“I can’t believe it; he actually fought somebody just to defend me.” I thought. This brought a smile to my face. Little did I know that he was starring directly at me as I smiled, deep in thought.
Thoughts of how my life would be if I was with him; thoughts of better days with less criticism, less conformism, and more individuality.
Since we were starring into each others’ souls it seemed, Mitchell and I didn’t see the principle Mr. Sanchez approaching with animal-like rage in his eyes.
Everyone (including my so-called best friends) managed to get away before he showed up; except of course Mitch and I.Although for some reason I didn’t get in trouble, only he did; which I felt bad about.
Mitchell got removed from school so I had to continue my day lonely and wondering if we were still seeing each other after school. You see, I thought he left school, I didn't know he was just in the office.
I was as depressed as they come skating home. Because I had my head hung low, I didn’t see a car coming at the intersection of my street. Thank god it stopped just before it hit me. I barely noticed.
I didn’t know if my so called ‘mother’ would even let me get a foot in the door; that all came to a screeching halt when I saw who was sitting on the porch, Mitchell. Without even saying hello, he said
“What’s wrong? I’ve been waiting all day.”
“I’ll show you. Come with me.” I led him into my house and up to my room. Thank god my mom wasn’t home. Although I did have to smash the window with a rock because I didn’t have a key and the door was locked.
I threw my bag on by bed and opened my closet door, exposing the blank poster board. I also pulled off my gloves and rolled up my long sleeve shirt, revealing the scars, burns and slits on my arms. I also started to silently cry, creating black rivers of mascara and eyeliner.
“See this board?” I asked rhetorically. I was probably shaking by now. I grabbed a razor from a small wooden box hidden behind a Steven King novel on my book shelf.
I pressed it to my skin and was about to drag it across the width of the arm but Mitchell grabbed it from my hand and threw it across the room.
“What are you doing?!” he said. He looked so scared. I felt horrible about making him feel any negative emotion, so this hurt. I grabbed a permanent marker and made a list as follows
1.Rick Martinez
2. Dave Heron
3. Danny Garamond
4. Martin Arisen
5. Lindsay Schneider
6. Britteny Calderon
7. Dianna & Caroline Forks
8. My mom!
“What’s that list for?” Mitchell asked, extremely confused. And a bit frightened.
“These people are the ones responsible for this!” I said as I pointed to my arm which had many words carved into it like “emo, Goth, ugly, whore, and perfect”
Mitchell grabbed me and held me around my shoulders, stopping me from moving. I was crying so hard I could barely concentrate. He picked me up, carried me, and sat me down on my bed and pulled my arm close to his face.
He studied it for a moment, and then kissed it over and over as if trying to make the scars go away. I swear I even saw a tear fall from his eye. It was like he could feel my pain.
“I’ve never felt such a connection to anyone like this.” He muttered, deep in thought, still not looking me in the eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Bloody Mary
RomanceMarissa has been through enough. She's done. Her pent up anger and pain has grown too strong. Everyone has a breaking point, and she's definitely met hers.
