Paradise City.

Chapter 38: Bring Me To Life.

Chapter 38: Bring Me To Life.

¬Peasnie¬

Running: Is it for the weak, the cowardly? Or is it for those who can’t bare look at the scars they made themselves? The swift move of a blade along the pail skin, leaving a thickening red line that oozes out the pain and torture of their past. The night calls them to come and play. The child that wander the streets trying to run away from their problems because they’re too scared to look their family in the eye and admit they were wrong and they are scared. No I haven’t run away. Peasnie died along time ago so how can I run from someone who’s dead? There’s no point.

It’s been nearly three years since he died. A few months after the funeral I got addicted to Diluadid, it’s kinda like morphine. It helps me sleep at night and just numbs the pain. I’ve been addicted to that for a year. My first shoot of it was amazing. I slept like a baby for two days. It knocks me on my ass. I’m trying to stop with it but it’s hard. It makes the pain go away and that’s what I need. Matt and Val know about it since I accidentally over dosed on it a few months ago. They want me to stop, that’s easier said than done.

When I turned fifteen I convinced Matt and Val to let me get a tattoo over my heart. My dad’s last words he said to me before his lights went out. Promise me you’ll never feel afraid again. They let me get it along with the other guys; they got something to remember Jimmy as well.

The day we had to clean out the house was the hardest day ever. I didn’t want to get rid of anything. I begged the guys to let me keep his drums, even though I haven’t drummed in a long time. I gave it up when he died. Since then I just kept my head down and didn’t make a sound. I lost contact with my friends and Connor and I broke up. I didn’t want him to have to deal with this. 

 I walked through the school, my eyes on the ground. My hood up while my books tight to my chest. I wore a boring sweat shirt with hood and a pair of jeans. My carrier bag hung off my shoulder as I walked to the front doors. The halls were busy with kids who bounced with glee by the fact that today is Friday and the last bell just rang. I hate Christmas; I don’t like celebrating it anymore. I just lock myself up in my room for those three weeks and when the anniversary comes up I go and visit him. Actually I got and visit him every Friday after school. The guys have been busy with tour. They finished their album and now their on tour. And Val is busy today so I walk to my new house. I kept my head down as I walked through the doors.

Since my dad died I’ve been bullied alot more about it, kids are cruel and nasty. They make me cry myself to sleep. Last year things died down a little bit but I still get picked on heavily. I couldn’t wait for graduation. Only a few months left. Only a few months left until I’m gone, out of here.

I walked down the street alone, kicking cans and rocks along the way. I haven’t felt a shred of emotion since he died. It’s horrible. I want to feel but I don’t want to feel pain. I want to feel happy again. It’s been nearly three years and I haven’t felt happy or sad. I just felt numb, hallowed out. Like my eyes have had sulphuric acid poured on them and my heart’s been raped by death. I’m sick of feeling like the only person going through this. Everybody else grieved but they’re better now. They’re happier now and I’m still stuck here. I can’t let go because if I let go I’ll have nothing. I will truly be alone with my thoughts and that scares me.

I walked in silence, my hands in my pockets. It might only be October in California but its freezing. I guess there are no more memories to warm me inside with a sticky, sweet honey.

I’ve grown my hair out and it’s back to being long again. It was let down under the hood. I didn’t like people seeing my face, they might recognize me.