The Beginning of the End

IV.

After the café, August came rolling around quickly. The time where summer storms were most frequent slowly died away, being replaced by endless periods of sunshine and occasional humidity. 

Not only was summer reaching its peak, but it meant the end of vacation. Senior year was creeping up on me, threatening to wrap its long talon around my neck and drag me down a pit filled with unnecessary drama and stress.

To be honest, I would consider a mediocrely popular person. Sure I had an appropriate amount of people who hated my ass, but there was also the group of people who weren't my friends but were always really nice. Ever since freshmen year I had vowed—and failed miserably—to avoid everything and simply stick with people who were always respectful. But of course, year after year, I failed. I fought, I yelled, I got detention. I couldn't help fighting a bitch when an opportunity came up. To me, it was necessary for me to be involved in drama when I didn't want to at the same time.

The drama was almost a necessity. I guess it's a teenager thing, a guilty pleasure. And to be totally fucking honest, I could never live without that guilty pleasure. 

As I sat there, alone and isolated, in my room, thoughts had begun to flood into my mind. It was almost impossible to think normally without Claire popping up somewhere. I tried distracting myself by looking out the window at the dazzlingly bright sun, its rays of light shining through trees branches and reflecting across windows. Or, I would alter my focus to look at something else: the blood splotch on the sink counter in my bathroom.

"What the hell is this, JT?" my mom had asked me worried out of her mind a week or two ago.

"Oh... Well, I never wanted to tell you because I've been embarrassed. But... I had a Sharpie, right? And it happened to be red—"

"But this stain here is crusty."

"Yeah. I know. I'm not sure why."

"Well, try fixing it or something. These granite tiles weren't cheap. Remember, I—"

"—don't crap money out of my ass, I get it. Can you just... I need some time alone, Mom. School thoughts—"

"And the excitement of seeing Claire after such a long time, I know! I haven't heard from her in such a long, long time!"

Yup. I hadn't told my mom about anything—from high the bitch dumped my ass, how I saw her shirtless boytoy in the upstairs window, how I grabbed a blade and swiped it across my wrist, how I had a (most-likely) imaginary conversation with myself.

I've kind of always wanted to avoid that conversation, I guess. It was such a sensitive topic that it was almost uncomfortable to talk about it with myself (with whom I usually have conversations with a lot of the time).

And at that time, as if on cue, my mom entered my room.

"You and Claire? Why didn't you ever tell me? Oh, honey..." she whined, rushing over to me and crushing my throat as she wrapped her bony arms around my neck. 

I couldn't help it soon after. I started shivering like crazy in her arms, pulling away. Soon after, I threw myself back on the bed and pulled up my sleeves. Bandaids crisscrossed my arms, and I began to wonder if the cuts had become infected.

My mom gulped. She couldn't even feel anything, I could already tell. Her lip began to quiver and she was trembling. She had no words. She opened her mouth, but she couldn't even say anything.

"With what?"

"I dunno. A blade, obviously," I responded bluntly.

"Why?"