𝔠𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔟𝔬𝔶 • max

one

my heart was pounding in my chest, i put my hand on my bosom, but then remembered that it was bloody. god, fucking damn it. why am i so stupid?

i got up from my room and walked over to the bathroom. i washed my hands and arms, feeling the stings from the water getting into the small scissor wounds. id have to get fixed up before my dad came back home.

my dad isnt a bad guy, neither is my mother. its my fucking uncle that sucks. whenever im with my mom at her place, he gets drunk and...

jingle, jingle

shit, hes back.

i put the long bandage around my arm, and look into the mirror. bags underneath my eyes, frizzy hair, and a sad, fake smile.

i down my sleeve, and walk outside the bathroom. my dad gives me a quick hug, and i suck in air through my teeth at the slight pressure to my cuts.

"aw, damn, are you okay?" i look into my dads eyes. a happy, okay man. oblivious that i hadnt stopped my bad habit.

"im fine, its just that they havent healed completely yet," i say. my dad smiles, and kisses my forehead. i smile back, and walk back to the room and watch the group again. the girl from before still hadnt lost interest in my window.

she waves, and i wave back. im sure she didnt see, it was very subtle. she turned to face the boy who was most likely from here, tapped his shoulder, and looked back up to me. the black-haired boy looked at me too, before rolling his eyes and looking across the street at the magnificent hotel that was recently built.

"you hungry?" my dad calls from the kitchen.

"i-i guess," i shout back. there was no real need for shouting, since it was a small apartment. but we did it anyway.

"im going to make rice and beans with tenders, is that okay?" i sigh. of course its okay, i eat it almost everytime he says he'll make it.

"mhm," i say to myself. i adjust my bandage so that there isnt too much pressure on the wounds, and by the time i look back down into the sidewalk, the small group is gone.