Papercut (kellic)

Chapter 6: Better Days

I leaned against the wall of the abandoned building, waiting for Vic. I figured he would come here to get his hoodie back. I wouldn't be doing anything I wanted today at lunch.

Sure enough after a few minutes the door creaked open.

"Kellin. How are we today?" He said sarcastically. He sounded like an annoying therapist.

"I'm fine," I replied, even though it was obvious he was kidding. I pulled his hoodie out of my bag and threw it at him. He seemed to not expect it, but managed to catch it anyway.

"This better not be stained," he murmured and slid down the wall next to me. I wasn't thinking he would stay. Honestly, I was really hoping he wouldn't.

"Are you happy?" he asked out of nowhere, breaking the silence we had been sitting in for the past few minutes.

I didn't know how to respond. What kind of question was that?

"Don't ask me that," was my only reply.

"Yeah, I didn't think you were. It's a shame. You should really save being sad for when you're a suburban dad with a minivan," he said.

"What does that mean?" I urged him to elaborate.

"Don't waste your youth by growing up, Kellin Quinn," he said standing back up and walking toward the door.

Just as he was walking out, I whispered, "Are you happy?"

A wave of emotion swept across his face. It was quickly cut off my his usual smirk. "Always," was the last word he spoke before letting the door slam behind him.

~•~•~

Daylight seems to cover up the terror of night. But when the sun's last rays of light abandon the sky, I am left to my thoughts. They are all I have, yet they can be so dangerous. I've always been excellent at running. I run away from my relationships with people, things I feel passionate about, and anything that makes me happy. I can't help it. Despite all of the running I do, I can never run away fast enough from my thoughts. Where can you go to hide from your own mind?

I overthink everything until I feel I may lose my mind. Thoughts swarm me like little insects that are tearing me apart bit by bit. Maybe that's why I do it. It's the only time I don't think. There's something so primitive about me when I hold my blade. My brain lets itself relax. My anxious breathing slows. All is still like it never is.

When I slice the blade into my skin I let myself out of the prison of reality. I am an artist the same as any other. My skin is the canvas where I lay out my self expression. The thoughts that had been trapped in my mind become free and dance along my skin in the form of teardrops of red. This is my art. Is it so wrong to step back and be proud of my work, as any other artist would be?

Though, come to think of it, most artists' work is not appreciated until after their life is over. Maybe that is true to me. No one will see the art lurking in my soul until my death. I don't want to wait any longer. My time is coming to an end. I can feel it more in every morning. I am not quite ready yet. No artist should die  without a masterpiece to leave behind.

~•~•~

Those were the thoughts of another sleepless night. I have had many of these for many years. Sometimes I think my sleep deprivation may be one of the reasons I feel that I am losing my mind. It causes me to experience horrible dreams and, occasionally, sleep paralysis, which in turn cause me to want to sleep even less. Nothing ever changes for me. The point of my day is to make it through the day. The point of my night is to try to find sleep. And repeat. It's all I do. Is a life without purpose a life worth living? I ask this question even though I know the answer.

So my first thought of the morning was, "I will make it through today." And I did. All I did was make it. No more and no less. I kept my head down in the hallway. I tried not to let the panic take over before I got to class. I struggled but persevered. I was more than ready to finally let myself collapse as I walked toward the building behind the school.

But I never got to, because when I heaved the steel door open and let daylight flood the room, I did not find it empty. Vic was leaning against the wall trying to get his lighter to work, an unlit cigarette hanging between his lips.

"God damn piece of shit," he murmured as he threw the dead lighter on the ground. I awkwardly cleared my throat to announce my presence.

"Honestly Kellin, get over yourself. I knew you were here. I could smell the deep teenage emotions. I just couldn't give a fuck," he said.

"So I guess you're going to become a regular in my spot now?" I said. I thought he had showed up yesterday just to retrieve his hoodie, but maybe this is becoming a regular thing now. I hope not. Over my high school career this place had become somewhat sacred to me. If I lost it I don't know what I would do.

"Are you a regular in your spot Kellin?"

Before I could answer he continued, "Predictable is the most boring thing a person can be. You need to stop being predictable. There's no reason to continue being alive if you're not really living."

"I like when things don't change. I know exactly what will happen at all times. It's feels safe." I was surprised by my own words. I definitely wasn't meaning to open up to Vic, but he was so casual it almost felt like talking to myself. I never acted like this. If I even did talk, every word was meticulously chosen and thought over.

I think Vic was surprised as well.

"Well, well. Did you actually say something worthwhile?" He let his jaw dramatically drop in false shock. I should have known that he would immediately laugh at me for being honest. Of course the first time in years I was real with another person, they would make fun of it.

I automatically shut down. It was my body's natural defense mechanism. My hands tugged the sleeves of my flannel further over themselves. I let the hair tucked behind my ear fall over my face. I crossed my arms over my chest. I didn't respond.

"Uh oh, I think I broke it." He didn't get a response. "Kellin, I'm not trying to invalidate you," he sighed, "don't stop talking now that you're actually speaking to me."

I couldn't tell if what he was saying was honest. Even if it was it wouldn't make a difference. I barely knew Vic, but I could tell what type of person he is. Toxic. The type of person you will regret meeting someday. He was the last person I needed around, with my already fragile feelings.

"I have to go," I said, standing up. Vic knew I didn't have to go. I didn't know where I was going. All I knew was I was definitely not staying with him.

I ended up spending the rest of my open hour in a bathroom stall. It was
the only other place I could be alone. I felt like a cliche as I sat fully clothed on the toilet. I stared at the blank door of the stall I was currently in.

It was hard to imagine a time when I was blank. I ran my hand over the rough terrain of my wrist. It was practically just a mound of scar tissue at this point. It seemed impossible that it was once smooth and undamaged. It made me angry to see the blankness of the door. I pulled a Sharpie out of my bag and started rapidly slashing lines on the door, as if it would feel the pain I gave myself.

My shaking hand found a spot I had left unmarked and wrote out 'I've seen better days'. It pains me to think of times I've been happy. I don't want to think of it. In a strange way, I love my depression. It's constant, and I can feel it. It's there for me like a meaningful tattoo, and it won't leave like a person. It's who I am. I wouldn't be me without my depression. I wouldn't recognize myself.

I've seen better days, but I don't want my better days back. I will ride the rest of this downward spiral, until the very end.

I'M BACK. My break was much longer than expected, but I'm excited to be writing again. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. It's sort of all over the place because I didn't plan it out, I just sort of let my mind wander. Anyhow I'm out.
~ Lauren

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