Untouched

Oli

I sat in my second class, Chemistry.

Tom sat next to me, yes that kid is brilliant.

A year younger than me and he already has chem.

Tom also told me that we have this class with Christofer.

That made me happy, because ya’know it’s Christofer.

I looked over to Tom, he was writing the notes down.

I chuckled at how serious he looked, this kid takes his education very seriously.

Compare him to me, I say ‘Fuck It’

The teacher, Mr. Grace, continues to teach us all about moles.

I raise my hand and move around in my seat anxiously.

Mr. Grace notices me and sets his marker down.

“What Mr. Skyes?”

“I need to pee”

He sighs, “It better not take long”

I smirked and jumped up from my seat, slapping Tom against the head as I exited.

He stirred around and attempted to hit me back, but I was already out of the class.

I walked down the halls, my hands in my pockets, saying “Hey” to the people I knew walking about.

Finally I arrived to the boys bathroom, the ones on the other side of the school.

I entered the boys bathroom and checked my face in the mirror.

I should of straightened my hair this morning, my natural wavy hair looks hideous.

“I-I hate y-you, d-dad”

My eyes narrowed and I turned around and looked at the stall directly in front of me.

I walked closer to it, slowly reaching to it.

I opened the stall and looked at the helpless boy as he cried.

His tears mixing with the blood on his arms.

Fuck.

“Christofer” I whispered calmly.

His eye’s widen in horror, he tried to back away but it’s a pretty small bathroom.

“N-no, g-get away” He cried pushing me away.

My patience was wearing thin, very thin.

“Christofer” I almost yelled.

He stopped and looked up to me.

“Let me help you, ok?”

He stared at me, for a extremely long time.

But he nodded and let down his defensiveness.

I entered the stall with him and closed the door behind me.

I grabbed some toilet paper and wrapped it around his wrist.

“You should really stop this,” I said. “You could die, from blood loss”

“I k-know” he grunted.

It grew silent again as I cleaned off the cuts.

Then it occurred to me, “Do you want to die?”

He stiffened, but quickly relaxed himself again. He did however hesitate before saying,

“N-no”

I sighed and finished up on his wrist.

“That should do it” I told him and examined my work.

“I-it makes m-me look pretty” Christofer whispered.

I stared at him, he didn’t notice until he glanced up and saw my confused expression.

“The scars” He elaborated lifting his left arm.

Scars covered his whole arm, like his wrist was a canvas.

Which meant his razor blade was his paintbrush.

“How?”

He sighed and shrugged, “I d-don’t know”