Damn, I Hate You

I obeyed and sat up so he could get back into a sitting position. He patted his lap and let me lie back down. Then he went into what I could tell was going to be a long story.

"So, it started in the seventh grade. Don't get me wrong, I'd been a problem child since I stopped being a geek in the third grade. But my dad's drinking issues only made me worse. Anyways, seventh grade, since I realized my dad became a jerk whenever he drank, I decided to fix it. Down went my first six pack." he joked. God, even his chuckles sound genuine. There's no way he's always happy.

"Of course, it took me a long time to drink it all. It was over the span of a weekend that my dad was on a business trip. But when he came home, he was pissed! I mean, thrown against the wall, stitches required mad. But it's easy to lie and tell a hospital I got in a fight with someone from school. As far as school was concerned, no one was shocked. They knew my mouth would get me beaten up by someone, so no one thought it was my dad." he started. Damn, and I complained to him? He must think I'm a whiney bitch.

"As far as the drug thing goes, Mary Jane was good, but not addictive, so I dropped that 'cause I can't afford it! Haha. But, uh, that's the only drug I tried other than standard OD with pain meds. Haha, I went through a bottle of Tylenol in a matter of days!" he said. I looked up at him, worry masking my face. "No, no, it's ok. It was addictive, but not a big deal. I mean, I'm still alive, right?" he laughed once more. God, how does he always manage to smile? "And I'm not addicted to beer like I was for awhile. I weened myself away from it. It's easy to when your dad breaks beer bottles on your head for drinking them all." Suddenly his brilliant smile flashed again. "I remember one time, actually, he broke a bottle on the wall and then went to cut me, but he was so drunk, he cut the air and fell the the ground passed out. I was like, what the hell? and just kinda stared at him 'til he started to snore. Haha.

"Anyways, so onto the suicide attempts idea. Trust me, that never works how you want it to!" he laughed. Getting really dark here. I wish I could erase his past and make his smile permanent. Yet, it seems pretty permanent with the shitty life he lives.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, I kinda already told you when I explained why this is my happy place. Gun was too loud and.. didn't feel right. Hanging didn't work. Then this happened. And trust me, cutting doesn't do shit for you." he said. I instantly reached for his wrists. He didn't fight when I grabbed and inspected them. There were only about five scars in total.

"Oh, good. So you didn't do that long." I said.

"Actually-" he said, and began lifting his shirt. At first I was shocked at how incredibly muscular he was. He looks like he would be nothing but skin and bone, but in reality, he's pretty strong built. I should've guessed that from his fighting record. Then his scars caught my eye and I was instantly terrified.

"How could you do that to yourself?" I traced my fingers alone the countless lines that had been left along his stomach. He flinched at first. I pulled my hand away immediatly.

"No." he assured me. "It's just... your hands are cold and it feels... I'm not used to... People don't tend to touch me unless their angry." he stammered. I looked a bit hurt. I should have known he wouldn't be used to being touched nicely at this point!

He grabbed my hand after dropping his shirt back down. "I don't want to flinch whenever someone touches me. I do it when teachers pat my back. I do it when girls try to hug me. I do it when guys wanna joke around. It makes me feel... It hurts to think that I can never be touched again. I mean, it's as though I'm so trained to not understand love that it causes me actual pain to think that someone can care. I mean, I went home last night and couldn't sleep because my mind was racing and freaking out." he said.

"But you seem so comfortable with me right here." I objected.

"That's different. It's like this: I don't hug people... But if, on the rare occasion someone truely needs a hug and I'm the only one there to give it, I have to be the one to open my arms and hold them first. I mean, if they come at me and want a hug, I get scared. It's 'cause, I can give love like nothing- I know how important it is and how desired it is. It's just whenever someone tries to show love to me, it scares me. So I can sit here and hug you or I can have you lay like this, but I can't have you try to touch me. You get it?" he tried to explain. I felt tears well in my eyes again.

"That's so sad." I said. He shrugged. He's so independent. It's sad, actually. I know most teenagers wish they could be smart or funny or independent and never need their parents, but here stands a boy who has all of this and this is what it means to be like that! If only people knew how bad it was to need nothing. Or maybe it's just that he needs it more than anyone else.

He started stroking my face lovingly. "Why is it that whenever I try having an emotional break-through and tell you about my past, you always end up being the one to cry?" his smile was beautiful from down here, right under it.

"I just.. I don't know. I want to make you happy."

"I am happy! My life has been like this so long that it's hard not to be. I mean, shit happens." he went on again.

"But you just said-"

"You can feel pain and still smile. Trust me, it's a cold world, but if you can laugh through it, you can survive it." He always sounded so wise to me. God, I love him.