Behind Closed Doors ( Chris Motionless)

Chapter 1:Straight edged lines

WARNING: THIS FANFIC DOES INVOLVE PARTS OF SELF MUTILATION, IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE WITH SELF HARM OR UNCOMFORTABLE I RECOMMEND YOU TO NOT READ THIS, ALSO, I AM NOT SUPPORTING SELF HARM, ALSO THIS WILL PROBABLY HAVE SEXUAL GRAPHICS IN THIS FAN FIC ALSO

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

THANK YOU

I walked down the snowy road from school. It was the middle of January, the coldest month of the year in my opinion. Everytime you exhale, your breath turns to a smoke-like form, making kids think it's cool to pretend to smoke. But I didn't have to pretend. I've smoked cigarettes every day, since I was 15. I picked up my first cigarette out of my step father's pack of Marlboro cigarettes. I had been beaten up that day and I needed a  way to relax , to calm my nerves, and I thought that a cigarette would help since my friends used to brag about it being like a relaxer. So I stole one out of his pack. After that first puff, I didn't like it at all, but I didn't want to waste it so I finished it and immediately got hooked. I eventually got my friends to buy me a pack every other week.

I remember that following week, watching my stepfather beating my mother, it wasn't anything new, he'd always beat her when he didn't have his way. I got fed up of watching it. It was as if that moment was in slow motion as I jumped in front of my mom when Dean threw another punch and the hit went straight through my chest making me gasp for air, but I got up.  My mom was screaming her head off asking me if I was okay. Dean then picked me up and threw me into their new 50" plasma screen tv. He yelled at me for being in the way, and he punched me a couple of times then he left after saying, "if you wanted pain just go hurt yourself like your fucking friends, you good for nothing excuse of a daughter. No one cares, we already know you smoke, might as well add cutting to the bucket list,"

I didn't pay much attention to it, I just spat out the blood as my mother tried to get me cleaned up. I didn't think about cutting, I didn't think that it would make me feel any better about myself. If anything, I'd assume it'd make me feel worse. I was already being bullied in school, and half of my family didn't speak to me for having a different belief than them. The following week, I had had enough. I had just started my very first period in gym class and blood was trickling down my legs. Everyone saw, and eventually they made fun of me. The girls were throwing tampons and maxi pads at me, as if I was living in the "Carrie" book by Stephen King. Embarrassing.

I ran to the locker room, and the girls surrounded me, laughing their perfect asses off.  They all dragged me to the back of the room and started stripping me. I tried to fight them off, but for being skinny bitches, they sure as hell were strong. They stripped me to the very last piece of clothing I had on,and the blood between my legs was plain to see. I was so embarrassed. They all laughed and took pictures, I immediately grabbed my clothes and put them back on and ran home. Later that day, I discovered that my naked body was all over the internet. I read the comments,

"what a slut"

"ew, stick a tamp in that swamp!"

 "What a bloody mess! LOL"

I cried my eyes out and panicked. I was hoping that Dean and mom wouldn't see them. I was obviously just starting puberty late. I felt panicky and I smoked a couple of cigarettes, but they didn't help much. That's when I thought about cutting. I thought about doing it, but I swore to myself that I wouldn't mainly because I wouldn't know how to hide the cuts and I am a sucker when it comes to pain. I gave in and snuck in the bathroom. There was a razor sitting on the sink, so I took it and ran to my room. I took the device apart, and held one of the razor blades to my inner arm. I winced and even squealed a little, but the endorphins inside of me felt as if they were escaping from my skin. So I tried again. And again. And again.

The next day at school, everyone pointed at me and flashed their phones at me, showing me the horrible pictures that was all over social media. I tried ignoring them and walked towards my friends. I waved at them, but they just walked away, and we never spoke again. 3 years later and I'm still alone, still being bullied, still living in hell.

 

  When I got home, my mother was in the kitchen slaying over a hot stove, while Dean was in his recliner chair  watching a football game, and drinking his usual corona beer. I walked past Dean and gave my mother a hug and kiss. She coughed a little and gave me a weak smile,I could tell she wasn't feeling good. My mother is sick, and she's supposed to be in bed rest, but Dean is making her do house work, and she won't let me help. My mother can be stubborn sometimes. She has a big heart. Too big of a heart.

I hurried up to my room, and threw my book bag and jacket on the floor, blasting "A-M-E-R-I-C-A" by Motionless in White, while I sketched in my sketchbook. I lit a cigarette as I sketched Ricky Horror, the guitarist from Motionless In White. Then that's when I felt a heavy vibration coming from downstairs.

"What the hell...?"

I walked down the stairs, and saw Dean yelling at my mother with a plate of food in his hand.

"YOU CALL THIS FOOD?! HUH?! YOU TRYNA MAKE ME PUKE OR SOMETHING?! THIS IS JAIL FOOD YOU GIVING ME YOU FUCKIN' BITCH!!!"

He threw the hot plate at my mom, and the food instantly burned her, and the glass that fell to the ground cut her legs, making her scream even louder in agony. I charged at him and pushed him away from my mother and tackled him outside the livingroom window. We flew out the window and landed in the snow. I threw punch after punch, until my hands were numb from the cold air and hitting his thick skull. When I could tell he couldn't respond because of how drunk he was,  I got up to check on my mother, and she started puking all over the kitchen floor. I kneeled down next to her and a tear fell from her face .

"Mom, I need to take you to the hospital," I said in a demanding tone.

As I helped my mom up, she grabbed at my wrists, making me wince.

She saw.

She saw my weakest moments on my skin.

She saw the straight edged lines.

Our eyes met, and I felt my stomach knot up. I looked away and walked her to the car to keep from explaining myself, even though I knew I have to explain at the hospital. I started the car, and drove off.