Comfortably Numb (Kellic)

Chapter Three

Rain poured, soaking me to the bone. The best part is, I love it. I love every chilling moment even if I get sick. Water mesmerizes me. All of it: Rain, sleet, snow.

My jeans became darker with each droplet. The darkness spread to other surrounding parts. My shirt was clinging to my frame. Water soaked into my Toms, wetting my feet. A smile rose to my face.

"Hey," The familiar Hispanic voice called. I looked in the direction it came, noticing the guy from last week. I didn't remember his name, nor if he even told me. "It's raining." He stated, as if I didn't noticed.

"Oh, I didn't see that. Thanks." I replied, scarcasm dripping from my words. Though I had a smile on my face.

It's not often I smile. When I do, I'm alone. Which would be most times. But most of the time I'm alone, I'm thinking. Nothing in particular, just how life can be so cruel to people. Or what they did to deserve it for that matter.

He chuckled, and walked down the pathway towards me. There were slabs of grey stone imbedded into the ground, surrounded by green grass. The rain brings out the colors of nature and I love it.

"I've never seen someone take so much pleasure in nature as you do." He said.

I sat on the curb beside him. The backs of his heels were skimming the edge of the water running down the edge of the road. It was like a little river.

"It's beautiful." I stated simply. He nodded in agreement.

Nature is my escape. When the world gets too tough and people become too heartless, I seclude myself in the woods.

"I never got your name." I broke the silence between us.

"I'm Vic, and you are?"

"Kell-" I began.

"Faggot got a boyfriend!" The familiar taunting voice shouted. If it isn't him, it's Sykes. Ben is way more cruel than Oli will ever be.

Vic looked at me in confusion, then towards the group of boys in astonishment. I'm sorry I forgot to mention that my life is shitty. Sometimes I'd like to forget about it for a while.

I jumped up and tugged on Vic's arm to follow. But he didn't.

"Now you just wait a -" Vic began to walk towards him. I don't want any more attention than necessary.

"Ben, leave us alone." I said, full of false sincerity. My voice shook with fear. Nothing about me is intimidating enough to run him away.

Ben looked towards his friends. "He speaks." He said sarcastically. He directed him attention back towards me with fire in his eyes. "Go cut yourself Quinn." Never will I understand why they hate me. "Kill yourself while you're at it, fag."

Maybe I will. Maybe I'll finally give up. As if I haven't enough.

Shouts of agreement bounced around the group. "No one wants you here." Another one spat.

I turned and ran. "No, wait!" Vic called. I wasn't listening. I'm not usually so affected by what they say to me, but the sincerity Ben held was terrifying. Almost like he wishes I'd die. Well don't we all.

I didn't slow up until I was in front of my house. My mom isn't home right now. She's at work, and that means lonely time. Perfect for right now.

I'm acting like a pubescent drama queen. Oh well.

I slammed the door shut behind me just as tears fell from my eyes. He's right. Maybe I should give in. I'm weak, pathetic, fat, ugly. No one wants a guy like me around. I'm just a waste of space.

The months of recovery are absolutely useless when I can't hold on. I was getting better, my scars began to fade. That's when it gets hard. Depression eats you inside out, focusing on your weakest link. The only thing anyone can tell you, is hold on. What do you do when your hand to hold is letting go?

I raced up the stairs and into my room. Every thought pointed to relapse. Every voice begged for it. My blood ached for a release. I yanked open every drawer and shuffled through the pile of junk. Then I saw it- the little red box under my bed.

The box once held a locket from someone special. The locket is long since gone, and that's now where I hide my stash.

I dumped the contents out and picked out the thin sliver of metal glistening in the sun shining from my open curtains. The blade felt cool against my fingertips. My thighs began itching, as did my arms. I clenched my eyes shut and tried to will away the pain.

I let out a sob, jerked my sleeves down, and drug the piece across my skin. Crimson fell from my veins and stained the hem of my sleeve.

A warm sensation spread throughout my body and the tears fell harder. I'm too weak to continue recovery. I'll never be okay. I'll never be normal.

When my left wrist was littered with slashes, I pulled down my jeans and opened the scars on my thighs. One for being fat. Two for being worthless. Three for being weak. I continued over and over finding any reason to make a cut. The emotional pain overrode the physical.

I dropped the thin metal blade and stripped down to my underwear. Both thighs were blood coated, along with my wrist.

No one should get under my skin like this. I shouldn't allow their words to form a scar. But I do. Because I'm weak.

I walked to the bathroom connected to my room, and looked over my pale frame. The sight sickened me. An all new wave of tears rolled down my cheeks along with a wave of nausea. I dropped to my knees emptying my stomach. There's nothing to throw up. It's only occasionally that I eat, and today wasn't one of those occasions. The majority was acid and water. It burned my nose and throat. The burning sensation brought memories back.

I ran the porcelain tub nearly full of warm water. Many times I've stained the white surface red. About a year ago I had to bleach it because soap and water wouldn't do.

The second I sunk down into the water. A stinging sensation took over my wrists and thighs. A hiss escaped my lips.

Why do I do this to myself? Mostly because I deserve it. I'm a faggot, I'm ugly, I'm stupid. I'm too weak to fight off an urge. Like now, the need is pulling me under.

What's the use of sobriety when no one cares? Who's cheering for your side of the team? Recovery is only a word used to mark the height of a fall. You hit rock bottom and bounce up. You call bouncing up 'recovery'. But reality takes over much like gravity, shoving you right back where you started.

I left Vic standing there. He won't talk to me after today. Who'd want to? I don't understand why he attempted in the first place. All I'll do is get attached and run him away. That's what I do every time.

Little flowing columns of red floated to the surface and mixed with the water. It had became a light shade of pink. A twisted smile found itself a home on my lips.

The edges of the tub around my wrists were holding pools of blood. Drowsiness pulled at my senses. I knew this feeling. It happened a lot back when I was bad. Only once did my mother find me like this. That's why I'm in therapy.

I didn't try to fight it. I invited the comforting embrace of darkness.