New Kid in New Jersey
Cuts
**Flashback**
I was stood on top of the toilet seat lid in the bathroom, facing the large, square mirror.
Wincing, I slowly and carefully removed my shirt from my body and pulled it over my head, tossing it onto the floor. I traced the numerous white scars that were littered across my pale stomach with the tip of my shaking index finger. They stood out like wildfire on my rough, abused skin.
My father had done this. My good for nothing, sorry excuse for a father. This was all his fault. He had reduced me to the trembling wreck that I saw before me in the bathroom mirror.
I felt my eyes prick, and a single, shining tear rolled down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away with my thumb; but my hands were still shaking uncontrollably.
I slowly raised my fist, not stopping to think about what I was about to do, and thrust it into the mirror with all the strength I could muster. The glass shattered instantly.
"FUCK!"
I let out a small, helpless gasp of pain, and brought my fist back up to my face. My knuckles were covered with wide gashes and shining blood. I unclenched my fist and stared with unfocused eyes at the palm of my hand.
A ragged wound ran diagonally across the centre of my hand. Glistening, crimson blood slowly dribbled out from within the cut. I stood there for a few seconds, watching as the sticky substance spread across my hand, staining it crimson. The liquid slowly dripped down, leaving a thick, twisting trail behind it, as it continued down the centre of my wrist and down my arm, to stop at my elbow joint. I closed my eyes and stroked the wound with the thumb of my uninjured hand, and let out another whimper of utter agony.
My eyes darted around the small room, searching for something to clean up the blood with. Shit. No tissues. Oh, for fuck's sake..why me? Why, of all the people in the world, does it have to be me? I stepped down from the lid of the toilet seat and let out a silent scream of terrible pain. There was shattered glass shards all over the floor, and I just had to go and step right on them. What the hell did I break the fucking mirror for?!
I gave up, and dropped down, curled up into a ball on the cold, hard, tiled bathroom floor, hugging my knees to my chest. I sighed, slowly and almost psycotically rocking backwards and forewards, resting my forehead against the side of the cheap ivory bath.
If my dad could see me now; see what he'd done to me...
Well, he'd laugh. He'd fucking laugh, I can tell you that.
I was stood on top of the toilet seat lid in the bathroom, facing the large, square mirror.
Wincing, I slowly and carefully removed my shirt from my body and pulled it over my head, tossing it onto the floor. I traced the numerous white scars that were littered across my pale stomach with the tip of my shaking index finger. They stood out like wildfire on my rough, abused skin.
My father had done this. My good for nothing, sorry excuse for a father. This was all his fault. He had reduced me to the trembling wreck that I saw before me in the bathroom mirror.
I felt my eyes prick, and a single, shining tear rolled down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away with my thumb; but my hands were still shaking uncontrollably.
I slowly raised my fist, not stopping to think about what I was about to do, and thrust it into the mirror with all the strength I could muster. The glass shattered instantly.
"FUCK!"
I let out a small, helpless gasp of pain, and brought my fist back up to my face. My knuckles were covered with wide gashes and shining blood. I unclenched my fist and stared with unfocused eyes at the palm of my hand.
A ragged wound ran diagonally across the centre of my hand. Glistening, crimson blood slowly dribbled out from within the cut. I stood there for a few seconds, watching as the sticky substance spread across my hand, staining it crimson. The liquid slowly dripped down, leaving a thick, twisting trail behind it, as it continued down the centre of my wrist and down my arm, to stop at my elbow joint. I closed my eyes and stroked the wound with the thumb of my uninjured hand, and let out another whimper of utter agony.
My eyes darted around the small room, searching for something to clean up the blood with. Shit. No tissues. Oh, for fuck's sake..why me? Why, of all the people in the world, does it have to be me? I stepped down from the lid of the toilet seat and let out a silent scream of terrible pain. There was shattered glass shards all over the floor, and I just had to go and step right on them. What the hell did I break the fucking mirror for?!
I gave up, and dropped down, curled up into a ball on the cold, hard, tiled bathroom floor, hugging my knees to my chest. I sighed, slowly and almost psycotically rocking backwards and forewards, resting my forehead against the side of the cheap ivory bath.
If my dad could see me now; see what he'd done to me...
Well, he'd laugh. He'd fucking laugh, I can tell you that.
♠ ♠ ♠
Ooh, harsh. But was it exciting? A nice insight into my dark mind, heheh.. thank you all, my lovely readers and commenters! You make my day ;] . I'm trying my best to update as soon as I can, so keep reading! <3