Painful Lullaby

"I'll show you my bathroom," Jag said, leading me up the staircase. I grabbed my bags. The steps were crammed with clothing, dirty, clean or otherwise. The walls were plastered with photos of Jag, ranging from kindergarten until now.

"Is this you?" I asked, pointing at a sort-of chubby kid who was wearing a dingy t-shirt and big,dorky glasses.

"It was. Those were my chubby days," he laughed at the picture, but there was a hint of uneasiness that said it wasn't a laughing matter. I mentally bitched myself out for bringing it up. God, I was like, a negativity magnet. Which was funny, because then I had to be positive, and I deficiently wasn't that. Or was it negative to negative and positive to positive. Hell, I couldn't remember.

"This is my room. The bathroom is connected to that. There's a door covered in my favorite bands. That's the one to go to. You can leave your stuff in here, too. I mean, uh, if you want to," he blushed.

"I would love to leave my bags in your room," I said, trying to get him to lighten up, but I seemed to make things more awkward.

"I'll be downstairs if you need me. Oh, shit. You probably don't want to wash with all that guy shit. Hang on," he rushed down the hallway to a small door, which I assumed was a closet. He came back with some girly looking shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. He pushed them in my hands, and looked down, like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Thank you, Jag," I said, popping the top so I could sniff whatever the body was was, "Cotton candy. Nice."

Jag smiled at me, and I went in his room. I don't know what I was expecting. Probably dirty and smelly, with some creature living under the bed, maybe. The stuff you saw on TV. But it wasn't any of that. It was cluttered, sure, but in a way that he probably could find the things he needed. And it smelled like cologne. Not the cheap Axe shit that the dickfaces at my school sprayed on like it was the best thing in the world. This cologne smelled delicious. The only creature that was hiding in there was a white bunny rabbit in a cage.

I found the bathroom easily. There were pictures of bands covering the entire thing. The only other door had photographs on it. I was curious, so I went over to investigate. There was him and his bandmates/best friends everywhere you could see. It made me long for the time when taking pictures of my friends was an okay thing.

I set my bags down in a unoccupied corner of his room. I pulled out some fresh clothes, my iPod, and my iHome. Then I entered his bathroom.

It was the coolest bathroom I had ever seen. He had a long cupboard with a sink on it, and plenty of space to put stuff on. The wall was covered in a long mirror. The toilet was nothing special, it was just a toilet. But the shower was a really huge shower/jacuzzi bathtub thing. It was cool.

I successfully plugged in my iHome and iPod without looking in the mirror. I turned my iHome up until it was loud enough that no one could hear me. I turned my iPod on shuffle, and the first song that played was Surrender by Billy Talent. I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady myself. I closed my eyes and positioned myself in front of the mirror, and opened my eyes.

I gasped out loud and dropped my clothes to the floor. That old lady really had a reason to be scared. I could have passed for a monster. Even though my heavy black eyeliner had run down my face, you could still make out the deep circles below my eyes, and it just drew more attention to my bloodshot eyes. My hair was matted with dried blood and dirt. My lip was still split, and there was dried blood across the side of my face where my mom had cut me with her rings. And that was just my face.

My The Used t-shirt was bloody around the area of my heart, and the complete left arm of my sweatshirt was blood soaked. Not to mention my newest addition to the collection, my bloody jeans from the recent dog bite.

I carefully stripped off my clothes, being careful not to rip anything. And that was including my skin. I kept my razor blade necklace on for obvious reasons.

I combed my hair before I got in the shower, and then stepped in. The heat of the water calmed me and helped me think straight. I watched the blood and dirt run off my body, being swept up in the little rivulets of water that poured down my body. It felt fantastic.

But it also made me cry. There goes all the evidence against my mother, washed down the drain. I took my razor, and made a fresh cut on my shoulder. I didn't want Jag to know that I just did that. It confused me, how someone I knew so little about was the person I cared about the most.

I washed, I dried off, and I dressed. It was as simple as that. Hah, I wish. I went back into Jag's room to grab my makeup and some hair things. I was surprised when I seen a blow-dryer and a straightener on the cupboard, but then again, hair that straight couldn't possibly come naturally.

I sprayed my thermal protectant shit in my hair, blow dried it, then straightened it. As I moved on to makeup, the song Atomic by Blondie dominated my speakers. It was ironic, but I sang along to the song.

"Oh make it magnificent."

I applied a thick ring of black eyeliner around my eyes. I figured we wouldn't be doing much to make me sweat, so it was all I needed.

I cleaned my things out of the bathroom, putting my dirty clothes in the hamper he had apparently just put a sign on to tell me to put them there. As I walked downstairs, I felt fresher..cleaner. It felt amazing to wear clean clothes again, even though it had been little over a day since they'd been soiled.

But my mood changed when I heard two voices murmuring at the kitchen table. Two? Did Jag's mom get home? Was she mad? I hesitantly knocked on the door, and two voices answered "Come in," in unison. Two male voices.

I opened the door slowly. Donny was there. Not Jag's mom or his dad. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Roxie, take your clothes off," Jag demanded.

I caught sight of a small box on the table, and could only imagine what was in it.

My breath caught in my throat.

And I started to sweat.