Want You Bad

Alexis
'Everyone expects me to be perfect. But they don’t know me. They don’t know my pain. They don’t feel it like I do.

From the outside I guess I look like I have it all. Blonde, hazel eyes. Some would even say a “perfect” body.

I’m flawed. We all are.

At school I fit in. Never was the subject of the bullies’ torture.

You must be thinking that, because I’m blonde, I must be dumb.

I’m not.

Right from the offset I’d grasped that I needed to fit in. My attitude changed, looks too. I became someone I’m not.

I missed out parts of meals, then whole meals until I was eating barely 1000 calories a day.

All this to fit in.

Underweight, I became part of the cheerleading squad. Flat stomach; the perfect body.

I soon realised that I was actually good at something for a change. Cheerleading. Acting the ditzy blonde, I was promoted to head cheerleader.

But that’s all it was. Acting.

You wouldn’t be able to see my unhappiness. The depression.

I don’t dare to express myself. Stand out from the crowd. Lead, and not be led. I guess you could call me a coward.

The only place I can feel myself is my room. Even there I can’t express myself fully. Every time my friends come round, I have to hide all my CDs. They wouldn’t approve of “Three Days Grace”, the songs would be “too depressing”. Music is the only way I can communicate my feelings. I can relate to these lyrics.

But I’m scared. Scared of being outcast. Rejected

Like him.

Lucifer.

Everyone avoids him. Calls him names. Shun him.

I admire him though. His self-courage. He’s who he wants to be, doesn’t care what people think of him. I wish I could be like that.

Sigh. Where do I even start with Lucifer? His hair –jet black- is cut in a side fringe that covers both his eyes. Ice blue eyes that stare coldly out at you.

He hates everybody, me included. Ignores my sheepish gaze.

The brief moments our eyes do meet though… I swear, he doesn’t hate me as much as I expect.

It’s like the song. Three Days Grace; Over and Over. “Over and over, over and over, I fall for you. Over and over, I try not to…”

All true. I can’t help loving him! I have no say in the matter. Even though I know we’ll never be together. Never!

There.

I said it.

I’m in love with someone I can never have. He’ll never want me.

I want him so bad, it hurts me.

But we’re just too different.

Slight problem though. He HATES me. How could he even like me, let alone LOVE me?!

Who could ever love a fucked-up bitch like me?

The guys at school- that’s not love. Lust. It’s lust. Fucking lust! They follow me. Everywhere I go, they’re there. So annoying. I just want to turn around a scream at them. Tell them to back off, give me some space.

If I did, my reputation would be shattered in minutes. Like glass. I’d be an outcast like Lucifer.

Fuck it. This hurts so much. Every time I see him, my heart and lungs stop working. Just cease to function, like that. This is the effect he has on me. He couldn’t care less. I’m just one of those “popular plastics”.

I turn my music on. Loud. Change or Die is playing. I scream, my noise covered by the scream in the song. Scream until my throat is sore and I can scream no more.

Picking up the metal blade, I press the cold surface against my skin. Hesitation. I want to do it. Make the cut. Take away some of this pain.

I know that I can’t. I’m absolutely terrified. They’ll see the cuts. My “friends” they’ll see them. Pick on me like they do Lucifer. I’d be different again. Not fit in.

I’d have no one at all.

My “friends” are all I have. My parents ignore me. I’m that child that never should have been born. They never wanted me in the first place.

A mistake.

Our house is large; I live on one side, they live on the other. I feed myself. They give me money to keep me quiet. Stay away from “their side” of the house.

“This house is not a home. I’m better of alone”

Of course they act like perfect parents when my friends come round. Gotta hold the image that I live a “perfect life”.

I can’t take this anymore!

He’s there, everywhere I look. Sitting by himself, listening to music, occasionally looking up to glare at everyone. Dressed in skinny jeans, converse and a baggy top. Always, a baggy top. I don’t understand why he does it. Hides himself away like that.

It’s not like he needs to cover any fat.

Jerking the blade with a violent motion, I stab my pillow. Drag it down, tearing the soft white fabric.
That’s the third pillow I’ve ruined this week.

It’s only Monday.

Tears stream down my face. I can’t take this any more.'
Lucifer
“Fuck. I can’t get her off my mind. Everywhere I turn, she’s there. I shut my eyes, and she’s all I can see. Fuck, I hate this! Why can’t I just forget her?

She probably doesn’t even know I exist. She’s popular. She has everyone falling at her feet. Every guy in the school bows to her, they follow her around. Just so she notices him. But I don’t. I watch from a distance. I crave her attention. But I don’t let her know it. We’re opposite. She’s popular. She’s friends with everyone who’s anyone. Everyone but me. Because I’m not anyone. I’m no one. I’m alone. I have to face this cruel, harsh world alone. With no one to help me.

People avoid me. They stay as far from me as possible. No one wants to be near 'that emo kid. He’ll infect you with his depression. He’ll twist you. Make you slit your wrists.’ That’s what they think of me. Everywhere I go, they stare. They make cutting motions across their wrists, like a blade. They think I do it for attention. They think it’s because I’m weird! They call me a reject, emotionally unstable, sick. What they don’t realise is, it’s them. It’s them that make me feel this way. The pain they bring. The emotional agony! The physical pain just makes it seem easier. Physical pain makes it hurt less! That’s why I cut! Feeling the blade pierce my skin, slicing through my flesh, just makes the emotion hurt less! Fucked up in the head, that’s what they think. But their words cut deeper than any blade.

Yet she’s different. She doesn’t shout abuse at me every time she passes. She doesn’t exactly acknowledge me, but she doesn’t purposely hurt me. Damn, everything I think about links back to her. Fuck, why can’t I stop thinking about her? She’s always there. On my mind. In my heart.

Fuck it. I can’t live without her! I can barely eat. I can barely sleep. I can barely BREATHE without her. I’m dying without her.

I haven’t slept for 3 days. I haven’t eaten for 4. I don’t mean to. I really don’t mean to destroy my body. I just feel ill. Knowing she’s there, but I just can’t have her. I hate the thought of it! Just seeing her beautiful features across the hall. It lightens my day, but darkens my night.

Shit, nights are the worst. Sitting alone in the darkness. Wishing she could take all this pain away.

Like now. Lying on my bed, I can’t take the pain, the agony I’m in. I can barely resist the temptation. It’s always there, but tonight, it’s worse. I can’t resist it, and I reach under the bed, and pull out a small black box. I undo the barbed wire protecting it, cutting my hand as I did. Blood ran down my finger, and hit the floor. Fuck, I crave the pain. I give into temptation, tearing the box open. I remove a blade, and push it deep into my arm. I drag it across my skin, slicing through the flesh as I go. I cry out. Blood runs. Slowly at first. But as I push the blade deeper into my arm, it starts to pour. It stains the pillow as it drips.

It’s barely visible on the black material, but it’s there. A tear is rolling down my cheek. How can she be worth such agony? I can’t work it out, but she is.

As another tear falls, another cut appears on my arm, deeper this time. Blood oozes from the gash, and soaks the pillow cover. I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t stop. Watching the blood run just makes it all seem easier…

Fuck. It’s gone 2am. I’ve been sitting here for over 3 hours. I can’t remember. What have I done?

Shit. My arm. It’s worse than I thought. Cuts. All the way up. From my wrist, all the way up to me elbow. Blood is everywhere.

Fuck it.

I can’t take this anymore…”