Blow Me One Last Kiss (An Andy Biersack fan fiction)

11~ Sick Of It All {Part One}

Just one last cut...

"Liar..." I whisper as I lay in my bed, staring up at the ceiling. My arm lays in a pool of blood on the sheets, throbbing and screaming for me to attend to it. I sigh and shake my head a little, ashamed of what I had just done.

It's never just one cut. Once you start, you can't stop and then if you take a wrong turn, you might end up killing yourself.

But that's why you do it, right?

Taking so many risks that have consequences that are fatal. That's what this is.

I do this to myself because of so many reasons. One of them being, I deserve it. I deserve this pain.

When I look at the scars and the blood, I think it's the most beautiful thing in the world. Why? Because I'm a sick, twisted bitch.

...I'm a broken kid.

I remember what my mother told me once I asked her if I could talk to her about these thoughts I had, my depression.

"Go to your room, Max! I don't have time for you right now! God, nobody has time for a broken kid! Nobody wants a broken kid!"

Charming woman, she is.

I sigh and get up from my bed. I wrap the sheets around my naked body and trudge to the bathroom. I close the door and start the shower and get in. 

After a while, I get out and wrap a towel around me. I wipe of the mirror and look at myself. I see my wrist in the mirror and before, I would cringe at the sight of it. But now...now I feel comforted by it.

I don't like to mourn over myself. I know I'm not the only person in the world. I know the world doesn't revolve around me. I've always known that.

So, why do I do it? Is it because I'm sick of feeling like this? Feeling hurt and heartbroken and just tired! I'm tired of this! I'm tired of it all!

I clench my fists and bring one of them up to my head. I pull it back then slam it against the mirror with all of my might. It cracks a bit and I feel my knuckles throb in pain and I gasp at the sudden sensation.

That felt...good.

I pull my fist back and slam it against the mirror again. It cracks more. I do this repeatedly until my knuckles are bleeding and the mirror is crashed against the sink and the floor.

I'm out of breath by the time I've finished.

I hear the doorbell ring and I sigh in irritation. I run out of the bathroom and drop the towel. I quickly grab a long sleeved t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants and went to answer it.

I opened the door to see Sammy standing there.

"What do you want?" I snarl.

"I just want to talk, Ma- what happened to your hand?" he says. I feel the color drain from my face and I slam the door and I lock it. "Max?!" he yells. I hear my phone ringing Andy's ring tone and I feel the tears starting to roll down my face.

"Max!" Sammy says while he beats on the door.

"Well, every man with a microphone can tell what he loves the most..."

I would usually pick it up but I just shake my head and run into my room and I lock the door. I put my hands to my ears and my sleeves falls down a bit, revealing the fresh scars.

I don't want to deal with this. I don't want to feel this anymore. I just want this all to stop! I can't take it anymore!

Then, I realize what I want to do and made my heart stop beating for a moment.

I want to end my life.

And I'm going to do it.

______________________________________

....to be continued....