Galaxies

My Fathers

Blade.

She said yes. I have a date with London. After promising her I would go to my afternoon classes and watching her go back into the school building, I hopped into my car and sped home. This had to be perfect. She needed to know I love her.

I raced up the steps to my room. No one was home, as my father always worked. He wouldn't have cared anyways.

I picked out a nice outfit for myself. Black skinny jeans, white short sleeved men's button down, and a red skinny tie. I matched it with black vans and decided to brush my hair out later so it would be soft. Sometimes, London would play with it when she got tired. I loved it.

After picking out the outfit which I would put on later, I grabbed candles from downstairs. Scented. Cinnamon. Perfect. I found a bottle of strawberry champagne under my bed, waiting to touch her lips.

I shoved it all into my car with a blanket, and set off towards the beach. I raced down the side streets and made it to her favorite spot in two minutes flat.

There was a small sort of "cove" which we had constructed over the years. By one of the pillars for a dock on the north side, there was a small path back to a sort of wooded area. There was a clearing, which we had cleared out ourselves in the eighth grade.

I laid the blanket in the sand, and put a crate with the food in the middle. I lit the two candles and set them by the crate. My mind was filled with images of an awestruck London arriving to the scene.

I jogged back to my car and drove home. I stumbled up to my room, and into the bathroom. I checked the time. I had two hours.

I looked at my reflection. I hated her. She is ugly. Gross. Deformed. Pathetic. I reached into the drawer for the tool which gave me my nickname.

Blade.

I held the old  metal in my hand. Poised, thinking.

It was another cloudy day in the big city. My father was cooking in the apartment, for my other father. They were a couple. My other father was lying on the couch, in pain. I sat beside him, holding his hand.

"When are you gonna get better daddy?" I asked.
"Soon, sweetie. Don't worry."

Soon. Soon my ass. He knew he wouldn't make it. He should have told me.

One cut.

I was ten. Standing over a hospital bed with my father, watching my other dad die. He already looked like a corpse.

"AIDS," the doctor said glumly, "can't believe we still can't find a cure."

My fathers kissed, and then I kissed my daddy's forehead, and my other father led me out of the room. I still remember the last words of my dad.

"I'll come home soon, sweetie."

Soon. Soon my ass. He knew he wasn't coming home. Why lie?

Two cuts.

My dad died the next day. I remember his funeral. I just kept staring at the corpse I had been watching rot for years. Soon after, my father needed to move. For work. Sure. Work. Why leave the only home my daddy had ever loved me in? Why?

Three cuts.

I found blades soon after he told me the news. I had heard of depression and self harm, but never considered it. Then I shoved one of the metal sticks into my arm and watched the blood pour out. I loved it. I craved more.

Every night I added a new cut. I felt powerful, in control of my destiny. I let darkness inside because it felt good.

I found the painkillers as I was cleaning out our medicine cabinet. My father had to go sign some papers. I took three of the small green pills. Within ten minutes, I felt like I was on a cloud. It felt good. I felt powerful.

I filled a bottle with medicines of every color. I loved being powerful. It felt like fire, consuming me.

Four cuts.

I watched the blood pour into the sink. I felt good. Powerful. I then looked at the clock. A half hour had passed. I grabbed a towel and pressed it to my arm to stop the bleeding.

I only had an hour left by the time it had stopped. I quickly applied some ancient concealer to it, as London rarely noticed anything anyways.

I got dressed and was just finished brushing my hair as London texted me to pick her up. I frowned at the reflection in the mirror, and then walked out to my car and sped to London's house.