Laying in my bed, I took a look back on my life as an outcast. I guess there was some good in it, you avoided social gatherings and socializing in general. You also got a free pass out of the high school drama, for the most part. Mainly because you're in your own drama.
The drama of fighting yourself.
I know I say it isn't my choice, but it is my choice, I'm just too narrow-minded to get it through my thick skull. When you're narrow-minded, you're supposed to dislike opinions besides your own, and that's exactly what I'm doing...from my friends point of views. I don't like to call them anything besides my friends, because then I feel hurt and I resent myself. It's nonsensical, I know that much.
My friends were tucked in their drawers for the night as usual, and there they would be for the weekend, because I have no school, considering it's Friday. Turning on my side, I glanced at the red lit time on my clock. It was only eleven. Sometimes, just to protect myself, I go to bed quite early. Because if I get woozy, I kind of get stuck in my head, and let's just say I learned that the hard way.
Twenty-seven hard ways.
I guess I just feel worse when I'm weary. Basically, I got lost in my dark thoughts and woke up the next morning scarcely remembering the night before. I think I may have been intoxicated, I'm still not sure. I bled out, and it surprised me that I survived. The scars still remain, vaguely visible since it's been about two years since that memory. I still see them though.
I sat up, and kicked my blankets back before getting up and walking to my door which was slightly ajar. Peering out, I saw the lights downstairs were off, so I snuck down the stairs and into the kitchen, pouring myself some cold, refreshing water. I have insomnia on top of everything.
The stairs creaked slightly as I tip-toed back to my room. And what I saw surprised me. Well actually, a lot of things surprised me.
"Jesus fucking Christ," I swore, slapping a hand over my mouth after I said it. I shut the door hastily, then ran to the window and shut it, briefly pausing because it's so damn heavy and my fingers cramped. "What the hell are you doing here?" I whispered yelled at Kellin's faint figure standing before me.
"I was bored," He said purely.
"W-what? How did you get in here and how did you know which room is mine? Wait, how did you even know what house was mine?" I rambled, sitting down.
"I watched you walk home, and it was just a lucky guess on the room. I climbed your tree, which works very well," He chuckled.
"This isn't funny! If my mom or dad catches us they'll kill me!"
"You're killing yourself, Vic," He replied abruptly, stopping me from a good come back. He was right. I am killing myself. "But it's okay, I am too." I slid off the bed, resting my head on the side of it, legs stretched out before me. He slid down next to me, grabbing my arm before I could complain.
My sleeve went up and I gasped as his hand ran over the recent and sore cuts. I tried to yank away from him, but his grip was firm.
"When was this one?" He asked, pointing to one in the center of my forearm.
"Today," I admitted. "In the bathroom, right before you entered."
"You know why I was down there?"
"No, why?"
"I was going to do the same thing," He said, letting go and rolling up his sleeve as well, revealing scars and cuts almost as bad as mine. When he sounded sympathetic, I thought it was a scam, but I guess not.
