New Kid On An Old Block

Chapter Four

(A/N: Self harm occurs and is talked about throughout the chapter)

Jack and I watched Home Alone on the couch, then finished the day with Halo, once again yelling at a bunch of random kids. Until he had to leave.
Everyone always had to leave.
I sat in my room thinking about the fact that I was once again alone.
I'd always be alone.
I didn't do well on my own.
Physically, yes. Mentally, no.
Imagine being the person constantly outside looking in, trying to fit into this world that doesn't want you. The world where no one cares about you. Love yourself so no one has to.
I tell myself that, and it doesn't help. I want to be loved. I can't love myself. 
Imagine being the Giving Tree from that Shel Silverstein book. You give and you give and you give, just hoping for any sort of reciprocation, only to get none. You're alone until someone needs something or they decide to give you the time of day, which for you is a rarity. 
Imagine wasting so much time trying to be accepted, to be loved, to the point that you push back your own sexuality to try to fit in, and it fails miserably. You still wind up getting beaten. Bruised. Battered. Made fun of. Kissed and called ugly.

She was right. I am ugly.
So, so ugly.
I stared at the blade in my hand, without any hesitation, I dragged it across my left wrist, my most mutilated one. I lost all sense of myself in this glorious moment. I went numb. My brain shut itself down. I closed my eyes and slashed. I stopped counting how many times I sliced my skin open. I cut on top of cuts, on top of old scars, up my arm which would be harder to hide.
I didn't care. I disappointed Jack, I was worth shit to my parents, worth shit to other people, worth shit to myself, so who the fuck cared? 
I stopped after a few minutes, opening my eyes and staring at what I'd done. It wasn't good. It wasn't pretty. It was bleeding all over the towel on my lap. The sight of all of the blood made me dizzy. I'd never done this much before. I hated how guilty I felt in this moment, despite how good I felt at the same time. I wrapped my towel around my arm and rushed into the bathroom. 
After rinsing my arm with cold water, I grabbed the first aid kit, put neosporin on the cuts, put gauze pads on top and wrapped my arm in white bandaging. As far as anyone could be concerned, I just hurt my arm. I did. I hurt my arm all by myself.

I stared at the reflection in the mirror staring back at me. I hated who I saw. 
You shouldn't have stopped.
Why did you stop?
You're ugly.
Worthless.
Your parents don't even want you around. They leave you on purpose.
Jack pities you.
Rian likes you for no good reason.
There's not much to like.
He saw you in class and pitied you too.
Stop pretending like your life is worth living. 
You're 14 and you've already failed in everything in your shitty life.
Just end it already, idiot.
You keep saying you don't want to die.
You need to though.
Coward.

"Shut up." I whispered to myself, gripping the edge of the counter, staring down into the sink.

Jack won't ever like you the way you like him.
How could he?
Why would he ever like someone who can't like themselves?
You look in the mirror and you see a fat, worthless, hideous excuse for a person.
You're not worth the oxygen you breathe.
They'll all be better off without you.
They'll never remember you.
Your memories will follow you into a shitty grave that no one will visit.
It will decay, no one will take care of it.
No one will pretend to like you anymore.
Jack will never, ever like you the way you like him. 
Jack will never see you the way you see him.
Jack will never think of you as anything other than the stupid idiot who hurts himself for no good reason.
Jack will never really care about you.
He's just a good person and can't fathom leaving your stupid ass alone knowing you might off yourself one day.
You're not a good person. 
You're a bad person.
You're no good to be around.
You're toxic.

"SHUT UP!" I screamed at the fucking voices in my head.

I went to my bed, choking on the sobs that escaped my throat, hating the tears that streamed down my cheeks. I dug the bottle of whiskey I stole from my dad's cupboard a while ago. I took a few large drinks of it, hating the way it stung my throat, loving it at the same time. It would make me forget. It would make me go to sleep.
I waited for it to kick in, taking a few more drinks in the process.
I knew it worked when I could hardly think of my own name.
I grabbed my phone and texted Jack.

Alex: We can't be friendsanymore jqok.

Jack: What? Why?

Alex: I'm not good. We just can't. I'm juthi now good yo see.

I cursed the typos that I made through my tears. It was too late. I sent it already.

Jack: Alex, are you okay? Well. Clearly no, you're not. Are you drunk?

Alex: Nope.

Jack: Good lord Alex.

Alex: thwur is no god.

I laid down and stared at the ceiling, waiting to get tired enough to go to sleep, looking at the open bottle of alcohol on my side table. I wanted to drink more, but that was dangerous. I didn't want the nagging voice in my head to win, so that meant I didn't want to die.