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Moments Like These
Pain shoots through my arm, hot searing red hurt.
All noise goes quiet.
I guess I’m just crazy.
This probably isn’t normal.
Familiar insults enter my mind.
Push down harder, watch all the hurt drip down in thin streaks of red.
It was an ordinary day. Not unlike any other. I woke up, plastered the fake smile to my face, threw on the biggest hoodie I could find, and glared at the girl in the mirror. What’s wrong with her? Why does she have to be such a freak? Why does she have to torture me? Why can’t I be someone else? Why can’t I love me? As usual the questions bounce around in my head. The voices shout at me.
“SHUT UP.” I tell them.
As usual I shove my ear buds in my ears, and try to drown out the taunting. I should probably go to the doctors or something. Get some pills that make the voices die. Get some pills that make me happy. Get some pretty little blue pills that claim to take away my pain. Yeah, but I don’t want to be anymore dead inside. That’s what they do. Pills kill you; they take away your identity. They take away everything that’s you. I’d rather pretend I’m okay. Pretending is a lot better than really admitting there’s something wrong with me. Something is really wrong with me.
Maybe that’s why instead of taking notes I pick at the new scabs. Maybe that’s why I sit here and wonder what it’s like to be dead. Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice you watching, I was just sitting there absent mindedly. If I had been paying attention I would have been more careful, I probably wouldn’t have let you see the angry gashes that snake up my arms. You wouldn’t have seen the words that plague my thoughts written in my blood.
So I went through my day like any other. I just sat there scribbling little bits of angsty poems, and reading Ellen Hopkins’ twisted world of drugs in between lectures. It seemed like any other day; I didn’t know that by the time I’d go to sleep my entire world would completely disintegrate. Into a pile of ash and char, my world would be nothing.
“Do you have a pencil I could borrow?” It seemed an innocent question. Yet you continued to stare at me like I said something in Turkish or Portuguese.
“Ummm hello? Can I borrow a writing utensil?”
“Yea, sure.” You said it evenly as if it were important, not taking your eyes off me as you reached in your pocket and pulled out a ball point pen.
I reached for the pen and began scribbling away at the side of my paper. Knowing that even though I was turned away from you, your eyes still watched me. Following my every movement. During the duration of the period I came up with an over dramatized story about how you were a serial killer out to get me, your next victim. I was convinced you were going to kidnap me and torture me slowly in the basement of your house. I had put together horrifyingly morbid scenes of blood splatters, machetes, and cleavers. We’ll I’m sorry to disappoint you senior creepy but I’d rather be killed by my own hand on my own terms, and outright bloody torture is too messy. I prefer private torture. Something no one notices until oops where’d she go? Oh well, I didn’t really know the dead girl anyways. I smile at my little fantasy, I wonder if they’d miss me. At that thought I dared another glance toward you. Yup definitely still staring. What is your PROBLEM? Did Mommy drop you on your head when you were a baby?
By the end of the period I was extremely irritated. The theme song of jeepers creepers was bouncing around in my head as I went to seventh period. But even worse than that I couldn’t get you out of my head. Your voice the way you continuously stared me down as though I had accidentally stepped on your little brother. What was with you?
As the day went on you became an afterthought, replaced by my absentminded doodles. By the time I had gotten to my locker I completely forgot your existence. I was shoving my books in my locker when some random kid pushed me and sent my textbooks spiraling to the floor. Yes a-hole I think my books look pretty on the floor too. When I went to pick up my books, I realized someone was already standing there with them in hand. Imagine my surprise when I looked up to see you standing there. My stomach dropped. The hall wouldn’t stay still, wiggling and squirming like an antsy three year old in front of my vision. It was so sudden the only thing I could think to do was grab your outstretched hand for support, flashing you a nice view of the cuts and scars. You leaned down and for a moment I thought you were going to turn into some sort of vampire and bite my head off. But you didn’t instead you pressed your lips against the inside of my wrist and proceeded to kiss my arm. Right underneath your lips was my worst cut, a hug gaping trench almost a forth of a centimeter into my flesh and five inches in length. Then you pulled away suddenly, too suddenly.
You whispered “Meet me outside by the library in five.”
I could still feel your lips on my torn flesh as I watched you disappear into the sea of faces. Heart pounding a mile a minute I grabbed my bag and headed towards the library. All the while I kept thinking about the way it felt the burning searing feeling of my boiling blood rising to where my skin met yours. The feeling of your hand in mine, I couldn’t stop the picture from recapturing my attention. What could you possibly want to say to me?
At the library the first person I see is you, standing against the wall looking more like a model than a normal teenager. What the h***? Where did that come from? You aren’t hot or even mildly… no no. You are definitely cute. More like drop dead gorgeous. At that moment you eyes locked with mine and you smiled the most beautiful smile I have ever seen in my life. You. Are. Smiling. At. Me. So here I am shaky wobbly legs walking towards you full scale panic attack mode. I wanted to turn around and run. Far FAR away from incredibly adorable you. Then I saw your face light up like a Christmas tree when I gave you my weak pathetic excuse for a smile. There is no turning back.
“Hey.” You said.
“Uhh…hi.” I stuttered sounding as feeble as I feel.
“Let’s take a walk.” You said but I don’t really hear this since you again take my hand sending my heart into a wild fluttery furry.
“…Uh-Hun. Sure.” You could have said I’m going to rape you in the alley behind Joe’s pizza shack and I would have been all for it if you kept looking at me like that, like I was the most important person in the world to you. How did I ever think you were a creeper?
After walking for what seems like a life time of hand holding and quite a few almost heart attacks, you stop. And then I know what you’re going to say. How could I have been so stupid? Why would you ever tell me any differently? I suddenly realized your hand in mine was only there to mask the fact that you were about to say “You’re crazy. Something is wrong with you, you need serious help.” And avoid me like the plague.
“I-I…have to go!” I turned to run but you were already pulling me back toward you.
“Not so fast, I just wana talk.” You tried to turn me around to face you but I wasn’t falling for this.
“Don’t touch me!” I tore your arms from around my waist. When I was at least a foot away I turned to you.
Eyes on the ground I asked “What? You want to tell the emo girl how sick she is? You want to tell me how disgusting it is to carve into my skin? I already know how f-ed up I am I don’t need you telling me! I know completely and totally disgusting I am!”
“Is that what you think? That I’m here to mock you?”
You looked hurt but only for a moment when that same smile spread across your face again. It was a smile I’d come to know well. MY smile. To suddenly your face changed. A sorrow, something deep down that was gnawing away at your flesh and bone. In that moment, that brief flash of emotion I saw something in you. Something I recognized. Something I recognized in me.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” It just didn’t make any sense to me. How had I not known?
“I didn’t know what you would have thought. I was a complete stranger to you, if I had walked up and told you, it would have scared you. Then you would have DEFINITLY thought I was mocking you.” As you said this you traced the back of my hand lightly with your finger tips, sending familiar chills up my spine.
“I love you.” Immediately I wish I could have taken it back. I blurted it out without even thinking. I glanced up at you to see your reaction. What I saw wasn’t what I expected. You had tears in your eyes. It looked as though your heart was breaking.
“Hunter…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“You silenced me with the sweetest kiss we’ve ever shared. You looked me in the eyes and whispered, “I love you more than life itself.”
An intense wave of déjà hit me as I slowly pulled up your sleeve. It’s been a while since you showed me that day. You saved me. Fleshy pink scars decorate the thin skin over your veins, and I am reminded that I am the reason there aren’t any new rips in perfect skin. I plant soft butterfly kisses over the purple scars. That day…
I watch with a curiosity, that was closer to fear or worry than interest, as you pulled up your sleeve. I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t this. I couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped me when I saw them. Your arm…it was covered in bloody scrawl. They were deep, deep enough to really count, millimeters away from being the end of you. And they were fresh, VERY fresh. They looked as though they had just stopped bleeding.
“Same reasons as you.”
I reach forward cautiously, as if asking for your permission. You just smiled and held you arm up for me to see. I traced the open wounds lightly, feeling their jagged rough edges. I looked up with and smiled through the tears that had now begun to make their way down my face.
“Let’s make a promise. Not another scar for the rest of the time we are in each others lives.”
“Promise.” You said as you moved to give me the first of many shared kisses.