Breathe Easy the Doctors Are About to Arrive

Before I knew what I was even doing, I was at his door. It was like I had two persons living inside of me. One that wanted to hold me back from everything that would be good for me or anything that I would enjoy, and another that just acted with what my desires told it to. I heard soft music flowing through the wood of his door, and I listened harder to it. I could soon make out the music to be that of Marilyn Manson's and I cocked my head to the side, closing my eyes and listening to the lyrics. I listened to his music when I was depressed, or when I felt insane. I wondered if this was the same reason he was listening to it. Then I pondered as to wether or not it was because of me if he was. I smirked at myself.

"Yeah right," I grumbled, rolling my eyes at my own thoughts. I brought my head back up to concentration and I knocked twice on the door. I leaned against the cool wood, pressing my face against it and closing my eyes. It felt good against the small cut across my cheek. His door slung open, and I fell on him. I blushed and stared down at his carpet as he hugged me to try and keep me steady. I stared off into space behind him and chuckled nervously. "Hi," I said bleakly, smiling at him as I stood straight again. I rubbed my arm and stared at his carpet some more while he laughed at me. We were just looking around and waiting for one another to talk, until he finally got fed up with the silence and broke it.

"So....?" he asked, looking at me wierdly. I made a straight face at him and began talking after I cleared my throat.

"I wanted to talk to you," I said in a straight forward voice that some how made me look and feel more confident than I was at that moment.

"Alright," he said casually, chewing on his lip ring and glancing at the floor while stepping back so I could enter into the room. I walked in and plopped down on the bed, sitting up and crossing my legs. He sat on the floor and I wondered why.

"So...you like Manson...I listen to him when I'm upset..." I trailed off, glancing at the side of the wall and hinting at him to tell me what was wrong, if there was anything.

"I listen to his stuff when I write," he said, staring at me and probably wondering why I was acting the way I was.

"You write?" I asked, my eyes brightening with surprise and interest. I smiled really big and I couldn't help it. He laughed at me but I didn't care, I just kept smiling. "Can I see?" I asked like a child wanting to see a shiny toy.

"No," he said abruptly, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"...oh, okay," I said, looking at him like he was crazy.

"I don't like people looking at things I write," he admitted. I nodded and cocked my head to the side at him. He smiled at me and I smiled even bigger back. I couldn't help but smile when he did. "Is that really what you wanted to talk to me about?" he said, furrowing his eyebrows at me but keeping the smile on his face.

"OH-oh, right....yeah..." I said, playing with the long strands of my black hair that hung thinly over my shoulders nervously. "Well, what do you think I want to talk to you about?" I asked him, looking up at his face and dropping my hands in my lap. He glanced over my face many times as he licked along the surface of his lip ring.

"You want to know why I went straight here when I brought you in?" he asked. I nodded. "Well, it frustrates me to be around you anymore," he said.

"Why?!" I shrieked, not meaning for my voice to go that high. He pressed his lips together firmly and began talking again. It looked like he was trying to calm me down with his eyes, but he failed miserably. "Because, you don't even want to try to get to know each other," he said, not taking his eyes off of me. I admired that, I wouldn't be able to keep eye contact with him for more than 5 seconds in a situation like this.

"You're wrong," I stated simply, shifting on the bed and trying to stare at him like he was staring at me. He stopped messing with his lip piercing, taken aback by what I said.

"You walked out..." he trailed off, staring at me some more.

"You have a lot to learn about me, Mr. Maxwell," I said, smiling softly at him. "I left because I wanted to just get out, I didn't leave because I didn't want to try things out. Especially after you pulled what you pulled," I smirked. He smiled cockily and I wanted to smack him, but I obviously couldn't reach. "You are such a high schooler," I accused him.

"I guess that means I have to stop then," he said, staring at me playfully. His eyes were sparkling. I didn't answer him and I just stared down at my nails.

It stayed comfortably silent for at least 2 minutes, which I don't know how it did, but it did. "Max...why are you here?" I asked, spreading my fingers apart in front of me and staring at my nails in deep thought. He didn't answer me. I glanced at him, suspecting him to be asleep or something since he hadn't answered me. He was fully awake and glancing to the side, his eyes full of anxiety. "Max?..." I asked, shifting my legs so they weren't crossed anymore and hanging off the bed. He looked at my face and answered me this time.

"I keep having problems staying off drugs....so Jessi made me stay here with her and Bryan, away from it all," he confessed. I gulped, and it felt like I was swallowing glass, which made me cough a little bit.

"So you're not that different from me huh?" I said softly, coming over to him and sitting right in front of him so that our legs touched. "What kind of drugs?" I asked him, showing that I wasn't disgusted at him or anything along those lines.

"Hard ones.." he stammered.

"You don't have to be nervous, I'm not some perfect human being that's going to look down on you because you do drugs," I told him. He shook his head and stared at the ground.

"It's not like I want to, they just make me feel so good, and the feeling they give me...." he trailed off, staring at me with pleading eyes. I nodded in understanding.

"I know, I haven't been drug free my whole life you know," I said seriously, staring into his eyes. Now I actually felt like his friend, because I could relate to him and he could relate to me. This "getting to know each other better" thing was going well so far. "How long has it been since you used?" I asked, chewing on my bottom lip.

"4 weeks," he said plainly.

"That's good actually," I smiled at him and rubbed his thigh, comforting him. He smiled at me too, and I felt my heart flutter.

"My turn," he said, taking my hand off his thigh gently and turning my arm over.

"Why are there these scars up your arm?" he asked carefully tracing one of the burned in marks with his thumb.

"I didn't feel like being pathetic and taking a razor across my wrist so I burned myself with a car lighter instead, it helped me at one point. Now I regret it, because it just reminds me of how fucking stupid I was in the past," I trailed off, running my fingers over the scars gingerly. He did the same thing, which sent cold chills down my spine. I turned my arm around, sick of looking at my not-so-smart self inflicted injuries.

"Why did you do that to yourself?" he asked, much like I had been asking him just a couple of minutes ago.

"Isn't it obvious," I mumbled, rolling my eyes at myself, while bringing my knees to my chest and huddling into a ball like shape.

"When's the last time....." he trailed off, not able to finish his sentence for some reason.

"A long ass time ago," I stated honestly. He ran his finger tips over my tattered skin again and I realized something as well. I took his arm in my hand and layed it across my leg, surveying his pale skin. "Mhmmm," I said, furrowing my eyebrows and poking spots on his arm gently. He had marks on his arm from shooting up, just like I presumed. He yanked his arm away nervously and looked at me with bothered eyes.

"If you can look at mine I can look at yours..." I trailed off softly. "Unless you don't want me to..." I assured him. He stared into my eyes and layed his arm back on my lap slowly. I gripped his wrist with one of my small hands and ran my eyes over his soft looking skin once more. I counted them; there were 5 marks on one side and 3 on the other. I sighed and looked back up at him and into his eyes. I squinted at him and frowned. I could see the pain in his eyes. I leaned forward on my knees and hugged him tightly, nuzzling my face against his chest, careful not to rip my cut more than it was already ripped. He held me awkwardly, and squeezed me once and laughed a little bit. I smiled into him, and that was the first time I ever felt good and completely comfortable about a guy holding me like he was holding me.