Euthanasia (Kellic)

33: The Guilt

I Think I've Lost A Lot Of My Friends Through Belief That I'm An Instrument. Well Fuck Me If You Must Then Treat Me Like An Old Friend. I Can't Exist Within My Own Head So I Insist On Haunting Your Bed

It had been about a week since the night Vic slept over and I still hadn't told him about Mike. I just couldn't bring myself to gather the balls; I was so fucking afraid of what he'd said, and I just left myself cowering inside my own pathetic life built of lies.

This castle of lies was going to crumble down and it was going to be soon. I was losing myself here, especially with no pain and no red to keep me in order, I was just an undisciplined mess, and that was how insanity worked - it'd pounced upon people like me, and I didn't blame it. All insanity wanted was an easy catch, as we all did - insanity was clever, it deserved the sanity it stole.

And I deserved this all. I couldn't even tell Vic about his fucking brother. I was choosing our relationship and the stability of that over someone incredibly important to him, and when he eventually found out I knew it couldn't be anything more than my fault at all. He'd hate me, and I'd have to find comfort in that, in the real sanity of it all - I was a flawed human with very really fuck ups and emotions that just loved to wreck havoc more than it was okay.

I knew that all morality was screaming for me just to let the words slip from my lips, because honestly it was even kind of cruel to keep it from him like this, but of course my own fucking human fear overruled any signs of sanity at all. That was how my selfish little head worked.

It had been about a week since the night I threw away my fr- blades and I hadn't cut, yet. I'd wanted to more than anything, and I suspected that I was even going a little insane from the thoughts running rampant in my head. My mind practically buzzed whenever I saw a knife; yearning for it, and it seemed as if I had a physical dependence upon my own self-destruction also.

Which would of course be an entirely new shade of fucked up ready for me to be plunged into without warning. Life just went like that.

Maia and I were just at the park, sitting on top of the kids' play park thing and generally pissing the parents off to extremes in the process. We didn't even look particularly thuggish - I mean, I had straightened my hair this morning; I looked more of a faggot than anything else. Which I guess was pretty accurate, considering I was occupied with my boyfriend and his not quite so dead brother.

And this really shouldn't have been a problem, but I was well aware that people did drugs here at night, and I was perhaps even more well aware of the discarded needle laying right underneath the painted metal we were sat upon.

It was a fucking needle. A needle that someone had used to inject heroin or god knows what else into their system, and I knew that, but I couldn't help but fixate myself with the needle and just how fucking beautifully sharp it was. That was the kind of sharp that could fuck over my pale white skin into a mess of red that I might not even wake up to see.

I just didn't care anymore; I was a rampant pain addict and I hated how hard this was. I never expected it to be easy, of course, I didn't think I was quite that stupid, but I hated the reality of this all. I hated the real world itself and loved how the blood and the dizzy buzz that clouded my head took me elsewhere temporarily - I loved being absent and able to forget and I hated the cold hard fact that I was a really person with friends and schoolwork to care about.

It was however the dirtiest fucking thing I'd ever seen. This was the sharpened equivalent of a plague rat from the middle ages, but unlike the rats, this needle had disguised itself as something beautiful, something tempting, which made it all the more dangerous, and in turn all the more enthralling, and I was such a fucking sucker for that. It was temptation itself and with both my sanity and common sense vacant, I was in no mood to even put up an attempt to resist.