Razorblade Charm

I don't tell Tinkerbell I know she slits.

I feel betrayed though.

After all those times she said she wasn't a cutter, she didn't slit. After all those times she promised to tell me everything, after all those times she swore she wasn't emo.

She could have told me.

I have never slit. Ever. I have scratched down my arm, tearing at my skin. I have had thoughts, but I have never done it.

I can't look at her.

She looks so happy, too. She is always smiling, skipping through school in odd Converse and tier skirts. She is funny, creative, arty, zany.

So why.....?

I know she doesn't get on with her parents. I know she hates her step father. I know she sleeps in the garage. But you don't just slit because of that, right?

It's a normal, boring Sunday and I am slouching round the house on my own. Mom took Kate shopping for some new Barbie doll and dancing leotard.

Sweet.

I like being on my own in the house, cause I can turn Kerrang! up to full volume and nobody complains. I can eat junk food, I can avoid homework, I can wear whatever I want without somebody wincing and making ' not toned down today?' comments.

So that's what I do.

I let Kerrang! blare from the TV speakers, dancing to Paramore and Kate Nash. I make a double strawberry-jam-and-chocolate-nut-spread sandwich and eat four bags of Skittles. I leave my homework in my Misfits bag. I wear pinstripe jeans with a Panic! shirt, purple velvet waistcoat, mock-croc skin shoes and a thick streak of pink and blue across my eyes.

It's this type of stuff that made my dad angry.

My dad thought bad stuff about me. He hated me. He thought I was gay, thought I slit. He beat me up, and Mom just ignored it to keep safe.

I got beaten in school,walking home from school, at home.

Nice.

I hear a loud knock on the door, and I turn the TV down.

" Sorry, Hayley," I mutter quickly, going to get the door. It's Tinkerbell.

She is wearing a pair of black shorts with violet lepord print tights. On top is a violet vest, long and baggy, with black roses patterned all over it. She is wearing odd Converse-one red and white checkered, one yellow and pink striped.

" Hi, Ryan," she grins. " Can I come in?"

I let her in and she changes Kerrang! to Fuse and turns it up, blaring out Black Label Socity.

" Still grounded?" I ask. She is slumped, foot jiggling in time to ' Concrete Jungle'.

" Yeah, Richard is an angry man."

Tinkerbell goes on about Richard and I look at her wrists. She is wearing two Nightmare Before Christmas sweatbands.

" New sweatbands?" I say, interrupting her. She nods.

" Can I have a look?"

I hold out my hand and she frowns.

" No....no, I'd better keep them on."

" Why, Tinkerbell? Something you're hiding?"

" No!" she snaps. " Lay off, Ryan."

I grab her arm and peel off the sweatbands. There are scars, long and horrid. I drop her wrist in disgust and she stands up, pink in the face, swearing anf gesturing with her hands.

" You slit, Tinkerbell, and you didn't tell me. Why?"

" Because! Some things are private!"

" You lied!"

" I have too! You don't understand, Ryan. My life hasn't been easy."

I snort.

" Give me an explanation for lying and being an idiot, then."

Tinkerbell takes a deep breath, sits down again, and clears her throat.

" It all started when my dad died..."