Where is my mind

7

I was almost able to successfully bolt through the door, just wrapping my hand around the doorknob, but Ian was faster.

"Mickey? What's wrong?" Ian grabbed my shoulders and spun me around, his green irises searching my eyes. I glued my gaze to his gaze, and shook my head.

"Was it something I said?" Ian mumbled, and I shook my head again so vigorously I conjured up an image of it flying off my shoulders in a bloody fucking mess. I giggled, god I was completely out of it. Ian cracked a smile, chuckling along with me, however I was not truly feeling joy. My brain told me to laugh, and so I did, but happiness had fled me a long time ago. I began laughing even harder, thinking; what the hell was I good for if I can't even fuck anymore? Useless piece of shit. Ian gripped my shoulders to prop me up from falling over I was cracking up so hard.

Still smiling, Ian prods me out of my fit with a simple, completely legit question: "Mandy going to be home?" No fucking way. As quick as it started my laughing ceases, and my blood boiled, my face beginning to heat with my increasing temper. I don't even know why. Get angry. I lashed out at Ian, grabbing a fistful of his sweatshirt and shoving him backwards. The look on his face was completely priceless, a look of utter shock. The shadowed boy stood in the corner, watching. He smiled and began to clap, pleased with my actions. I blew up with pride, I felt like I've finally been accepted, and now that I have achieved something, maybe they'll stop tormenting me? I began to cackle along with the shadow boy, and kept on pushing my animosity.

"Why?" I shouted, "you feel bad you have to leave to go to your shitty fucking job? Ripping your clothes off for some geriatric viagroid?" Ian opens his mouth, then closes it again, like a broken fucking puppet. Shit, maybe that's what I was.

"Is that was this is about Mick?" He says in a small voice. I wrinkle my face in disgust at his ignorance and storm out of the room. Not even close to what this was fuckin' about. Didn't even look back as I flew out of the Gallagher house in a hurry. The sprint home was torturous, I was weak and fuck I needed to stop smoking. Running up the creaky wooden steps, I could barely see where I was going from the daze in my eyes at this fluky adrenaline rush. When I slammed the front door, the surrounding silence was thick and deafening, intensifying my immense loneliness. See what you've done? Why does Ian deserve you? You don't know what you're doing. Stop I told myself again and again. You're being pathetic. I felt scummy, bedraggled and disheveled, my inner unsightliness has now infected my appearance on the outside. Thankful no one is home, I ripped off my clothes and stumbled into the bathroom, my movements far from graceful as I tripped into the shower, loud thuds emanating from the tub. Under the lukewarm water, I scrubbed myself over and over again, soaping up and washing off. I still believed I was filthy, and no matter how many times I tried washing myself, I couldn't seem to get clean. My skin chafed and bloomed irritated red blotches from being repeatedly scrubbed, and the soap burned like a motherfucker. Finally giving up and setting the soap bottle down, I spotted my razor on the shower floor. I stared at it, water ran down my face and stung my eyes. Do it. And we'll stop. It'll all be over. I timidly bent over and picked up the razor, examining it as if it was some foreign object I had never seen before. They'll stop. You'll be free. Maybe I'll feel better watching myself bleed, just to make sure I'm even still here. That this is all still real. Putting the razor to the soft flesh on the inside of my forearm, I push the blade down and dragged it along the skin a couple inches above my wrist. I watched as the skin opened up and the crimson liquid began to flow through, running in rivulets down my arms and mixing into a diluted red pool at the bottom of the shower. The water started to run cold and I turned it off, immediately feeling shitty with guilt. Fuck, what's new? I pulled on my clothes, then sunk back onto the linoleum floor and put my head in my hands. I don't even know why I got mad at Ian, it was all just too much. I should probably go apo-

"Psst." A voice hissed from somewhere in front of me. When I glanced up, I noticed 400 perched on top of the window sill. The cat still looked ratty as hell, like it had gone through a meat grinder, but it was pretty nice to me most of the time compared to the others, so I listened.

"What do you want?" I grumbled.

"Mother isn't too pleased with you."

I splayed my hands apart, I'm not going to fucking to this now. "You know what? I don't fucking care."

"She thinks your friends are a bad influence. Mother wants to protect her baby."

"She's gonna give you a whippin' boy," Missy Kill chimed in.

"But she's not the one you have to worry about, they're watching you, and you can bet they're out there," 400 purred and then snickered. I gave a nervous glance towards the door, and when I looked back into the bathroom, 400 and Missy Kill had vanished. I jumped, in the background, voices accumulated outside the front door and the knob began to rattle. Springing to my feet, I burst from the bathroom and snatched the baseball bat I always had hidden underneath my bed. Creeping out of my bedroom, I gripped the handle so tight my knuckles began to turn white, and I approached the door with caution. The knob turned and I raised the bat over my shoulder, my arm muscles tensing, ready to swing with all the crushing force I had. Mandy stepped through the door and shrieked, putting her hands up.

"Mickey! Stop!"

When I recognized the supposed intruder as nothing more than my obnoxious sister, I relaxed my arms and dropped the bat to the floor with a clunk, my heart beating rapidly, still amped up from the adrenaline. Ian pushed past Mandy through the door to see what the struggle was, and I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Oh my god," I muttered, "You can't be fucking serious."

Mandy shoved past me, stomping off to god knows where. My ears perked up as I heard faint rummaging from her room. The hell was she doing?

"What? Why-" I turned to Ian, "Did you fucking call her?"

Ian bunched up his shoulders, "I didn't know what to do! You were upset, and arbitrarily ran off, again." He stared down at his shoes and muttered, "I didn't know what to think." Mandy came back and dumped a black duffel bag on the floor.

"Get your things Mickey. Now."