The New Guy

Letting it Out

*****This is Braden's (Saywecanfly) new song Wavelength! I love it and hope you will too*****

I played for hours, singing until my throat hurt and my fingers were numb from playing guitar. 

"I saw his face and I could not speak. As the anesthetic kissed his cheek. I felt my lips go cold and my limbs go weak, because the body on the table where the patients die was me. It was me."

I finished that song, and sat down with my hands in my head, thinking.

Thinking, and thinking, and thinking.

Suicide.

Cutting.

Braden.

Colby.

Jake. Adrian. The show. 

Pain. Family. Loss.

*Flashback*

I looked down at the note I had wrote, and read it over.

I love you all. I guess that's how I'll start. Telling you guys how much I love you, and I don't want anyone to blame themselves. It was just a mix of stuff, like stress, and pain, and depression. You'll be okay, I promise. So just take care. I'll be okay. 

Love, Chelsea

It was so informal, but I wanted it to be quick, easy  to leave, to get away from here.

Seconds before I swallowed the pills, my mother came in, and saw me. 

I dropped the pills, and she looked at me, confused.

"I just have a headache, and I accidentally spilled the bottle. I was just picking them up." I lied smoothly, and she nodded, then left.

I sighed, and began thinking about the possibilities of committing suicicde. 

My family needs me to hold them together. 

Dad's working.

Mom's a scatterbrain.

I cook and clean.

Keep the boys in order.

I set the pills back in the bottle and went to bed.

*Flashback over*

I stood, and went inside, to my room.

I dug through my drawers for a moment, before finding the note.

A tear ran down my cheek, and I read it.

I can't believe that I wanted to do that.

But wouldn't it have saved their lives? Because you were the one driving when they died?

It could have.

"DAMN IT!" I screamed.

Digging through my drawers, I found my blades, all silver, with blood covering them.

Except for one.

I put in headphones, and played Braden's song, Scars.

Slowly, I slid the blade along my wrist, a thin but deep line.

Blood spilled out of each one.

One for Colby.

One for my mom.

One for my dad.

One for each of my brothers.

One for Jake, for being so kind to fucked up me.

One for Adrian.

One for Braden.

One for the music.

One for the show.

And a final one, cutting through all of the cuts, for me.

For how screwed up in the mind I am, for the pain I cause everyone. 

For being me.

11 cuts went up my left arm, all bleeding, and covering my hardwood floors.

Tears stained my cheeks, and I screamed.

"Braden!"

He ran up the stairs, and came into my room.

"Help me." I whispered.