Collaborated Damage

Chapter Six

"I was born for pain and misery. I accept that." ~Blue Belcourt, U.S tour, Phoenix. 

L'appel du vide, it meant the call of the void. I always liked that saying. The call of the void. I feel that so often now, more than I had in the past. When I was a kid, I'd look at the sharp knives in the kitchen, and be like, I could kill myself. I could kill her. But I won't, but I could. It was horrible. Music took off some of the edge, but you can never truly get rid of dark thoughts.

Sometimes I'd be walking down the sidewalk of the busy streets and feel the urge to jump in front of a taxi. I didn't exactly want to, fore say, but then again; I did. The thoughts made my head spin, the denying of the need and the urge to do it. I was a potential serial killer.

When Helen found me crying, she cooed to me. She had wrapped her arms around me, spoke to me through the chaos in my head. She told me that I was okay, that I was normal. That I was not a misfit, that I was someone special. She took the knife out of my hand, and told me to play a song for her.

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 My sobs came out quietly, making my shoulders shake. It sounded like a coughing noise, almost animalistic. The blade in my hand shook. I didn't want to do this, but I had to. The voice in my head kept pushing me.

Do it, do it you fool. DO IT.

The tip of the knife touched the skin at my wrist. Up not down, I remembered a girl telling me. Up not down. I thought of my mum sleeping on the sofa with beer bottles, who would pay the bills? Up not down. Helen's face came up into my mind, so serious.  

My cries came out louder, my free hand covered my mouth. I pressed down a little, prepared for the pain, but none came. The knife was knocked out of my hand and Helen stood before like an Angel of Glory and Mercy. Her thin arms wrapped themselves around me.

It must have been odd seeing me cry. I was always the solid one, the one with fake confidence. I had the cool exterior, the rock look, that made me seem unbreakable. But really, all I was, was broken.

I was always there for Helen as she cried. As she sobbed into my shoulder, soaking my shirt. But now she is here for me. A change. This wouldn't happen again. I'd do it before she found me, or after she realized I was no good for her and left me.

Helen cried with me, and we collapsed to the floor with a soft thud. My mind began forming complete thoughts and I pushed Helen away. She made a gasping sound, as if she didn't expect that to happen. I shook my head back and forth. This wasn't supposed to happen, dammit. 

"I wonder what I look like in your eyes." I whispered, pressing the palms of my hands against my eyes. Tears seeped through my fingers. 

"You look like a hero who has seen many hardships," She replied.

She pulled me up off the floor, wiping away the escaping tears. I seemed to always rely on someone. I seem to always need someone. I seemed to always cause problems for someone. "You should probably go now."

"Blue Belcourt." She stated. "I'm staying right here."

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After I recovered from being sick, I practically lived on the sofa. I didn't play the guitar anymore, new lyrics didn't fly through my mind, and my voice refused to speak. I stayed and watched the news. And waited. And waited.

Nothing happened. A cat was saved from a tree. A girl raised more than a thousand dollars for some charity. June and Donald were on the telly, rumors were going around that they were trying to get the band back together. No way in hell would they find me. 

 Annette came into the room, barely glancing at my pitiful state. Brightly she smiled, as if she found the Fountain of Youth or something. A large smile seemed to be painted on her face, almost like the Jokers. Thank goodness she wasn't wearing makeup. 

"Guess what! Guess what!" She giggled, such a girly thing that usually didn't appear in her personality. 

I sighed. "What?"

"I got that fan-fucking-tastic job! We're going to be rich, babe." 

I tapped the empty spot next to me, indicating for her to sit down. "What are you doing now? Working at a record store? Maybe another waitress?"

"No, I actually got a job as a secutary at a local business." Annette stood up. "I'll make some dinner, you go outside and walk around. I don't care if you change into clothes or whatever, just get some fresh air."

I sighed again. "Fine, Mom." 

I was not going to change out of my comfortable sweatpants or my Nirvana t-shirt. It just wasn't happening. I did try to smooth down some of my my hair, not that it helped any, and rinsed my mouth out. I left the appartment with only a scarf and Ant's too small pink slippers. I probably looked like a raving lunatic. But I really don't care.

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 My mother moved from France, to escape shame. She used to tell me about how lucky I was that I wasn't there anymore. She told me about how her father would beat her near death and how her mother would rub lemons on her cuts. It used to frighten me, I'd have nightmares of grey people hunting for me.

My mother met my father when she worked at a local cafe. They fell in love, well, my mother fell in love. My father loved my mother, he really did, but he loved a lot of women. After they were married they had me, and my father had other children with unmarried women. My mother was blind and overlooked my father's ways, and soon became depressed.

As long as I could remember, my mother would have paint on her, no matter if she was drunk or sober. She just couldn't stay away from the canvas. I'm sure she loved me, when she wasn't trapped in her own mind. I loved her, when she was quiet and held me tightly to her chest.