And Baby You'll Be Alright As Long As I'm Not, So Do That Dance In The Dark, Sharpen Your Teeth And Bite As Hard As You Want.

I hate the fact that other things are red. It doesn't feel right, it feels wrong, it feels like a lie. They're painted red - they never could be born that way. Things don't form like that; things are made to be perfect and by doing so they miss the concept of perfection entirely... they miss it by a mile off. The things that aren't meant to be perfect are the ones who always end up being so. Life works in funny ways as it paints the world red.

Even the colour red makes me want to tear my skin apart frantically like some sort of savage monster, which I supposed I could be compared to, but only by someone particularly sadistic. Sadism is natural, though.

Sadism is within all of us and no one can argue against that, even those people who think their degrees and graduation caps entitle them to claiming they have knowledge over the entire world. Sadism is within them especially, but the colour red isn't, and for the latter I'm glad. Red is a part of me; I'm selfish, but red is too.

I hate the fact that the chairs are red, and there are red marker pens, and that things are marked in red biro, I hate the fact that his tie is red, and that her shoes are red, that his shirt is red and that her hair is red. 

I hate how they can think red doesn't matter when it's the only thing that does. Red always matters, red is who I am. Red is all I'll ever be. I grew up wanting to be red, and I'll die red. I'll die red, alone and soon.

I hate the fact that accidents also bleed red, and that red is the colour of love hearts. I hate that red is on Valentine's Day cards, and I hate that people believe in 'I love you's. Red is accidental, red isn't a lie. I hate stupid people, and I hate pretentious ones too. I hate hypocrites, also. And confessionists - I hate them too, especially indirect ones, now they're just pussies. 

And most of all, the people that believe hate is far too much of a strong word to be used in this circumstance, don't understand the colour red. Red is so much more than a colour, though. And no one understands - this hurts more than the red. I'm used to the red; it barely stings. It does sting a little, but it's an addiction. I need it.

It's a selfish addiction, as addictions tend to be. I'm selfish, as people tend to be.

Red is not the colour of strawberries, or love hearts, or rose, red is the colour of my blood when my friends come out to play, and the red is everything to succumb to, everything to crave, and everything to hate and love.

I make things red; things shouldn't already come that way. Red isn't artifical, red is natural, red is human, red is raw, red is the creature that lurks inside... inside us all. Some people just block the red out easier; I'm not one of them. I welcome the red, in fact. But, it's okay - the red welcomes me too.

Red is my colour, red is a part of me, and further than just the blood in my veins. It's down my arms, it's all I am, and it's everywhere. I smell it, I feel it, and I need it.

I think red, I breathe red, I bleed red, I cry red, I paint red, I slash red, I am red.

Red is a beautifully destructive colour - one that fits me perfectly, and none understands, because red is who I am and all I'll ever be.

Vic Fuentes hasn't got anything on red.

-

"Kellin-" I jerked out my daydream about painting the sky with my colour of choice, only to find myself eye to eye with the English teacher and his painfully red tie. "Awake are we, finally?" I blushed red; I'd seemed to have recently developed a rather unfortunate habit of dozing off during class, and I could do nothing but blame this upon Vic Fuentes, despite the fact he'd end up getting me out of whatever punishment befell me this time.

"Y-yes sir..." I stuttered out, the words flailing from my lips like dysfunctional and temporarily paralysed limbs. The class laughed, but what else could they do? For some of them, my existence was their daily dose of entertainment. I was glad to have myself so gracefully appreciated it - it really made my day.

"Good, Quinn, good." He marched back to the front of the classroom, leaving me with a little more room to breathe and contemplate the colour red excessively. However, as soon as I wanted to collapse back into my thoughts he opened that god forsaken mouth of his again, "what do you think of love?" That was a question that didn't need an answer, of course. Yet, the question still begged.

I sent him a confused expression, wondering where the hell the context for this question was, but soon enough it came apparently to me, him and the rest of the room that I hadn't been listening at all. I didn't care about any of this, any of them. They'd have to deal with that.

"Romeo and Juliet." He pointed towards the board where the title was boldly projected, making me feel even more incompetent than I was previously. "Which you would have known, had you been any degree of attention whatsoever." He grabbed a red marker pen, scribbling my name on board in lopsided handwriting that unnerved me more than it should. "Romeo and Juliet's love - an opinion on it, perferably a competent one, and sharpish." The class laughed with him, despite the fact that the majority of them were far too incompetent to have a clue as to whatever the hell 'competent' meant.

"They were in love-"

"Yes, yes. Expand upon the obvious, Quinn." I'd said four words and he'd already thought I'd expressed the entirely of my opinion; is this guy retarded or does he just really despise me? Most likely both, but whatever. I can't exactly blame him that much

"They were in love with each other. Enough to die for each other, which is both captivating and concerning at the same time; to think of a human emotion strong enough to break people and cause them to do things such as that... it's just astounding. Love's dangerous and addictive, love's important yet terrible, love's someone's breaking point and their euphoria at the same time - love is just-"

"I get the gist, Quinn. Stop trying to be a smartass, it's not doing you any favours." And the world's biggest hypocrite award goes to Mr Wan. I hated this guy beyond belief, but he barely compared to Mr Chins in douchebaggery levels. Mr Chins was the king of douchebags, and he was awfully proud of that, in fact.

"I was just-"

"Don't talk back or I will put you in detention." Go ahead, my unfortunately close friend, the head boy, will get me out of it. "I suggest you pay attention in my class from now on, despite however difficult that appears to be for you."

I could murder that guy, I swear.

"Jaime, care to tell me your view upon their love?" Mr Wan was now to sure to direct his question to his favourite pupil, as he sent off ward glances at his least favourite (me).

"Yes, sir." Jaime was another of the people I'd happily impale on a regular basis; it turns out there were an awful lot of people that fitted into the aforementioned category. "Love - noun. It's a strong feeling of affection for someone or something." This guy spoke and acted like a dictionary, I swear.

"Yes, Jaime - perfect." Of course he'd be perfect, wouldn't he? Fuck, man - I hate teachers.

"Love is compelling and strong and sometimes irrational, it's doing things for others without reason. But sometimes, these things aren't always good things, as demonstrated by Romeo and Juliet in Shakespeare's most famous play..." His voice blurred into nothingness, only his first few words sticking in my words, and not for academic purposes, either. These words seemed familiar, they seemed to matter.

Doing things for others without reason.

Such as befriending them, bunking off with them, caring for them, buying them ice-cream, and getting them out of sports and detentions on a regular basis.

I didn't like to associate that word with those actions, with him, because it wasn't normal, I didn't expect it and I didn't want it, but then again, wasn't that what love was - falling uncontrollably? Head over heels and all that shit? I don't know, but love sure is confusing - that I can guarantee, if anything at all. Nothing is really guaranteed these days, though. The world works crazily.

But, none of this mattered, all of this was crazy and irrational, concerning and astounding, dangerous and terrible, yet somehow above all, important. Importance was a biased concept and it hurt for those it didn't quite touch and then again, the world was biased. Bias was everywhere and no one could remedy that, not even the red. The red too, was biased.

This was just another form of supressed madness; I didn't love Vic Fuentes and most importantly he didn't love me - that was for sure. The red was biased, playing with my head, manipulating me until my sanity gave out... or had it already done so? I couldn't tell.

-

"Kellin-" I barely hear him utter my name, before I'm pulled like an uncoordinated mess of limbs into his office, the door locked behind us within instants, leaving me in the situation when I was unsure whether to feel secure or uncomfortable, because certain thoughts from earlier wouldn't leave, and the longer they stayed, the less they became thoughts and more like real, tangible, important things.

"Vic!" I imagined to exclaim in the most enthusiastic tone I could muster, but really I just sounded pathetic and there simply was no getting around that. I was scared; the thoughts didn't leave and I couldn't feel comfortable within his presence any longer. I felt dirty, unclean, and alone and confused to hell, because this all seemed to be falling into place, but a place I didn't want it to fall into and fuck... I couldn't stop it.

"You don't sound particularly happily to see me." I gulped: I didn't. I wanted to be anywhere else but here.

The blood began to sting in my veins - it didn't want to be there. It wanted to be free. It felt like venom within my own veins... it didn't belong there like I didn't belong within the graps of reality.

"I'm tired that's all." I lied. I wasn't good at lying and everyone could see that, but I liked lying, I liked pretending, I liked wishing it all away. I hated liars, though. They were pathetic... I was pathetic - not just for lying, but for all of this mess, because I shouldn't feel these things; they simply shouldn't exist.

"Oh come on, Kellin - that's the most bullshit excuse I've ever heard." I couldn't blame him for being persistent, because really, it was the most bullshit excuse I've ever made.

"Don't worry; I'll brush up on my excuses for next time." I couldn't care about the impact my words would have; I couldn't care about things when a colossal, soul eating monster was occupying my head ravenously and constantly.

"Kellin, that's really not the point." Our eyes met, and I didn't like to see that look, that look of concern, and I didn't like to stare for too long - not because I didn't want to seem weird; we'd already crossed that bridge several times before.

It was because, the longer I looked, the more beautiful his eyes seemed to be, and I was beginning to think Mr Wan had injected my with some kind of drugs whilst I was dozing off earlier, because beautiful was most definitely not a word I'd like to be associating with someone like Vic Fuentes. Or someone with male genitals for that matter; I wasn't gay, despite how very gay I sounded right now.

"I know." I mumbled, the words coming out far too quiet for them to really have any effect whatsoever. "I know it's not the point."

The point was these feelings that shouldn't exist, but somehow, somehow in this goddamn fucked up universe, they did,

"You're avoiding my question." He was right and somehow I found myself being a prat and nodding along like a complacent toddler; I was withdrawn from reality, my mind elsewhere entirely, wandering over thoughts that shouldn't be touched for a very good reason. "Tell me what's up."

"It doesn't matter, just say what you pulled me in here to say to me." He looked at me with disconcerted eyes, but despite how uncomfortable and downright guilty he made me feel, I knew I couldn't explain, I could never explain to anyone, especially not him and barely even myself. I'd never explain it to him - he wouldn't understand, he'd hate me; things would fuck up more than they had done already, and my only friend would go away within a second.

"Okay..." The gaze of disconcertion didn't go away for several minutes, or until the words began to flow out of his mouth at the very least. "Well, I have exciting news." He winked at me, and then I found myself blushing, I found my cheeks red. Red. Red of all fucking colours. My cheeks had to blush red.

"Go on." I scrutinised him under a wary gaze, almost preparing myself for whatever the hell he could push through those lips of his next. Vic's ideas, and prepositions really were odds things sometimes, and I was beginning to suspect that this would involve ice-cream somehow.

"I've got a girlfriend."

I felt as if he'd pushed me off a cliff.

I wanted him to push me off a cliff- I wanted to push myself off. Actually, I didn't mind who did, I just wanted to fall through the air until I met a rather permanent fate.

"Another one?" I said in a rude tone, almost as if the concept of yet another Fuentes girlfriend was impossible, when with looks like that, it really wasn't. He was too good looking, good looking enough for it to have a horribly compromising effect on me. I didn't want to notice things like his smile, the sparkle in his eyes, and how goddamn attractive he was. I shouldn't notice these things - I shouldn't notice them at all.

"Don't sound so fucking surprised, Jesus." Thankfully, he wasn't offended - he just laughed it off. However, I was offended, and I was the one who'd been rude. I was offended that Vic Fuentes could possibly want anyone other than me - it was quite frankly ridiculous.

"Please don't tell me she's anything like Jenny." I pleaded, Vic chuckling a little at just how I was reacting to this, and I was just praying he'd never quite guess my real motives, because he couldn't guess; that'd just ruin everything beyond belief, fucking everything up to beyond repair and we'd be left a mess, a royal fucking mess.

"She's not." His tone was sincere, so maybe there was just a shred of hope left in the world, but I very much I thought I'd find myself hating this girlfriend of his as soon as I caught the slightest glimpse of her face or existence for that matter. "She's lovely and sweet. Nice most importantly - I'm sure you'll like her." I'm sure I won't. I'm very fucking sure regarding that matter, Mr Fuentes.

"What's her name?" I didn't know what else to say, but I thought it'd be nice to be able to give the hitmen a name as opposed to just a vague description.

"It's confidential now." I hit him with a confused look, worried about what the fucking hell was going on. Was he dating the leader of the mafia for Christ's sake? "You'll meet her soon enough."

"Will I?"

"Yes, you will and you're going to be nice to her." Good luck with that one, Fuentes. Good fucking luck.

-TRIGGER WARNING-

I felt like a lively, breathing and painfully existing cliché; who the fuck falls in love with their best friend- well, their only friend? It was sad really, fucking sad how my life had engineered itself to solely mess up.

No- it wasn't love. It was a tiny crush if it was that at the very least, but it damn well felt more than that.

What I felt for Vic was nothing, just like me, but I want to feel something now - I need to feel something real, raw and burning, flaming red. Red is what I need - red can fix this, I know it can. Red is the cure, red fixes everything.

I want to be red from head to toe, and I want to scream as I give out, but not for ever, I'm not quite ready for inevitable quite yet. The end is coming soon, but I can't write this note for shit - as I said, I'm incompetent.

I like the colour more than I do the pain these days; it's not just any red, it's a pretty red, it's my red, and I think this red is the only thing I like about myself these days.

Slash.

There's not enough red, I still don't feel enough, and I don't think I ever will, so I continue.

I slash again, this time for Vic and for everything I felt regarding him. It was far deeper this time.

Slash. Slash. Slash. Slash.

I am a warzone, a battleground, a mess, a rainbow all red. I'm whole now, it's strange how I can only feel whole with deep slashes against my skin and with the red running down every inch of my pale skin.

I've grown to hate my skin the most of all; I hate when it's clear, free and empty. It's on the outside, safe from what's within, or at least that's what it likes to think.

The slashes prove it wrong.

I'll prove myself wrong tonight, I don't love Vic Fuentes, the slashes are deeper, redder, than any love could ever be.

Hey guys:) Thanks for reading^.^ I hope you enjoyed this chapter & if you did, votes and comments are hella appreciated. Love y'all as usual<3