Broken

Chapter Seventeen

Chester's Point of View:

Mike and I sat with each other for a while in complete silence. I stared at the book I thought I'd never see again. I had come across it not too long ago and I could barely move from shock. This book... I hate it but it means so much to me.

--

"Chester," My mom set a hand on my shoulder and I jumped slightly from shock. I relaxed when I saw it was her and she handed me a book with white paper inside and an odd looking brown/grey color binding. The cover looked like the binding and I flipped through the pages in confusion.

"What is this?" I asked quietly, looking between my parents and the therapist. They looked pleasantly surprised but I suppose that's because I hadn't said a single word since they found out about my bad habits.

"It's a book, Chester." The therapist explained. "I want you to write in it every day and record your feelings and experiences. You don't have to do it for long, a week at least. If you don't like this by then, we don't have to do this anymore."

I glanced at the book, against this idea. I didn't say anything though, just stared at the blank pages with no true expression in my features.

"Ches, please write in the book." My dad spoke up. "I... I don't want you... Hurting yourself... Anymore."

"None of us do," My mom agreed and gave me a soft smile. I felt horrible, like the only thing worth doing right now was to let the world take me away.

Later on we went home and I finished writing in it for the day. My parents let me out of the house and I went for a walk, only to have my arm get grabbed by a stranger.

"Hia!" He smiled and I looked at him odd. "You're the cutter, right?"

"W-What?" I stuttered, backing away from him.

"Oh, I mean. Don't take it offensively, I've just heard it around by some idiotic kids at school." He said and I nodded slowly. Those kids were exactly the reason why I hurt myself. "So that makes you Chester Bennington, right?"

I nodded my head, not wanting to say more than I had to. He cocked his head and patted my shoulder.

"I'm not here to judge, kid. I just wanna be friends," He suggested.

"Why do you call me a kid? You're only a few years older than me."

"Well soon you won't be a kid, Chazzy! Mind if I call you that?" I shook my head. "Don't talk much, do you?" I shook my head again. "Come on, kid. Haven't you ever had a proper friend before?"

"N-No... Not really," I said quietly and his eyes lit up, as though he just had an idea.

"Come on! I know a game we can play," He tugged my arm away and that was the start of an all new hell.

--

I snapped out of my thoughtful gaze towards the floor and looked to Mike who seemed to have a concern look written across his face. Why should he be any bit concerned? He shouldn't bother with me.

"Do you want to talk about it now or wait? I know you said you wanted to wait in the note..." Mike trailed off and sighed. I nodded my head.

"Now is fine," I said and prepared to pour myself out to him by shifting uncomfortably on the bed. "The book started when my parents found out I was... Hurting myself."

--

I stared at the blade and deeply sighed, slightly biting my lip in debate of doing this. It's not the first time but it's gotten out of control. I rolled up my sleeve and stared at previously made scars. I'll admit it's been a while since the last time but my skin still felt rough. The scars may fade but they will never go away.

I gently pressed the sharp edge against my skin and dragged it, feeling my skin test against the pressure. I tilted my head up as I ran another line across my skin, feeling a stinging sensation from the last as wet blood peaked through. I felt a sense of calmness and relief as I pulled myself through another line.

I stopped and looked at my arm. I usually don't do this on my arm, in fear of hitting a vain. I rolled up my pant leg next and began tracing old scars just above my knee that lead to my thigh with the blade I was using that had a bit of fresh blood on it. I watched as some of the blood from my arm stained my leg, I was taking my time doing this. I had all the time in the world.

I planted to tip of the blade on my leg and dragged it across. Feeling my skin rip and vibrate through my arm from the blade. I watched the blood bubble and drip down my leg, not bothering to try and stop it. I repeated the process until I felt weak and dropped the blade on the floor. I was too tired to clean myself up so I just sat against the wall, the memory of my classmates taunting words running through my head.

'Freak,'

'Idiot,'

'Anorexic,'

Their words never ended and never failed to hurt me. They would go out of their way to shove me into lockers and trip me in the hallways. I felt like no one loved me, like everyone hated me. I hated myself now too so I felt like I was on their side by hurting myself. I just wanted to be someone else. This pain I feel mentally would never cease until I made it external and this is my only way.

I heard the door creak open and I just didn't care anymore. Let them see what I do to myself, maybe then they'd see I have a problem.

'Mom, they shoved me into the lockers again today,'

'I'm sorry, dear,'

'Mom, they beat me up, I have a black eye,'

'I'm sorry, dear,'

'Dad, I wanna transfer schools,'

'I'm sorry, son,'

'Dad, they won't stop!'

'I'm sorry, son,'

"Chester?" My mother's voice called through the door. My room was dark so she couldn't see me. I carefully curled up into a weak ball and felt tears slide down my face.

"Chester?" She called again and flicked on the lights. I could tell she was just standing there for a minute, not sure what she was seeing. I heard her approach me and then jump back. She began screaming for my dad and I heard him rush over.

"Honey, what's wrong?" He asked and looked between us until focusing on my scars. "Chester! What have you done to yourself?!"

"Chester? Honey?" My mom said and crouched next to me, making me sit up right. She looked me in the eyes and I sat there, not saying a word. "Why did you do this?"

I could hear the sadness in her voice and see the regret in her eyes. I looked beyond her and saw my dad on his phone, dialing a number.

"I need a number for a therapist," I heard him say and I felt my eyes widen as I looked back to my mom.

--

"And then we went later that day," I finished telling the first part of my story and watched for Mike's expression. There was no telling what was going through his mind when I finished.

"I... I can't believe you felt that bad," He croaked and sat next to me, putting his arm around me and hugging me tightly. It was exactly what I needed as I sniffled and felt tears roll down my cheek.

"I felt so horrible, Mikey, and this is only the beginning."