Prescribed Pills
Nails for Breakfast
She's a hypocrite, and a cynical bitch. That's what she is. That's what I told myself, and I forced myself to listen, all at the same time. She knew I was just as bad off as she was when she met me. We were both on the edge of that cliff, and losing our balance. She can't tell me to stop when she's doing exactly the same as I, cutting and then drinking away the rest of the pain that the loss of blood doesn't account for.
My tortured screams rang out through the filthy house, and I punched the door, slamming it closed, as a ridge formed in it. I didn't even care. I yelled out vulgarities, and was to angry to think. I tromped over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of vodka from the back and fell to the ground on my ass. I twisted the cap off and threw it under the sink. Not like it would matter, this bottle would be in the trash in an hour or so.
I turned the bottle up as it was in my mouth and felt the cold liquid, with the bitter-sweet taste, drain down my throat, and I fell, lying helplessly on my back.
What if she hated me now? What if she never came around again? Maybe that would be for the best, it's not like she ever helped me anymore. She only drew me in farther to push me away. I couldn't even bare to think her name right now. I wanted to be as far away as possible. I continued to suck down the drink, waiting for the buzz to come over me.
Staggering to my feet a few moments later, I knew there was only one thing I liked to do when I was off my face like this. I swayed as I pulled myself up the stairs, and into the bathroom down the hall. I grabbed the razor off the shelf and brought the cold blade to my skin.
“Mmm,” a muffled sound escaped my throat. It was absolute bliss, this cold metal against my warm skin. Nothing felt better. Not even her lips, it was sad to say. The razor dug in and groaned in pain, as once again I slipped to the floor. “Much better.” I sighed out, as the blood trickled down my arm. The ring of the metal clattering against the tile bathroom floor was enough to send me over on my side, and into a dazed sleep.
~
By the time I woke up, there were noises from downstairs. My head was pounding as I came to my feet, and began cleaning my arm off before I fell clumsily down the stairs. “W-Whose there?” I called out and Jon walked into the kitchen. “O-oh, it's you.” I noted, and sat myself down in a counter seat at the table.
“Yea, it's me... What's wrong with you?” Jon asked as he took a seat in front of me.
“I pissed Lacey off, yesterday.” I frowned, and looked up at him. A frown grew on his face as well. “And well, after she left, I didn't take to good a care of myself.” I frowned, as blood had stained my shirt that I had forgotten to change.
“Well, Brendon, I don't think Lacey's doing to well either.” Jon sighed, and I looked deeply into his eyes, wondering what he meant, but before I could ask he said, “she won't answer her door, or her cellphone. We're really worried.”
What if something really bad was wrong.
My tortured screams rang out through the filthy house, and I punched the door, slamming it closed, as a ridge formed in it. I didn't even care. I yelled out vulgarities, and was to angry to think. I tromped over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of vodka from the back and fell to the ground on my ass. I twisted the cap off and threw it under the sink. Not like it would matter, this bottle would be in the trash in an hour or so.
I turned the bottle up as it was in my mouth and felt the cold liquid, with the bitter-sweet taste, drain down my throat, and I fell, lying helplessly on my back.
What if she hated me now? What if she never came around again? Maybe that would be for the best, it's not like she ever helped me anymore. She only drew me in farther to push me away. I couldn't even bare to think her name right now. I wanted to be as far away as possible. I continued to suck down the drink, waiting for the buzz to come over me.
Staggering to my feet a few moments later, I knew there was only one thing I liked to do when I was off my face like this. I swayed as I pulled myself up the stairs, and into the bathroom down the hall. I grabbed the razor off the shelf and brought the cold blade to my skin.
“Mmm,” a muffled sound escaped my throat. It was absolute bliss, this cold metal against my warm skin. Nothing felt better. Not even her lips, it was sad to say. The razor dug in and groaned in pain, as once again I slipped to the floor. “Much better.” I sighed out, as the blood trickled down my arm. The ring of the metal clattering against the tile bathroom floor was enough to send me over on my side, and into a dazed sleep.
~
By the time I woke up, there were noises from downstairs. My head was pounding as I came to my feet, and began cleaning my arm off before I fell clumsily down the stairs. “W-Whose there?” I called out and Jon walked into the kitchen. “O-oh, it's you.” I noted, and sat myself down in a counter seat at the table.
“Yea, it's me... What's wrong with you?” Jon asked as he took a seat in front of me.
“I pissed Lacey off, yesterday.” I frowned, and looked up at him. A frown grew on his face as well. “And well, after she left, I didn't take to good a care of myself.” I frowned, as blood had stained my shirt that I had forgotten to change.
“Well, Brendon, I don't think Lacey's doing to well either.” Jon sighed, and I looked deeply into his eyes, wondering what he meant, but before I could ask he said, “she won't answer her door, or her cellphone. We're really worried.”
What if something really bad was wrong.