That Ally. Was the only thing I had. I slept there, every single night till I found my best friend. I still liked going back there sometimes. Even though it brought back horrible memories. I felt like that ally and my knife were my only friends. But I was addicted. I never got into drugs or alcohol. But I have a knife and my thoughts. Over that year I started cutting. It was my release. It was what I had control of. It was like I could here my knife talking to me sometimes.
Like, "Oh you didn't get the job? Here take me down your wrist and let your tears fall."
Somehow it helped me. It was the only thing I could control...or so I thought. But yet here I am. Even after almost two years of leaving my home; a year after meeting Alex. Here I was sitting in this god forsaken ally again.
I pull out my knife from my back pocket and pull up my sleeve. I start making designs on my wrist with blood.
"Aye emo fag!"
I hear a man call. I turn to see a group of men laughing and heading towards me. I wipe off the blood and my tears and start to get up to walk away. I look back to see if they are still following, they are. They are also definitely drunk.
'This can't end well.'
I think to myself.
"Hey you! I called you get over here!" I hear a different man say. I start to run. I need to get out of here. But instead, me being me, I fall. They all gather around me. I can smell the vodka in their breath. I see bottles in their hands as the start to undress me. I start hitting them, trying to fight back. But they just hit and kick me. The last thing I remember is a guy on top of me.
Then it went black.
