A Bell Of Juxtaposition

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

I sit alone in Gerard's room. On his bed I breathe in his scent that surrounds me. It is almost intoxicating with the sense of safeness.

I needed to get away.

I needed to absorb the information given. I don't know why it shocked me. I can't even remember my mother and father very well. However I do know that a mother should always love their child. It is how it works in this world. And it seems that she had enough love to spare. How can a women so full of pure love, hate someone let alone her own child? Was I not good enough? Was I a terrible child? Maybe I did not meet the standards. Was I not attractive enough or thin enough? Why, why, why?

'Why didn't you love me?!' I suddenly scream. My voice makes me jump. So many questions and thoughts swarm around and around in my tortured mind.

I sit up. The window is open a crack. I reach over and push it open more so I can feel the breeze wash away the buzz in my mind. Outside all I see are tops of trees. Trees that don't lose their leaves. They own needles that don't drop with fall. The sky is covered over by bruise coloured clouds and rain threatens to come crashing down making everything even darker.

The feeling of being truly alone rushes over me. I am in the middle of nowhere in a wood on the other side of the world from where I should be.

On the other hand though, you are never alone. You always have that voice in your head, talking and telling. It never shuts up. It will have something to say about anything and everything you do and think. It will mess with you, bully you and comfort you. It only believes in juxtaposition.

I flop back down on to the bed and just lie there, in the silence that is too loud. I stare at the ceiling. The cracks run deep and the damp spreads far.

I turn over and look over to the empty bed. It is made and perfectly white; it is not affected by the mould and dirt yet. The pillow has a slight concave of Mikey's head. He didn't puff out the pillow. Other than that, you could not say that any other life was in this room.

I sit up and glare at the door. The handle has turned green from exposure. The paint has been chipped and peels off in cracks. The paint could have been white but now takes the form of a shade of yellow. The door is a sad one. Not loved or had attention paid to it.

I stare down at the bed I sit on. It's also white and not affected. However it is affected by sleep. The sheets are creased and take the shapes of veins. It is alive with the memory of sleep.

My legs are stretched out on the bed and the contrast of colour draws in my attention. I pull up my left leg. I bore holes into my leg with my stare. I stare at the perfect sharp lines that criss-cross my calves. They are memorising. I then progress to the lines on my wrists and arms. They are more defined and sharp. I bush my fingertips over them and feel-

The door opens and Gerard enters with sorrow filled sockets that hold his green-brown eyes. I look up for a second but my attention is occupied by the lines. He notices my intense concentration on my wrists and arms; he bites his bottom lip with nervousness.

He closes the door and walks with light steps over to my side. He sits in front of me and reaches out for my arm and strokes over the scars. 'So you noticed these.' He says without looking up. His attention is also occupied by the lines. 'Yeah, I noticed them when bathing. What did Matt do to me?' I now look up at him, desperate for answers even though I know the truth is brutal. He looks up slowly, avoiding the answer for as long as he can. He bites the bottom of his lip again. He squirms as the answer sits in the front of his mind.

'It wasn't Matt or Bob or any of them...it happened before,' he looks away from my curiosity, 'you may or may not understand what they are but I'll just say it; you did it to yourself.' I understand as the bell in the back of mind rings. Dark nights alone, home alone, half a sharpener razor hidden. Reached my skin and draws lines of blood over my body.