GONER

21 • Dresser Drawer

My pale skin was bright red in minutes with how hard I was washing it, and I let all of my anger spill out of me and bubble over, directly into my hands. Honestly, hands held so much power, and it terrified and excited me all at once. The latter shouldn't have applied, but it did. A thrill shouldn't have gone through me at the thought of being in power, but it did.

I couldn't tell the difference between tears and water as I stood there, basking in the feeling of not wanting to move. Not wanting to breathe. Not wanting to live. It was such a strange thing now that I haven't felt it in forever, and I leaned my head against the shower wall, trying to calm myself as best as I could. It was almost like getting to pick your emotions, and I was going with being mad over being sad. Though, it would all flood back to me in a while, but somehow, this was worth it.

I wrapped my arms around my skinny body, and I could feel the curve of my spine under my rough fingertips. I used to run them against bricks until it started to sting so badly that I couldn't anymore, and my skin hardened greatly from that. But I had to get out of here now, because I was tired and falling asleep in the shower wasn't an option as much as I wanted it to be right now, and if I stayed in here any longer, I would fall asleep, and hope that something would clog the drain and let me drown in here.

My hair was damp and dense as it flopped against my forehead with every sure movement, arm reaching out lazily to turn off the water. It was abrupt and sudden when it cut off, and my body shivered immediately with the departure of the hot water. But it was either I get out, or I drown.

And I didn't really understand how it suddenly became so difficult to choose.

~~~

After I got in my room, I tried to take in everything. The time, the moon in the window that was being split up by the flimsy window screen to keep people from falling (even though it did an awful job), and the carpets. They felt rough and foreign against my feet, and I wanted socks.

Making my way over to drawers, I opened the top one and shifted through them with half-lidded eyes, not caring enough to make sure they matched. No one was going to see them. Just like there was no one here to witness my mental collapse, and that's just the way it was. Even so, I tried to keep my thoughts at bay as I walked over to my bed, moving past the last box that lay empty and silent on the floor. But before I could make it there, my bare foot touched something metal and cold, and on reflex, I pulled it back.

I wished that the light was off. I really, really did. Because I probably would have left it there and fell into bed and fallen asleep as best as I could, but instead, I was staring down the sharp blade of a box cutter, and I couldn't breathe.

My first thought was to look around, even though I was alone, to make sure no was watching me, like I used to everyday. It was something I did for me, and not anyone else, and having people there would ruin the moment, and the purpose, completely. But I didn't want to think about that. I didn't want to think about metal, or my mom's words, or the dissapointed look on her face when I answered her question in a way that didn't require words. Or the way people treated Josh, or the word faggot, or my dad, or the fact that I couldn't find anything to be clean for.

I needed to go to bed.

So, I did. I tried. My feet picked up an unimaginable pace, from the light switch and back, and it took a second to reach my bed, before I climbed under my covers and swaddled myself in the blankets. I wasn't going to let this control me. I couldn't.