Dancing On Ice

Kellin's POV

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I had really fucked up this time. I dropped my head in shame as all of my teachers, principal and guidance counselor all spoke about how much of an awful student I was. My mom was next to me, shooting me angry daggers every chance she got.

"...We all think he'd be much better suited at a different school, Mrs. Bostwick." Principal George told me mom. I knew he didn't give a shit about me. Hell, I didn't give a shit about me. Mom reached into her bag and took out a cigarette.

"Oh, you can't smoke in here." Counselor Kimmi told my mom. Mom put the cigarette back into her purse.

"Fine. You're suspending him or, what?" Mom asked impatiently. It was almost two, mom always smoked at two.

"We're expelling him. Kellin is no longer allowed on this campus." My principal states firmly. I bit my bottom lip to keep from crying and failing miserably. A tissue box was placed in front of me. I grabbed one and wiped at my eyes and my nose. Why did noses do that? Why did they cry along with your eyes?

"You little shit. Did you hear them? Do you even care?" Mom growled at me.

"I-I just wanna go home." I sobbed even harder. This hadn't been my week, or year for that matter. I'd moved to a new school and was constantly picked on. Of course I tried to fight back, and I was being expelled for it. I didn't care. No one cared.

"We'll contact you with the final documents. Until then, maybe let him calm down." Counselor Kimmi suggested. My mom scoffed and grabbed my arm angrily.

"Whatever. I'll deal with him." She dragged me out of the office, mumbling the worst thing possible to me. My mom worked as a bartender/ sales associate at Lowe's. She was never home. "Crying like a little faggot. You're an embarrassment. Just like your father." My dad had left when I was younger. Never bothering to stay around or try to see how I'd turned out. I kept my head low, thankful for my fringe that covered my eyes. I got in the passenger seat as my mom started the car. I was an embarrassment. She didn't speak, and when she did, it was another insult towards me. I deserved it. I was her emo, faggot son. The one she wished never even existed. It was okay. I deserved it.

I didn't stay home long when we'd pulled into the driveway. Mom went inside and got dressed for work. I took comfort in my notebook and ran and far as I could from my house. I didn't even wait for her to leave. I found a boulder and sat on it, wiping at my eyes as I poured out my emotions onto the paper in front of me. The sound of a loud thud made me jump, causing me to fall off of the boulder and scrap up my side. I cursed under my breath and  pulled up my shirt. There was a rather large scrap, multiple droplets of blood forming. I winced at the pain.

"Motherfucker." I swore. I stood up, careful not to drop my shirt into the blood. I didn't want to go home, yet, didn't want to get an infection. I sighed, deciding that I'd have to face the music sooner or later.

The house was silent when I stepped through the door. Mom had left and it was just me. I went to the bathroom and got the rubbing alcohol and braced myself for the coming pain. I pressed a alcohol soaked tissue to my side. The pain was bitter but I knew that it had to be done. When the scrap stopped bleeding, I removed the tissue and put some ointment to it, followed by a huge Band-Aid. I hadn't even finished the song I'd been writing, and the emotion I'd had before was gone. Now what? I was expelled from school, I was alone, and I felt like absolute shit. I glanced at the medicine cabinet. Cold medicine and alcohol could take me away. I knew where mom kept the booze. She never even locked that cabinet.

No. Not today.

No matter what, I wouldn't let myself get that low. I needed to be alive. Because, everything got really ugly, before they could get really beautiful.

Mom didn't come home that night. She came stumbling in pretty early the next morning. I didn't sleep, and hadn't for the past few weeks. I was wide awake, staring at the ceiling as I heard her make as much noise as humanly possible, in her futile effort to be quiet. I closed my eyes and glanced at my bedside clock. I wouldn't be going to school that day, because my mom hadn't been faxed the paperwork to finalize my expulsion.

Which was fine. I turned onto my side and winced. My scrap against that boulder still stung. I hissed slightly and turned back over.

I gazed out the window, the darkness outside matched the inside of my room. I used to blame my father for everything, because he'd left. But now, I didn't blame him for leaving. I wanted to leave just as bad as he had.