My Father's Daughter

Twenty-Eight

A/N: Sorry if these last chapters seem kind if rushed, I'm desperately trying to finish this book before I go back to school XP

Vic's POV

Danny. Danny, Danny, Danny. Its all I could think about. I just tossed her name around inside my head. I let the thought of her coat everything I did, everything I said. Danny.

"Danny..." I whispered. It sounded so soft. I missed her more than I ever thought I would. How could I be so in love with a girl I met less than two months ago?

It's been a week since she was killed. I've barely spoken to anyone other than fans. The shows have been shit and I'm just so out of everything.

Our songs are supposed to make people feel better; convince them that life will get better. But it doesn't. I'm so numb now. Not just to Danny's death--which hasn't gotten any easier to deal with--but everything. I'm going to lose everyone I love.

Audrey will go to college in a few years, and the band's not going to last forever. Mike will go off on his own soon enough and Mama and Papa won't live forever. I can't keep up a relationship with a girl or my friends when we're on tour so much and by the time PTV is over with, I'll be on my own. The fans will forget about us; about me. I'll be all alone. I'll never get married or have a family. Audrey. I love her, but after she moves out, she won't bother visiting her fucked up father.

My life is as good as over.

Nothing is worth anything. I don't care about anything anymore. If I'm going to lose everyone eventually anyway, then I better not stay attached. What's the point of living if you're nothing to anyone else? Why should I even try anymore?

I keep telling Audrey to talk to me instead of hurting herself. But what a hypocrite I am when I have the same scars as her. How am I supposed to help her with her problems when I can't deal with my own?

"Vic?" Jaime called. He came into the bunk room where I was lying. "Hey, the guys are going for breakfast, you wanna come?" I shook my head. I didn't even look at him before he sighed and started to go. "Okay, Audrey's staying too." He finally left me to my thoughts and I waited until they had all left.

I knew Audrey was in the back. What was I supposed to do? I didn't feel like doing anything. I just didn't feel anything. Nothing. I stared at the wall in front of me. It was so dark. Everything was dark. I ran a finger down one of my old scars. Nothing. Why can't I feel anything? I dug my nail into my skin and dragged it down. It left a full stinging feeling along with a slightly red line.

That wasn't enough.

I quickly clawed at my arm, hard. It sent a shock through my nerves and I did it again and again. My arm was now raw and scratched, but not bleeding. Eventually the stinging dulled and resumed it's slightly warm state. I continued to claw at myself but it lost the once blissful sensation. My breathing quickened and I panicked. I was losing the only feeling I could induce. I had to make it stronger. I jumped up and searched through the drawer under my bunk. Where is it?

At last I pulled out the most reliable source of feeling I had. The dried blood was now a dark stain along the edge of the metal. I could never get over how incredibly sharp these things were.

No one was here. Everyone had left like I knew they would. I wandered out of the bus, clutching the chip of sharpened steel. I took a beer on the way. Drink everything away, right? I climbed up the ladder to the roof of the bus and sat on the edge with my legs dangling over the side. No one would see. No one was here. They wouldn't care anyways.

I cracked the top of my beer and took a big gulp. It burned my throat a little but slowly started to diffuse into my blood. I felt more relaxed but no less numb. In fact, it may have made the lack of feeling worse.

I pulled up my sweatshirt sleeve and looked over the old scars. They were hideous. I remembered each and every one of them and why I made them all. They were memories buried under my skin. I held the blade to my wrist and dragged it across. Let's make memories.

I dug it into my skin deeper and harder. I just wanted to cut out all of the thoughts, all of the problems. My nightmares that haunted me would never let me sleep. I needed relief.

I cut across again and again watching the blood surface and pour out of each cut almost instantly. The dark red, such an awful color. It was sickening, but over the years it had become comforting. It meant I was alive and it meant I could feel. So many times I had cause myself pain; brought on some sort of stimulation to my dormant nerves, but never like this. Never to this extent. My arm was dripping with blood, and it soaked into my clothes. I was breathing heavily and angrily tearing at my arm.

It felt like I was asleep all the time and I could never wake up from this horrible dream. You know you're awake if it hurts when you pinch yourself. That never worked for me.

I'm fine. I'm always fine. That's always my answer, but it's never true. What makes me happy? Let me get back to you. What do I love? Everything I've lost or will lose. It's always the same. Oh, my dog died? I'm fine. I got beat up and called names everyday for years? It's okay. Everyone I have the slightest bit of love for leaves me? Don't worry about it. I'll tell you I'm fine and you'll say I'm strong. But the truth is I've been so weak this whole time.

My entire arm was red. I couldn't even see my skin anymore, or if I had any left. Nothing would be okay. I dropped the blade and stared at my arm. I felt a little lightheaded, but nothing I couldn't handle. It always looked worse than it was. I sighed and sniffed. I hadn't even realized I was crying again. I briefly wondered if I had finally gone too far or if--

"Daddy?"