~2 years ago~
Dripping red. The pain was good, the pain was deserved. The slashes burned and stung, but he deserved it. He'd obtained a wide collection of scars now, after all, he deserved it. He turned the grimy tap and watched the water dance with the red colours on his wrists. Pulling his sleeves back down, he stared at the mirror in awe of what he was. Of what he had become.
A skinny emo kid, with only two friends and maybe a guy a bit more than 'friends'. Call that a social life? Cutting wasn't the only bad habit, cigarettes had started to make a reappearance again. Nicotine was the only thing he enjoyed. A stick of cancer and chemicals was the only thing he enjoyed. With screeching parents and the disappointed looks in their cold eyes was shameful. Damned future. Damned forever. He was a failure. John was a failure. He walked out into the other room.
"Cigarette?" Gerard offered, his bright red unkempt hair falling onto his face.
Frank snatched the box, taking one and passing one to John. Frank lit the cigarettes and placed the ashtray in the centre of the circle they huddled around.
"So John," Frank started, taking a long drag, "How's my favourite Burglar?"
"Hmm, 7 cans o' beer, 2 packets of fags, a fiver on a supermarket floor and a few milligrams of the 'good stuff'."
"Not bad." Gerard chimed in.
"Good job, Johnny-Boy." Frank said, ruffling John's hair.
John spat. "Don't sound so babyish. I worked hard today to get this stuff while you two fucked in the kitchen." Gerard and Frank blushed deep pink in unison.
"H-how did you know?!" Gerard asked in disbelief.
"There's semen and claw marks on the counter," John smirked. Gerard hung his head in shame.
"Well, I couldn't care less," Frank stated, "It was fantastic sex anyway."
"It looks like it." John said. Gerard's crooked smile appeared afterwards. The three smothered their cigarettes and flicked them to the ashtray.
"Hey guys," Frank said, "It's Stage 2, that means drinking alcohol until you can't even remember your first name."
"Sounds good." The other two agreed.
Then the 3 depressed teenagers drank their lives away.
~Present~
John sat between piles of packed boxes filled to the brim. He checked his watch. Why was Sherlock late? Guess he had trouble packing too.
John's new friends, including Bella, Brittany and Greg started to form a line from his house to the Moving House truck. Each cardboard box was handed to and fro from the house. Grunts of effort (from trying to carry the boxes) had erupted. The driver of the truck watched as the group loaded the mucky van. The man had crooked teeth, scruffy stubble, big hefty boots, tattered dungarees and a baseball cap.
"I s'ppose yous are gonna be done in 5?" He spoke in a broad devon accent.
"Yeah." John said curtly. John was only moving a couple of miles away, but he felt as if he had been isolated from his own world, all his friends and family out of his reach. He'd miss Bella a lot. And Greg. And even Jim. But he couldn't bare let Harry go, she agreed that John could visit once a fortnight for some catching up time and Jack Daniels. This made John smile to himself, a rare thing, but... It was nice.
John then sat in the truck, waving sorrowful goodbyes as the van sped off.
John's little world had vanished behind him.
