MY SILENT KILLER

CHAPTER 4: THE UNKNOWN

Friday nights do not consist of unlimited movies and unethical amounts of junk food with a best friend, anymore. These nights are just spent in my dark room, alone of course, under heaps of blankets and with my phone or laptop.

Tonight, however, I sit and wonder what I should say to James tomorrow. I’ve decided to pay him a visit at the old-age home outside town. I had something really silly prepared for today but thank goodness he wasn’t at school to hear it.

“James, I know this may seem hard to believe, but my arms are heavily scarred because I mistakenly got hold of my Dad’s saw when I was younger. I guess these are the after-effects of curiosity.”

It’s bad, I know. I was having a hard time trying to convince myself of that pathetic excuse, and the look on his face didn’t read “Oh clearly that’s just a little mistake.” It was more like, “I know your secret.”  

It may appear that James cares. But I don’t think anyone truly does for me, they’re all just pretending. I do not expect him to all of a sudden feel bad for me and say, “It’s all going to be alright, Val.” I am far from being “alright”.

It is quite ironic, isn’t it? We feel as if there is no one there to hold our hands and pull us through patches of uncertainty and self-doubt. We become completely independent, wishing someone would pay the slightest inch of interest. We know in our darkest moments we need someone, and the value of human presence. And yet, when someone comes along reassuring us they will always be there we turn them away, dismissing them as if we could live without them forever, but we can barely live with ourselves for another moment.

I cannot really explain how it feels. The anger when I look at my parents, the hurt and revolt when I look at Mackenzie and Maya. I have so many things I would love to tell them; words which would fall and hit them like acid on bare skin. But I do not possess the will to do it when it gets to that point. It is anger without enthusiasm.

I’ve been wondering if there is an end to all the hurt and disappointment. There is one glaring option, one I’ve been considering for the past week. That is of course; suicide.

There is however, something immensely pleasurable when the blade breaks white flesh and bright red liquid oozes out. I enjoyed it, a lot. I guess the only thing I have to do to make sure it’s the last thing I ever do. It doesn’t hurt that much anymore so I guess I’m half way there. It all seemed pretty straight forward apart from the fact that there are very few people who have succeeded at their first attempts. My main concern was waking up in a psychiatric ward surrounded by my family and Mackenzie; all paying far too much attention to me.

I still haven’t thought of a good reason to explain to James tomorrow. I guess I’d just have to stand there in front of him and try and explain myself, without having to give away too much, if that is in any way possible.

I shut my laptop down and cover myself with the blankets. Hopefully by tomorrow I would have made up a valid excuse. Hopefully I would not have to worry about this boy thinking what I do to myself for much longer.

·          

I wake up early on Saturday, much earlier than I usually do. The house is ghostly. My parents have already left to Switzerland for their skiing trip with some of dad’s colleagues. I find a sheet of instructions taped to the metallic door of the fridge. It’s cold and dark outside. I quickly sort myself out, but I’m still with no explanation. I lock the door and tighten the scarf around my neck, it is bitterly cold.

I wait at the bus station for the next bus to arrive. It does not take that long and I soon find myself on the way to the old-age home. It’s about a twenty minute drive from Wingdon to Kingsley, at first glance it’s seems like a run-down town. The streets are littered with papers, packets and bottles. There are few pedestrians, but I guess it is still pretty early on a Saturday to roam these streets. We pass many apartment blocks, which appear dilapidated.