand. My legs collapse from under me and I can't find the strength to crawl out of the hole I've dug myself into.

And the voice is enjoying every minute of it. "Just give up already, Damian. There's no reason for you to keep holding on. You've got nothing to live for, so why not just give up now? You're so close to the end. Just let go. You're not important enough to keep around. Nobody would miss you.  The blade is right there.  Just up there next to the sink.  It would be so easy.  Nobody would miss you.  Nobody would care."

And it's right. Nobody would miss me. Everyone who's ever made me feel like I'm worth keeping around is dead or in a coma. Nobody cares. If I just gave up, Teddy wouldn't have to deal with all the awkward moments he hates so much. He wouldn't have to drive his little brother to the hospital rather than get high with his friends. My parents wouldn't have to work as hard to support one talented kid with a future. Timmy's mom wouldn't have to pretend to hold it together for me every time I came to visit. She wouldn't have to hide her pain.

"You're right," I tell it, "I'm better off dead. I'm better off six feet under. The plot next to Justin has my name on it."

"I'm glad you finally see it. It's a whole lot easier from here on out."

I don't know how long I lay there on the floor, but it's the calmest I've been in my entire life. I couldn't care less about the blood or the snot. I don't mind the ruined clothes. They're even slightly comforting.

"Deciding to give up is the hardest part. It doesn't get harder than this."

"Harder than this?" My eyes suddenly open to the disaster I've created. I don't know why that time it set me off, because the first time around it sounded like a gift. Now I know it's a curse.

I struggle to sit up. The blood I still have rushes to my head and I'm close to blacking out. Right before I can lose consciousness, a distinct shade of blue forces it's way amid the void.

"You're telling me I should die, just like this? In a pile of my own blood? What kind of a death is that? After all I've been through, and I just give up? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Yes." It's all the voice has left to say. It was so sure it had me convinced.

"Then I'm sorry for you." On my hands and knees, I make my way to the sink. The cold water burns like fire on my raw arm, but that's life. That's what life feels like.

"You see this?" I point to the destruction I'm responsible for. "You see these? Look at how many of these I have and I'm still breathing. I can't give up yet. There's one person in this world who hasn't given up on me, and I'm not giving up on him."

"You're a foolish boy, Damian Owens. You're so stupid it's self-destructive."

"Yes," I reply, "but I'm still here."