I thought of how they kicked me. I thought of their lips forming blobs of spit which hit me as I stalked the corridors, head down, ashamed at being myself. I thought of how their legs suddenly made me trip and how my school bag goes flying. I thought of today when some blond slut, grabbed my art book from my open bag and how she crumbled up the pages. My saviour. The thing I use to get through my life was gone as she ripped the pages out from the binder.
Involuntary tears fell from my eyes at the memory, as they had then. The taunts and the mocking that I knew would follow didn't even register until much later. My pictures and doodling, my lyrics and chords, my sketches of Frank as he posed happily for me in the sun, his middle finger up merrily as I drew him again and again, trying to capture the love in his face as he looked at me and I looked at him. But sometimes that wasn't enough. Today it wasn't enough. I went for the girl, my fist flying fast at my jaw; it could have possibly broken it with the force that came from my arm as it swung around to meet her.
Her boyfriend, the most popular guy in school had instantly jumped in the way, catching my fist, the power suddenly drained from it as he squeezed until the bone snapped. I cradled my hand at the memory; I had told my Mum that I walked into a door. She didn't believe me but didn't press the matter. Mikey knew, I could see it in his eyes, but I held back the tears at my brothers drooping face until later, until now. I don't want to think about the beating that came next, nothing new, the usual. The fists, the kicks, the feet meeting my face and balls again and again until I squealed in pain, which only make them start again, more enthusiastic this time.
I cringed at the memory, my fist tightening around something that I held in my hand. The pain came suddenly, flooding through me and a warm feeling spread on my hand. It snapped me back to reality as I looked down at my blooded wrist, the razor in a locked position pressing deeper and deeper into my veins. I sighed as the blood oozed down my arm and quickly grabbed my black hoodie and held it over the wound. I reached for a plaster from where they were hid under my bed and quickly uncovered the cut before slapping down the material to cover the scar from the world. The way I sort of hid myself from the world too.
My hands were busy but my mind once again drifted back to that day and my finger clasped the blade again, working quickly at revealing my thigh muscle and slicing the skin, splitting the white and covering the plain canvas of my body with a stain that would never really heal.
A knocking came from my door.
"Gerard, can I come in?"
The small voice that could only have belonged to my brother Mikey, sent alarm bells ringing in my head. The blade fell to the carpet, coating a small section of it in red. My hands fumbled for the plasters before covering up the fresh blood stained skin with a few. I just had time to pull up my jeans and shove the blade under my bed, before Mikey's head appeared around the door. He looked swiftly around the room before his eyes settled on me, perched at the edge of my bed.
"Are you okay?" His squeaky voice irritated me, the moment of his entrance perfect. He knew nothing of me self-harming and it would stay that way, if he wasn't so fucking stupid with his timings. I flicked my black hair across my face creating a barrier between our eyes as I lifted my head towards the direction of the door. It also hid the bruises which told the story of my life.
"Fine," I grunted, trying not to make it obvious I had been crying. He stepped into the room, wearing his duck onsie that was worn and faded from overuse. I gave a small smile at Mikey's choice of pyjamas before remembering the photos I had seen of me smiling, the toothy ugly grins which filled our living room and changed my face to a frown. I was ugly and that was something I tried hard not to forget. The fringe of hair suddenly seemed stupid as Mikey made his way across my room to sit beside me on my bed. He tried to settle carefully but the movement of him still made me wince as the feeling spread to my legs where the cuts remained hidden but refusing to go unacknowledged.
"Sure?" The uncertainty in his voice was hard to block out but I just turned to face him, parting my hair slightly with a swift action of my sleeve covered hand.
"I'm fine," The voice tried to come out strong but seemed to change somewhere between my brain's command and the words which uttered from my lips. We sat in silence for a second before Mikey jumped up and went for the door. He turned quickly, looking into my eyes before I could look away, locking me in a stare of love and pity. My stomach turned to see the relentless love wavering from him and I felt sick to see the pity, the feelings for a hopeless cause.
"Mum says tea's ready ..." He muttered it, knowing that I never ate with them anyway, not enjoying the silence, the polite utterings of "How was your day?" when my family already knew the answers from the bruises which covered my body. He sighed inwards and turned to go before turning back again (couldn't he just leave me alone?!) with a smug smile painted on his face.
"Oh and by the way, Frank's here!"