Painful Lullaby

"Well, that's something I'd rather not talk about." I said, hiding my face with the coffee cup.

"Well, that's something I'd like to talk about. If you're showering at my house, I should know why you need to so badly," Jag retorted.

"I'm showering in your house because...because I'm covered in blood," I replied, smirking at him.

"And why are you covered in blood?" he demanded, leaning forward and setting down his coffee cup.

I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it, really. The look on his face was so intense, and he had laced his fingers together and had placed them over his face. It reminded me of a mix between Mitchell Davis and Sasuke Uchiha. (I had an anime obsession, okay?) He suddenly looked very annoyed.

"What is so funny?" He demanded, not moving his hands.

"I'm sorry, I was just imagining things," I laughed, wiping a tear away that had fallen down my cheek.

"You owe me an explanation." He picked his coffee mug back up.

"For what?" I asked, suddenly pissed off.

"For me letting you come in here. For me giving you a place to stay."

"I didn't ask for it, you took me here."

"Well, I wasn't going to let you waste away out there in the streets!" He slammed his fist on the table, "I've seen it before, and I'm not going to watch it happen again."

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you...but only if you answer something first."

"What is it?" he sighed.

"Why haven't I seen you around? Matter of fact, why haven't I seen any of your bandmates around, either?" I asked. He looked suprised and relieved at the same time.

"Well, we've all lived around here since we were kids. Adam, Bryce, and I all went to a different school than you, assuming I've never seen you in the hallways before. Donny's gone to a different school than me all his life, but he's always lived next to me. That's how I know him. He graduated this year. Anyway, now you have to answer me now." Now it was his turn to smirk.

"Do you want me to start at the beginning?"

"Yes."

"Okay," I started, taking a quick drink of coffee before starting, "My dad left my family when I was about 8. My mom changed. She was always angry or frustrated, and she let it out by yelling at me. So I avoided her as much as possible. I basically lived in my room, I had my computer to console me. I found out about emo and stuff through the Internet, and I liked the style, so I went out and bought clothes to fit it. I listened to that style music, and stuff, too. I brought a lot of it to school, and some friends of mine also liked it, but that's beside the point. My mom HATED it because most people hated it. No one knew I was her daughter. She eventually started venting her anger by hitting me, and it's gotten worse since-"

"So your mom did all this to you?" He cut in, looking horrified.

"No, no. She did a lot of it though. I did some of it myself."

"Do go on," he urged. I took another drink of coffee before going on.

"As you can imagine, I became very depressed. So I started to cut myself. I started at my leg, so my mom wouldn't see. I wasn't planning ahead, and soon summer came. I was wearing shorts, and my mom found some of the cuts. Then she had a new reason to hit me. So I rebelled, cutting my wrists instead of my leg, and eventually, she stopped caring about it."

"Well, what happened so recently that made her do...this," he said, motioning widely with his hand at me. I smiled.

"She found my diaries. Well, I don't think you could call it a diary. It's like a...medical log. I wrote down each time she hit me, each time I cut myself, and each time I did something stupid. It set her off, because she thought I was going to give it to the police. So she beat the shit out of me for it. Then I left."

"Well, shit. What kind of stupid things are you talking about?"

"Alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, that sort of thing," I said nonchalontely, trying to mask the anxiety. I had just told my life story to some guy that I barely knew.

"So, explain what happened after you left," he said. He had taken up his Mitchell Davis/Sasuke Uchiha pose again.

"I ran for a while-until it hurt to much to keep going. So I stole some Vodka and cocaine from that guy who lives in the street. I went to the park and drained the bottle, and got one line of cocaine in before the cops came. They chased me for a while, but I can't remember much after that. This morning I woke up in some old lady's lawn. I must have been so out of it that I passed out," I shook my head, "Anyway, I went home and got some things I figured I'd need, and went to the park. Then I found you." I motioned at Jag.

He nodded, and we sat in silence for a little bit. I finished off my coffee, but didn't know what to do after that. I looked up at Jag. He appeared to be deep in thought, so I didn't say anything.

He must be thinking about what a loser you are. You just poured you heart out to him, and what makes you think he gives a shit? He's probably gonna turn you in to the police for telling him about stealing and doing drugs and that underage drinking. They're gonna lock you up in a loony bin for the rest of your life. The only thing you'll be cutting yourself with then is a pen cap.

God, how I hated my internal voice. It sounded just like my mom.

"Okay..." Jag started, looking up at me and interrupting my mental abuse, "We can talk about this some more after you take that shower. It's killing me to see you all bloody over there."

He smiled at me, and I felt it burn away my mental mother, just like how I imagined she'd burn any time sunlight came in contact with her.