A Cutter's Lullaby (Chris Motionless Story)

Chapter 5

I finally calmed down a while later and Chris did exactly as I had asked, he didn't let go once. He stayed quiet as I let all the hate drain out of my body and stroked small shapes into my back.

When he noticed that I had relaxed he asked, "What's the damage?"

I tensed against him and he kept speaking, "Nicole it's alright, you can't shock me or scare me now. I just want to help you."

I hesitantly removed my sweat shirt and exposed the mess my arms had become, cuts deeper than Chris had ever seen on me. Well what can I say? He's only just starting to see this part of me.

Instead of him saying something about the state of my skin he simply said, "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

He got up off my bed, pulling me along with him to the bathroom and he surprisingly lifted me up on the sink counter. Then he went right into business, "Where do you keep the first aid kit?"

"Under the sink." I tell him and he leans down to open the cabinet, pushing one of my legs out of the way gently. When he finds the bag he pulls out some disinfectant wipes and begins to clean at my left wrist, but then my wounds started to bleed again. I guess I should have told him that would happen, so I spoke up, "Just clean around them or they'll all open up and we'll have an even bigger mess on our hands."

He nods and carefully begins again as I mumble, "You don't have to do this you know? I can take care of it myself."

He glanced up at me, "It's fine, I've got this."

I sighed and decided to sit still just watching him try to fix me up. I found it metaphorically ironic because here was Chris cleaning my physical wounds and his words have actually helped with the emotional wounds once or twice, it's almost like it came in full circle for a moment. When I was a bit better looking, well if you could count be bandaged up as better, I thanked him and slid off the sink. Chris shocked me by pulling me to his chest, giving me a long hug and I returned it warily, trying not to find comfort in his warmth. Tray's words coming back in fragments, still gripping me with fear, 'He'll leave you... You might think he can save you, but... the minute you get close to recovery...you'll be left to die...'    

"Where's Bobby?" I asked pulling away from him.

"At work I'm guessing."

"You aren't staying with him?"

"No I came here to check on you and I'm kind of glad I did."

I frowned and cast my eyes aside before whispering, "I tried really hard for a while there, but shit happens I guess."

Before Chris could say anything the sound of a car, deafening music erupted outside, and I felt my blood run cold. I took a hard swallow before nervously asking, "Did you drive here?"

"Yea, why what's wrong?" He questioned looking worried.

"My dad is here." I whimper, unconsciously leaning closer to him.

"Oh shit, just come with me."

"Chris I can't. Trust me I'd love to get out of here right now, but that will only make it worse for me later."

"Then I'll stay here." He replied stubbornly.

"That would be an even worse idea." I began coming up with the many scenarios that could go down and I didn't like any of them.     

Chris frowned at my terrified expression and let out a sigh, seeming to have finally given up, "I'll sneak out the window and tell him that I'm having car trouble, so I went down the street to ask for help since no one answered the door here, alright?"

I nodded whispering, "Good luck."

"I'll see you later." He tells me as I open my bedroom window and he ducks out.

"Chris?" I call quietly and he turns back, waiting to hear what I had to say. I thought it over for a second, choosing my words carefully, "You won't give up on this right? Helping me and all?"

He steps back over to me, grabbing my hand, "I will never do that, not even if you give up. We'll make this better."

I felt my chest tighten at the words, but I pushed it aside and nodded lightly. I watched him walk over to my drive way and explain the lie of a story to my father as I shut my window as softly as I was able to. I crawled into bed, planning on faking being asleep, to help justify Chris's tall tale. About ten minutes later I hear the front door unlock and loud heavy foot steps in the house, the wood floor only amplifying the noise. I held my breath, waiting for some sort of yelling to start.

"Nicole?!"

Well let it begin, I think sarcastically as I try to keep up my fake sleeping state.

More booming stomps make there way to my room, "Where the hell is dinner? Are you fucking sleeping again?"

If I had my way I wouldn't wake up. As I attempted to keep from shaking I spot Chris's Misfits jacket on my bookshelf. I had no time to get up and retrieve it, so I laid still and prayed that my dad wouldn't notice. My door swung open and bounced off the wall, I jumped, faking that he had just woken me up.

"Why the fuck haven't you made anything for me to eat? Get up." He growled and trudged back to the living room.

I kicked off my covers and grabbed Chris's jacket, stashing it in the closet. I sighed deeply as I came out of my room, mentally readying myself. I'm sure not many people believe that emotional and verbal abuse are almost just as bad as being physically harmed, but at least the bruises go away, the blood clots, and the scars fade. Words never die.   

I made my way to the kitchen, receiving a death glare the whole way. I began gathering things to make a meal, when I heard my dad clear his throat and I internally groaned, waiting to hear what he had to say. 

"Do you ever clean around here? I feel like I'm the only one that does anything in this house. Dammit Nicole, do you know how to do anything other than hide in your room all day and sit on your ass?"  

After his short lived rant I peaked over the bar separating the kitchen from the living room. It was spotless as per usual, I knew better than to let it be any different, the one thing that was out of place was a single cup on my mom's old piano by his chair. He had obviously been the person to leave it there, but it was always supposed to be my job to clean up after him wasn't it? I rushed into the room and retrieved the glass, wiping off the dark brown wood of my mom's favorite instrument. She was an avid musician and I missed the sound of her playing this piano on Saturday afternoons when my dad had went fishing; it would be just the two of us.   

I felt my heart ache at the thought of her. I wonder how sick it would make her to know what I am now,  to see her strong little girl crack under the pressure of her mother's absence and become so sick in the head. Then another ache met my senses, the need of sharp edges, pain to cancel out the pain. Tears up for trade in blood. The butcher knife nearly missed my hand, nicking the edge of my wrist, making me let out a breath of satisfaction. Now I had to wonder, was that an accident or intended?

My thoughts are immediately snatched from inside myself when my dad shouts, "Hurry the hell up, I'm starving!"

I took a deep breath, wrapping my wrist in a drying towel as I continued with cooking. Most would freak out, but for me bleeding was just an everyday part of life.

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Wow writing the part about her mom... just makes me appreciate my mother even more. I couldn't go on without her.

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