Euthanasia (Kellic)

21: The Eleventh

You've Seen So Many Faces That I've Never Seen Before. I Left An Un-Rewarding Message Telling You To Come On Over Dramatic, Automatically Assume I'll Stay The Same.

The fact that I'm alive, and not just that - the fact that I'm only alive because some godforsaken, mind bendingly clever, and probably high, stranger told me to be. I hate that fact, and I hate it quite possibly more than I hate myself, but I'm still just a little unsure about that one.

Mike.

The name brings me shivers, and a feeling of retching straight to my stomach. It brings me dread and panicked, and a headache to remember as I try my best to erase a figure from reality that's just far too real to go.

Fucking Mike, whoever the hell 'Mike' is, just let him be assured that I fucking hate him, because here I am, in the bathroom, in school, alone on a Friday and still very much alive, leaving me with an old friend, in mourning of the other to help me take care of my little situation here.

I don't even care that Vic Fuentes could and probably will walk in at any moment now - to be honest; I just hope he enjoys the fucking view. I wonder how he likes this; to see me falling apart at his own hand; I wonder how he fucking likes that, huh?

I bet he loves it; the attention, everything. I bet he fucking basks in the feeling of winning, of finally fucking my life up once and for all by making me fucking fall in love with him. This could all have been nothing more than a game to him; a challenge, perhaps. A little test of the patheticness that lay inside me. He just wanted to make me fall, and he wanted to make me fall - hard.

And I fell. I really fucking fell; I fell so hard, but there are only scars... I need to create the pain and the bruises to make this better, so I need my old friend and I need him now. The addiction is destructively beautiful and therefore all I could ever want, and quite possibly more. But really it is just all I need.

I need him in the empty cold bathroom against my skin.

I need the red against the white and the fear of Vic behind the door.

Maybe I want him to come in.

Maybe I want to see his reaction.

Maybe I just want to see how much he really loves this all.

How much he really loves me.

Not that he does at all, though. I'm not seriously stupid enough to believe that anymore or at least I hope so, clinging onto that thought for my sanity's sake at the very least.

So to prove myself right, I take the first over again for the millionth time, yet somehow the first one is always the best one, and it brings this ecstasy and that's something I live for, and suddenly the twenty four and a half barely feel real anymore, and strangely enough, neither does Mike. It all seems pretend like some falsely planted memory, and strangely enough I think I prefer it that way; choosing to be ignorant over hurt, just like everyone else right in their pinnacle of their own stupidity.

I prefer the clutches of insanity as opposed to the harshness of reality, because one's safe and sound on the outside and I'm only human, so of course I'm attracted to the snugness of insanity, because the darkness on the inside doesn't matter to me anymore.

And the red is only the start; it's really the metal tang that follows that I'm living for. It's the nothing that I'm living for and really it's the dying that I'm living for.

And that's beautifully sadistic - beautifully sadistic enough to make me cave in and die for the red. And I'm not strong enough to resist my desires for longer than a moment, so by the time I look down my unattended and blade laden hand has created five lines across my wrist; all five of them shining and leaking red.