Finding Hope

Chapter 11

Levi

My head was pounding, and not just from being hung over. I managed to bash my head against my bedroom window not once, but twice last night, and I can only blame the second time on the alcohol. Thankfully I hadn't woken up my parents, that could have been hell.

Most of last night was a blur and I could only remember bits and pieces. Like when I got there and played beer pong. I had no idea how to play that fucking game, but it is what it is. One thing I do vividly remember Is Marcus taking me home last night. I remember him taking me home, I remember him helping me up on the rooftop, I remember that ridiculous nickname.

Jelly bean, really. It's honestly a completely, fucking, stupid nickname, and some how its kind of sweet. I still hate it though, fucking jelly bean my ass.

After about ten more minutes of regretting every life decision I've ever made, I check my alarm clock. Monday, 6:17. I have less than an hour before my alarm clock goes off, and there is no way in hell that I'm going to go back to bed, so in a piss poor mood I got up and looked around my room.

I guess this is what I get for wanting something new in my life, a hangover and no sleep.

The blanket around me is warm as fuck, so instead of throwing it back onto the bed I wore it like a cape. Because naturally that's the only logical thing to do. I love cocooning myself in blankets. Mine's so heavy and fluffy it looks like one of those white fur carpets city kids have in their bedrooms. I sighed as I stood up and walked over to my desk.

My clothes from last night were thrown carelessly on my desk chair. I grabbed them and hid them at the bottom of my laundry basket under some clothes, where my mom will never find them. A memory from last night broke to the surface and flooded my mind.

I was less than two houses away from Emilys and I could already hear the music playing through the streets. The walk here wasn't very far but I'm not use to so much walking and I could feel my fucking legs burn. Even with the sun down it was still way too hot outside tonight. The heat isn't the only thing that's making me sweat right now, I was ungodly self conscious and anxious.

About three blocks ago I realized that the sleeve of my shirt didn't do shit to hide my scars. They were plain as day against my skin, I can only hope that nobody notices them.

I subconsciously rub my arms as I remember my walk to the party. Thank fuck nobody said anything, I don't know what I would have done if they did. Tell them that they were cat scratches? It wouldn't have been a total like, some of them were. I used to have a mean, little cat named Rose, I loved her but she was an ass. There might be too many cuts to blame them all on my cat.

Pride fills my chest as I look down at my arms. It's been over a year and a half since I last cut, which is crazy to me. I have no idea how I managed so long without doing it and I couldn't be more proud of myself. One of the things that really stopped me from doing it was art. It still is art. That fucking sketch book is my last reason to live.

I know it sounds crazy and dramatic, but that's the truth. Art has quite literally saved my life more times than I can count. Making marks on paper helps release so much emotional pain, sadly no physical pain, but I'll take what I can get.

Beep beep.

Beep beep.

I jumped at the sound of my alarm clock and held my head with my hands. Fucking hell sound is not a good thing to pair up with a hang over. I quickly shut the damn thing off and dropped my blanket onto my bed. My room was so freezing I swear I could get frostbite if I stayed too long. Wanting to get warm, I quickly ran to my closet, and pulled out a brown hoodie that was way too big for me.

Don't judge, I like big clothes.

I looked at myself in my floor length mirror, bland. Everything about me was bland, and I looked just down right boring. I think so much about the people around me being so boring and never trying anything new, and how I wish my life was less repetitive, yet here I am. Being a hypocrite, I never dressed differently. I only wear things deemed 'socially acceptable' by my mother. Earthy colored clothes, no graphics. A simple wavy brown mop on my head. A nice pair of black tennis shoes. I never change it because I'm too scared, last night being an exception.

Maybe that's why people like routines so much. The chance that change could easily go horribly wrong scares the shit out of them. Sometimes I feel like I would rather feel like shit than be dead inside, then things happen and make me want to take it all back. Like last night, I chanced my parents' wrath to do something new, hoping it would make me feel something. Instead I woke up with a raging headache and feeling very dehydrated.

Was it worth it?

Maybe.

Fucking hell, all this thinking is making me feel sick. I look around for my sketch book, wanting to get to school early and hopefully miss the rush. But it wasn't under my bed like normal. Or on my desk. Or my chair. Or in my closet. I even checked the fucking roof, but it wasn't up there. My hands started to feel weak and numb, as my heart started to thump in my chest.

My mom didn't find it right? I really hope not, there is so much stuff in there that could get me in trouble with her. I started to panic. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I ran a shaky hand through my hair.

This isn't good.

This is bad, very bad.

What should I do? I look over at my clock and see I need to go. Damn it, I can't be worrying about this right now. I have class to pay attention to. I just- I just need to calm down. Everything will be okay. What's the worst that could happen? My mother sees the several nude men I've drawn? The drawings of her burning at the stakes? The pride flags?

This was just too much, I was freaking out. I couldn't do anything, it was like my body was on autopilot. I leave my house hungover and dazed, numb to the summer heat and my surroundings. I could barely breathe. If my mother doesn't have my book, and that's best as scenario, who the fuck does? And what will they think? But most importantly, will they know it's all mine?

What if someone looked through it and realized it's mine? They would know my biggest secret and I'd be screwed. The word could spread to the students, then through the teachers, then people at church, then my mother.

The thought of my mom finding out about this through rumors scares me almost as much as her looking through my art book.

I was half a block away from school, and knew today was not going to be tolerable. So much for trying something new.

***

Today's song: Chinese Translation, By M. Ward

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