Euthanasia (Kellic)

27: The Past

I Hurt Myself Today To See If I Still Feel I Focus On The Pain The Only Thing That's Real

"Kellin."

My name is of course what wakes me up, because I'm still only fucking human and I'm born to be a narcissistic little fuck, and honestly, all I was trying to do was put a fucking stop to that, but things never work out like that - people never quite let you get what you want.

Selfishness - that's what I'd put it down to.

Selfishness - I know I'm right.

Or is that just the same narcissism rearing its ugly head once more.

I can't keep track of my own faults; they're everywhere - unstoppable, and I'm quite content with that. And I hate that.

I hate my faults, and perhaps as much as I hate myself.

I want to scratch, cut, and tear myself away until there's nothing left, because I need to be destroyed; I can't be allowed to thrive in a society driven by perfect, when I'm purely imperfect. At least I'm not ignorant enough to not even take notice.

"Kellin, what the fuck happened?" His tone seemed to grow angrier by every word that left his lips and I guessed that was down to my slowed and general lack of a response. That however had absolutely no affect upon me whatsoever.

I simply didn't want to speak and it was his fault that it was a problem. The thing was however that he was unbearably persistent in not just his quest to force words from my lips, but everything and perhaps that was exactly why I was still breathing this very moment.

And yet, I still could quite let myself hate Vic Fuentes.

My mind just doesn't work properly; it doesn't work how I tell it to, and that needs fixing, but I can't. The imperfection in the perfect world can't even fix himself; he has to stay that way to keep the standard the way it is for everyone else.

I shook my head in response, concluding that a simple action like that would have to satisfy him for the time being; he didn't seem to agree. Vic was never fucking satisfied, so really I should have seen that coming, but of course, I was stupid enough to not.

"Something fucking happened, Kellin." He drew in breath and that was when I really came to terms with the fact that I'd woken up in a house other than mine- Vic's house, unless he was real fucking creepy that is.

I assumed it was his house, judging from the photo of him with his family, which I could see hanging on the hallway wall, as the door was slightly ajar - if this wasn't his house then that would just about top the creepy scale entirely.

He gestured vaguely downwards, but I didn't even need that gesture to know that he was referring to my arms. I still didn't understand as to why he couldn't just say it, though; it didn't make sense, but then again neither did a lot of things and still that didn't render me any less annoyed by the matter.

"How many cuts have you made? How, why, just-" He soon began to choke upon his own words, leaving me to take the gentlemanly initiative and answer the question I gathered that he was aiming for.

"Forty Two."

"What?" His eyes seemed to pop right out of their sockets, and I think maybe I would have laughed if the situation were slightly more comedic.

"Forty two cuts." I clarified, glancing down at my now raw, irritated, and most likely infected arms, wondering if my physical state was worse than my mental one or not, and perhaps if my sanity reckoned I should give slightly more of a damn if they were infected or not.