Sequel: Running With Scissors ›
Those Worse Off Than You
Part 53
"I just... I feel like I'm destined to end up just like him," Ace stated after a long while, refering to his father.
"You're not going to end up like him," I said. "Ace, you aren't going to end up anything like him; you're a better person."
"What if it's in my genes," he whispered.
"People have the will to change."
He shifted his eyes, so that he was looking directly at me. Not like before, when he was looking off in some random corner of the ceiling. "That' what my shrink said. She said it's normal to feel this was after feeling targetted and afraid for so long. It kind of leaves the feeling inside of you. She said it eventually goes away."
"It doesn't."
"It doesn't," he argued loudly. "It stays inside of you and eats away at you; leaving you to rot. It's like... you know it's happening, but you can't do anything to stop it!"
"Oh shit," he said, drawing my attention to one of his arms. I hadn't noticed he had been picking his scars the whole time he was talking and now blood was streaming down his arm, onto the bedsheets.
"God Ace! Common, let's get you cleaned up," I said, pulling him towards the bathroom where I grabbed tissue and wrapped it around his arm.
"I- I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I didn't mean it."
"It's alright- I'm not mad. God- where's that bandage," I said, half to myself. Searching through the cuboard for a first aid kit. There wasn't one.
I dragged Ace into the hall, down the the front desk, where an older, unfamiliar secretary sat, staring at a computer screen. "Do you have a first aid kit," I asked her.
She looked at me and cocked an eyebrow before looking at Ace and his arm. "Oh dear Jesus," she muttered. "Not again." She pulled the box out from under the desk and handed it to me, turning back to the computer screen as if she didn't care.
I sat in the nearest chair and rummaged through the box, trying to find what I was looking for. I found it. And along with it, I found a bottle of peroxide.
"I'm putting this stuff on it," I stated, holding the bottle to a cloth and soaking it before running it horizontally across Ace's arm. I felt awkward looking at the cuts and scars. I'd rather pretend they weren't there; but I can't...
"You're not going to end up like him," I said. "Ace, you aren't going to end up anything like him; you're a better person."
"What if it's in my genes," he whispered.
"People have the will to change."
He shifted his eyes, so that he was looking directly at me. Not like before, when he was looking off in some random corner of the ceiling. "That' what my shrink said. She said it's normal to feel this was after feeling targetted and afraid for so long. It kind of leaves the feeling inside of you. She said it eventually goes away."
"It doesn't."
"It doesn't," he argued loudly. "It stays inside of you and eats away at you; leaving you to rot. It's like... you know it's happening, but you can't do anything to stop it!"
"Oh shit," he said, drawing my attention to one of his arms. I hadn't noticed he had been picking his scars the whole time he was talking and now blood was streaming down his arm, onto the bedsheets.
"God Ace! Common, let's get you cleaned up," I said, pulling him towards the bathroom where I grabbed tissue and wrapped it around his arm.
"I- I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I didn't mean it."
"It's alright- I'm not mad. God- where's that bandage," I said, half to myself. Searching through the cuboard for a first aid kit. There wasn't one.
I dragged Ace into the hall, down the the front desk, where an older, unfamiliar secretary sat, staring at a computer screen. "Do you have a first aid kit," I asked her.
She looked at me and cocked an eyebrow before looking at Ace and his arm. "Oh dear Jesus," she muttered. "Not again." She pulled the box out from under the desk and handed it to me, turning back to the computer screen as if she didn't care.
I sat in the nearest chair and rummaged through the box, trying to find what I was looking for. I found it. And along with it, I found a bottle of peroxide.
"I'm putting this stuff on it," I stated, holding the bottle to a cloth and soaking it before running it horizontally across Ace's arm. I felt awkward looking at the cuts and scars. I'd rather pretend they weren't there; but I can't...