Chapter Two:

One... Two... Four... Eight...

I put down the pocket knife and leaned back on my bed, watching the cuts ooze a thick, warm liquid. I closed my eyes and let the feeling of the blood dripping down my arms really sink in.

In a way, it was soothing. Like, little gentle fingers caressing my pale and scarred skin. Like a mother would caress her child after a nightmare.

I wish my mother did that for me.

I stared at my arms for a moment before I grabbed a towel and wiped the blood away. It stained the tan color of the fabric with bright red splotches but nobody was going to see it except me.

Once the cuts stopped bleeding, I stood from my bed and looked out the window for a moment. The moon hung high in the sky, only half of it showing. I smirked a little, realizing how the moon and I were the same. I only showed half of my true self.

But, it also made me think about all the times I had cried out for help, yet nobody was there to listen. All those sleepless nights I lay awake in bed, crying and hoping somebody would hear me and comfort me. The darkness of the room haunting my mind and my soul, making me feel consumed in an evil and hateful aura.

But now... I liked the darkness. So I became one with the darkness.

I felt my anxiety and paranoia begin to start again and I instantly grabbed the pack of cigarettes I kept in my sock drawer. I grabbed my lighter and opened my window, sitting on the ledge and quickly lighting up a cigarette.

"You know, smoking isn't very good for you," An accented voice said.

I instantly darted my eyes around, trying to find the source and praying to god it wasn't my mother or father. When I found the source, the British boy that moved into the house across the street a few years ago, I felt my fear die down a bit. I took the cigarette from my lips and glared at him.

"And you trying to give me advice isn't good for you either," I growled back.

"What are you getting from smoking? It doesn't make you look cool," The boy went on, leaning against his window. Was he actually going to lecture me on this?

"That's not why I smoke. You'll never understand why I smoke," I growled, feeling my voice waver as I thought of all my fears and problems.

"Then maybe you can explain why you do?" He requested, smiling slightly with a curious glint in his eyes.

"Gavin, who are you talking to?" I heard a female voice say.

I listened to Gavin's exchange with his mother. I sighed and wondered what it would be like to be in a place where my mother actually cared enough to tell me to go to bed.

When Gavin turned back to the window, I couldn't let him see my longing to have an affectionate mother like his so I said the first insult that came to mind.

"Still following Mommy's orders I see," I taunted, almost feeling guilty for saying those words.

"So? She's my mother. I should be. Don't you listen to your mum?" He asked me, genuine curiosity laced in his words.

"Nope. Never did, never will. My moms a whore," I said, feeling the word come off my tongue in distaste. I sucked in the last drag of my cigarette and released the smoke into the air, flicking away the butt of it.

"How come?" Gavin asked me, his curiosity again showing through his words.

"Isn't it your bedtime?" I taunted, climbing back through my window and closing it abruptly.

You see, this is why you can't find friends or love. You push everyone away.

"Shut up," I growled.

I stumbled away from the window, rubbing my eyes and fuming at the voice. I'd never find friends or love. And even if I did, it probably wouldn't last.

I suddenly heard a loud crash from downstairs and the normal shouts of my father screaming at my mother. I quickly locked my door and turned off the lights, climbing up on my bed and silently begging them to stop.

When they didn't, I reached over and grabbed the picture frame that held my most prized possession. Even more prized then my pocket knife, or my lighter.

I gazed at the photo of my brother and I. Even though it was dark and I couldn't actually see it, I could still picture it in my mind. I had looked at this photo so many times that the image burned itself into my mind. I would be holding onto my brother's waist while he held up his diploma and put his graduation cap on top of my head. He would be eighteen, and I would be eleven.

I felt the usual rush of tears enter my eyes as I thought about my brother. My hero. I clutched onto the picture and curled up on my bed, crying myself to sleep.

Just like every other night.

...

I heard a knock at my door and I sat up, rubbing my eyes in confusion. The picture frame laid on the opposite side of my bed so I grabbed it and put it back in its rightful place before getting up, unlocking and opening my door.

My mother stood there, wobbling dangerously in the middle of the hallway. I watched her throat constrict as she vomited onto the floor, and with my horrible luck, onto me.

"Oh... Michael... I'm so sorry," She said, giggling, however I saw straight through her drunken stupor. She was still a little tipsy from the night before.

"Right..." I growled, storming off to the bathroom.

I shed the vomit stained clothes and got into the shower. I scrubbed at my hair and tried my best to get the smell of vomit off of me.

When I was half satisfied with it, I wrapped a towel around my waist and walked back to my room, stepping over the vomit that my mother neglected to clean up.

Once I was dressed, I cleaned up the vomit, being careful not to get any on me. I felt myself gag a couple times at the smell and sight but I knew that if I didn't clean it up, nobody would.

Once it was cleaned up, I threw my backpack over my shoulder. As I made my way downstairs, I made sure to be as silent as possible so I didn't wake my father who would be, without a doubt, passed out on the couch.

And as I guessed, I was correct. I felt a wave of relief go through me as I remembered the couple times that he wasn't passed out and instead beat me until I wasn't able to breathe.

As I made my way to school, I wondered what people would say to me today. I knew that there would be a few horrible gay slurs. I always got those.

When I got to the bus stop, I stood as faraway from everyone as possible. I noticed that British kid, Gavin, standing a few yards away from me with Ray and Ryan, two of the more standout people of the school. I hadn't realized I was staring until he looked up at me and gave me a friendly half smile. Ray and Ryan both looked to see who or what he was smiling at so I immediately ducked my head and hid in the hood of my sweatshirt.

You know you're a freak, right?

"Of course I do," I whispered.

And the thing was... Nobody could ever love a freak.
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So, I'm actually really proud of this chapter. I feel like I really touched into my deeper side and began to find the words to describe the feelings I have in my darkest moment.
Anyway, please let me know what you think of this chapter. I really like this story and I'd like to know if you guys do too.
Thanks for reading!