(Quick authors note: I haven't updated or written this for more than a year now, so bear with as my writing style has slightly changed over that time. I also lost my original plan for the story so I'll be winging it/writing as I go! Thanks for dealing and enjoy what I hope will turn out to be a good story xx)
I slip my key into the front door to let myself in. One of dads many conditions of the grounding was a curfew. I am to come straight home from school of an afternoon. So here I am.
I clomp through the house and up the stairs, kicking my Docs off once I get to my room. I was probably given homework sometime today but it's not like I'm going to do it.
I grab my pack of cigarettes and walk across to my window. I fling it open, the frigid winter air slapping me in the face. A wave of goosebumps runs through my body; I begin to shiver. I chuck one leg over the window sill and sit half in half out of my bedroom, smoking. I rest my head against the window frame, relishing in the sweet relief of the drug. My brain twitches and I yearn for alcohol. Dad hasn't yet managed to find my stash and that's all I can fall back onto at the moment. The cigarette is shrinking in my finger as I continue to draw in the tobacco and nicotine.
I pull the sleeves of my hoodie up, exposing the inner white skin of my forearms; the colour of the snow swirling around me. The skin on both my right and left forearms are puckered and deeply scarred with angry red welts from years of self harm. I run my fingers across the skin, memories flooding my head. I remember every cut, every burn and the people that put them there. Quick flashbacks to today flick through my head. I take another drag on the fag and watch the tip burn amber in the fading winter light. My fingers twitch. I run my fingers across my left arm again. More whispers of insults flick through my mind. Faster and faster. I pull the cigarette out from between my lips and hover the burning end over my arm. I blow out the smoke, and I watch it curl around my face as I press the cigarette onto my arm.
A small whimper escapes my lips from the initial heat against my arm. I feel the skin burning beneath the nub and I breathe a sigh of relief. The physical pain eases the emotional pain. The cold from the outside envelops my body, caressing it in such a way I feel comfortable. I lean back again and stare at the swirling clouds above my head, watching they greys and the whites morph together to form different shades and patterns.
The heat of the cigarette has numbed my arm. I pull the nub away and inspect the burn. It's blistering nicely already. I smile to myself and close my eyes as I enjoy the brief peace in my head.
Dad thuds on the door and brings me back to reality. I rub my eyes and realise that it's dark and so much colder. I go to pull down my sleeves and realise that both arms are covered in little round burn marks. Some have blistered and others are just slightly reddened.
I jump down from the sill and open my bedroom door.
'Locke,' dad says, eyeing me up and down. 'School?' His eyes form the question that he doesn't have to ask.
'It was grand,' I reply, throwing my arms into the air. Dad sighs.
He changes the subject. 'Dinner's ready.'
'Nut hungry,' I murmur. I walk over to my bed and sit on the end. Dad gives me a withering look but walks out. The truth is I'm fucking hungry. I haven't eaten since I threw up at school.
'You need to eat.'
'Locke,' he gives me that look. 'You can't skip dinner every night. You're wasting away.'
'I don't particularly care. Just give me a cigarette and a bottle of vodka and I'll survive.' I close my eyes and fall back against the mattress.
'Please Locke, just come downstairs for something. I've got takeaway pizza. Have a piece of bread at least.' He's pleading with me.
I suppose I promised him I'd make an effort so I quickly stand up. Suddenly, the room dips and tips to the side, a rushing sound fills my head and everything goes black.
I wake up on the couch downstairs a few minutes later, with dads concerned face watching mine.
'You passed out,' dad says. 'Are you eating at all?' His eyebrows crease.
'I had breakfast,' I say quietly, remembering consuming a can of Red Bull zero before school. 'And I bought food from the cafeteria for lunch.'
Dad sighs again. 'Why can't I believe you.'
'I eat, okay?' A sudden rage fills me to breaking point. 'What does it matter anyway. I'm going to kill myself sooner or later. Who cares if I fucking eat or not.' I push myself up from the couch, fighting against the black that tries to knock me out again. I stagger back upstairs, leaving dad more disappointed than ever, watching his son slowly kill himself.
The next day starts colder than the last. I pull on my usual clothes that includes my black skinny jeans and Doc Martins. I grab my bag from beneath the shit on my bedroom floor and make sure I have a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and spearmint gum. I waltz downstairs and out the front door before dad can even say a word.
I get to school early enough and slide down the cold stone wall outside my classroom. I wrap my aching burnt arms around my legs and sit my chin on my left knee, staring at nothing.
I'm started when I get tapped on the shoulder. I whip around and immediately seize up when I realise it's Hayes. He smiles and slides down the wall next to me. I don't have it in me to smile back.
'Sorry about yesterday,' he starts. 'I was kind of weird. We're still friends?' His blue eyes are wide and innocent, absent of their usual sparkle.
'Yeah, I guess so,' I mumble, desperately trying to calm my racing heart and control my raging boner. I slide my right hand up the left sleeve of my jumper and press against the worst of the burns from last night. I stifle a moan when the searing pain races up my arm.
'You okay?' Hayes asks. 'You seem really out of it.'
I ignore him.
'Hey, what are you doing to your arm?' He gently takes my right wrist and pulls it away from my burnt arm. Hayes then goes to pull the sleeve up. I snap.
'Hey!' I jerk myself away from him. 'What are you doing?!' I hug my left arm to my chest, desperately trying to not let a full-blown panic attack overwhelm me.
'Do you self-harm?' He blurts out.
'And it matters why?' I snarl at him. 'This is my life so piss off.' I get up to walk out just as the bell goes to signify the beginning of school. I groan and realise now I can't leave. Hayes pushes himself up off the floor and stands beside me. I glare at him as we walk into form class.
I hate him. I hate him for caring about someone as pointless as me. For wanting to see my disgusting scars that are self inflicted because I can't deal with my thoughts. I hate myself; why would anyone want to stay with me?