Burnt Out - Patrick Hockstetter.

Chapter 30; No Sympathy.

"I'm. Loosing. My. Fucking. Mind." I growled, punching the wall of the ally behind my house repeatedly.

Blood poured down my knuckles and onto my boots, then slowly dripping onto the sidewalk. But that didn't stop me. I kept punching and punching until I couldn't hear my knuckles connecting to the wall over my heavy sobs. Falling down against the wall, I cried warm tears of anger.

I could smell the metallic blood from meters away, the stench making me more frustrated. Was it an anger frustration or a sexual frustration I will never know, but it made me
feel insane.

Ignoring the sour pain spewing from my hands, I entered the driveway to my house, pushing the unlocked door open with my elbow, then slamming it shut with the heel of my foot.

As I walked into the kitchen, I absentmindedly licked the drying blood from my hand, enjoying the copper taste on my tongue.

"Disgusting." I heard my dad mumble from behind his newspaper.

"Say it a bit louder, pops." I smirked, grabbing a can from the fridge and popping it open.

"What have I told you about drinking in the house?" He quizzed with a stern glance.

"Don't drink around me, it reminds me of what a dumb, no good, punk ass son I have." I mocked, putting on a deeper voice and squaring my shoulders.

The old man huffed, then continued to read his paper.

"That's what I thought." I mumbled, taking a loud swig from my can and leaving the kitchen, heading upstairs to my wonderful, yet awfully dull, bedroom.

I admired the various band posters that lined my walls, taking a sip of my drink every so often. The faces of many men watching me while I slept, the best feeling. Dirty laundry littered the floor, books all over the show. Various tissues and wrappers seeped over the filled trash basket, causing more of a mess. Just the way I liked it.

I slammed my door shut and hopped onto my bed, placing my can down on the desk and kicking my shoes and jeans off. Tying my hair up with a loose band, I enjoyed myself for a good 10 minuets, before adding another tissue to the overflowing trash.

Just as I pulled up my red pants, faint knocked sounded from outside. More specifically, pebbles on my window. I groaned and hopped out of the bed, slightly cringing at the smell of sweat that clouded the small room.

Looking down, there stood the faggot known as Victor Criss.

I opened my window, then glared at him. "What do you want?"

"Are you going to let me in?" He pondered.

"No." Was all I said before closing the window, and then my curtains.

"Come on-!" I heard the faintest groan from the drive way. A smirk played on my lips, poor Vic.

Taking off my t-shirt, I threw it somewhere amongst the various other shirts that lay on my floor. Looking in the mirror, I admired my slender, pale body. I could see every line, every hair, every odd mark. I loved them all. Dark hair trailed from my chest to my pubes, and there I followed the line with my index finger.

I span in a circle, admiring my beautiful body. Standing here in just my underpants made me realise how beautiful I really am.

"Let me in, dipshit!" Vic cried from the garden. I rolled my eyes and walked back over to the window.

"Fuck off!" I yelled after opening my window.

I was freezing. The autumn cold froze my chest.

"Put a shirt on!" He called up.

"Make me." I yelled back.

"If you let me in," he proceeded.

"Go home, Vicky boy." I spoke, my face falling.

"Make me." He replied sarcastically.

"I just might." I spoke angrily, slamming the window shut and stomping down the staircase.

"Oh- Patrick! Put some pants on." My mom cried as I walked past the front room.

"No thanks." I yelled, opening the front door, then slamming it behind me.

Victor snorted with laughter, "where are your pants?"

"Inside?" I spoke, slightly confused.

Vic raised an eyebrow then shrugged.

"You're obsessed with me. Fuck off, Victor. I can't be arsed with you right now." I groaned.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay." Vic mumbled, looking like a kicked puppy.

I felt no sympathy, just annoyance.

"I'm fine, now piss off." I spoke, wanting to head back inside since I was freezing my arse off.

"Fine. I'll see you tomorrow?" He asked.

"Probably." I shrugged, then headed back inside to my warm bedroom.

I had no sympathy for those who felt emotions that just made them weaker.