Self Inflicted

Chapter 8: Relapse

When Ollie got here from work, she was ready and willing to make a big fuss of her youngest child. On the car ride home, she asked him many times why he didn't tell her he felt bad before going to school. She got no reply.

"Michael?" She suddenly said, bringing me out of a phase.

"Yes?"

"I have to go back to work so I got you both from school. You need to look after my baby for me, okay?"

I nodded and she pulled up at home, helping Billie out and walking him into the house, to the couch. She lay him down and began to fuss over him as I went downstairs to my room.

I had the basement as my new room now, which meant I could no longer slip into bed with Billie. However despite this, I loved the room. Ollie was awesome, she let me put posters everywhere and even found me a guitar stand for cheap. My room was amazing, with my bass, and the walls plastered with images of The Who, The Sex Pistols and The Ramones. My room was music.

I flopped down on the bed and looked at my arm. The cuts had healed now, nearly. I had ditched the bandage and just wore long sleeves. And it felt good. Lying back on my bed, I thought about the cuts I had done, and I discovered I actually missed the feeling of pain. I sat up slowly and looked at my floor, shaking one of the pairs of pants I had left there until I heard the little clunk of the sharpener falling to the floor.

I dropped the pants and picked it up, smashing it off the head of my bed until the blade dropped into my ready hand.

Then I sat and stared at the blade. It looked really sharp. I rolled my sleeve up and gently pressed it to my wrist, pulling it across from right to left gently, barely touching. I blinked as it started bleeding straight away. This thing was sharp.

I paused for a second before giving in to the inevitable. I cut all the way up my left arm, the gaps between each cut were tiny. I realised I had cut too much. I had no where on this arm to cut. My first thought was my leg, or maybe my other arm?

My thoughts were distracted by the droplets of blood dropping onto my bed. I snapped back and nearly screamed at the sight of my arm. Why didn't I see how bad it was? I jumped up and ran to the bathroom, rinsing it off and watching the water run from red to clear. Then I wrapped it in toilet paper and sat on the edge of the bath, watching the blotches of red appear.

What had I done? Would this scar? How am I supposed to hide this from Billie?

I breathed quicker as I slid to the floor, putting my head in my hands and rolling my sleeve down as my breaths came in harsh gasps. I couldn't stop, I couldn't breathe. I was going to die. This was it.

*Billie Joe POV*

I woke up after a while, noticing my mom was definitely not here. But I knew Mike was. I got to my feet clumsily and went down to the basement, looking around.

Empty bed. Empty room.

I frowned as something caught my eye, walking over. There was a blade on his bed. It was bloody, and there was actually blood on his bed. My stomach turned to water and churned.

He had done it again.

I ran upstairs to the bathroom, opening the door and seeing Mike leaning against the bath, out cold. I rolled his sleeve up and teared up as I saw his arm.

It was really, really bad. What seemed like thousands of tiny cuts littered his pale skin, taking up basically every space on his arm. I bit down on my lip and rolled his sleeve back down, shaking him until he awoke.

His eyes went to his arm first before he looked up at me when he realised it was covered, that I hadn't seen. If only he knew.

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Later on, my mom came home and made dinner as usual. Mike had been teasing me for hours, laughing about how I had spewed on the Math teachers shoes, and how now I was 'in for it'.

By the time we all sat down to dinner; we being me, Mike, my Mom, and some of my siblings, Anna, Marci, Hollie and David, as my oldest brother Alan was away working a lot. We ate and chatted, Mike kicking me under the table like he always did.

I was still feeling sick, and I couldn't be bothered with Mike's quirkiness today. "Jack it in, dicklips." I snapped, kicking him back. He chuckled as my mother said the usual 'language, Billie Joe'. However Mike continued to kick. "Stop!" I yelled, going to kick him as hard as I could but missing and instead knocking a glass of juice over in the swift movement.

Mike burst out laughing as my Mom practically exploded. "Billie Joe Armstrong!" I rolled my eyes and folded my arms.

Mike just laughed more. "Dude, you suck at kicking." I looked up at him, seeing a twinkle in his eyes for the first time in months but snapped.

"Well.. Well at least I don't fucking cut myself like some kind of... some kind of fucking emo faggot!" I screeched, yanking his sleeve up to expose his arm.

The whole table went silent and stared at Mike, but more at his arm. "Mike I-" I started, but never finished as Mike clambered from his seat and bolted for the stairs to the basement, going into his room and slamming the door so loudly, it shook me from the inside out.

I put my head down and avoided my Mother's eyes.

This was bad.