The Blood on His Lips

I groaned as my stupid alarm continued beeping at me, attempting to gain my attention and getting on my last fucking nerve. I didn’t want to go to school today. Hell, no one wants to go to school. It’s the literal meaning of “Hell on Earth.” I pulled the covers high above my head, wrapping them tightly around me.

“Brian!” my mom called. “Brian shut that damn alarm off and get up!”

I groaned again. Now there’re two things nagging me to get up. I roughly pushed down the blankets, dragging a hand down my face and sitting up. I hardly got sleep last night, not that I actually manage to get sleep anyway. These fucking nightmares just won’t leave me alone. Every night, it’s the same thing, the same screams, the same mysterious man. I never got a good look at his face, I was too caught up in everything else happening.

“Brian!”

“I’m going, calm down, woman!” I yelled back. I got up, wandering over to my bathroom and turning on the hot water before stepping in. I hurried with that, even though all I wanted to do was just stand there and let the warm water run down my body. When I finished, I dried myself before going to my dresser and pulling out a Bullet for My Valentine shirt and then to my hamper, grabbing a pair of black jeans. I threw those on, going back to the bathroom and fixing my hair to its usual spikiness, then adding a touch of eyeliner.

Yes, I’m a guy, and I wear eyeliner. Hate me, fuckers.

Right when my mom—actually, step-mom—was about to yell at me again, I hopped down the last bit of stairs and into the dining room, passing my dad who was reading the paper. “Don’t even, I’m right here,” I grumbled as I passed her.

“Well it’s about time,” she replied with just as much attitude.

I rolled my eyes, passing the pancakes from the stack she had on the counter and grabbing a pack of Pop-Tarts instead. “Alright, I’m going,” I said. “I’ll be back later.” I grabbed my backpack and was out the door when my parents mumbled their goodbyes. I walked, every day, to and from the hellhole adults called “school.” It was in walking distance, and it was nearly always sunny every day here in Huntington Beach, California. I pulled out one of the little pastries and took a bite, loving the taste of the strawberry filling on my tongue.
When I reached the campus of Hell—my dubbed version for school—I was nearly tackled to the ground. “Brian!” I heard.

I laughed. “Get off me, you fucker! You’re crushing my Pop-Tarts!” A cackle filled the air as the body got off of me. I looked down at my breakfast. “Damn it, Jimmy. You broke it!”
Jimmy, my friend and also my tackler, laughed again. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” I smacked his arm and took a bite on my food before walking with him into the building. We grabbed whatever we’d need for class and headed off.



Finally, lunch rolled around, and I grabbed the pizza slices from the line before heading out to the courtyard and plopping down beside Jimmy. When I made a grab for my food, I flicked his head. “No, bad Jimmy.”

He scrunched up his nose and pouted, moving to bug Johnny, our other friend for his food. Eventually Johnny gave in, handing Jimbo one of his bags of chips. I shook my head and chuckled as I took a bite of the pizza.

“So, Brian, are we still up to go out and party on your birthday?” Johnny asked, looking at me. Ah, right. My birthday was this weekend, on Saturday. I will be 17, just that much closer to being an adult and getting out of Hell.

I gave him a nod. “You know it, Short Shit,” I told him, tossing a piece of crust at him and laughing when he flailed. That kid was just something else. The bell rang, and we all got up, heading our separate ways. I ambled into the Chemistry room, taking my usual back desk and plopping down, folding my arms on the table and resting my head on them before, inevitably, falling asleep.



I slammed my locker shut, tossing my bag over my shoulder before heading out of Hell. I made my way out with the rest of the kids who were eager to leave, and I decided I’d ever over to the diner before heading home. I don’t know why I’m going there, but I just feel like it. So, I turned in a different direction, crossing the street and earning a few birds before making my way into the small diner, nicely titled Hell’s Kitchen. I smiled as I stepped in, catching sight that my favorite table was empty, just as it nearly always was. It was my favorite because of the view of the ocean and the people.

I pulled out my notebook and a pencil that I managed to find in a mess of everything else, and, turning to a blank page, began to draw. I didn’t do this very often, but I tended to sketch people as monsters. I had no other reasonable explanation other than I liked monsters, which is also why I had them tattooed on my arms.

“You’re doing it again,” a female voice said, bringing my attention away from the three-eyed, large-headed monster I was creating. I smiled when my eyes laid on Zoe, the young waitress that always seemed to wait on me when I was here, not that I minded of course. She was nice and easy to talk to, not to mention easy on the eyes.

“Doing what?” I questioned, putting my pencil down and giving her a smile.

“Freaking me out with those creepy-ass monsters you draw,” she said, returning the smile. I chuckled at her, glancing at my drawing before closing the notebook and putting it aside.

“So you can watch a few horror movies and not be freaked, but you’re scared of a few poorly drawn monsters?” I teased. She rolled her shocking green eyes at me. “Shut up. Your monsters are not poorly drawn, by the way. Now, what can I get ya?” She readied her pen.

“Do you really need to ask, Zo?” I cocked an eyebrow at her, and she lowered her hands, giving me a small chuckle. “Alright hon, it’ll be right out.” I gave her a nod as she walked back to the kitchen. I put my notebook and pencil away before setting my hands on the table and looking out the window, watching the people pass. There were so many different kinds of people here. We had preps, surfers, jocks, stoners, emos, punks, you name it, we sure as hell had it.

Zoe came back not ten minutes later, a hot burger with fries in one hand and a Cherry Coke in the other. I grinned and rubbed my hands together, licking my lips as she set the food down. “Have a ever told you that I loved you, Zo?” I questioned, staring at my food.

“Yes, but not sincerely,” she joked.

I looked up at her. “I love you. Especially when you make me sandwiches like a real woman.” I tossed her a childish grin, causing her to laugh.

“Oh yeah, that makes me feel so much better,” she said with a roll of her eyes and a smile before ruffling my hair and walking away, leaving me to eat in peace. If I wasn’t in public, there’s a possibility that I would have devoured the entire burger right then and there. But, because of judgmental society, I was forced to eat like a sane person.



“Alright, I’ll probably come back tomorrow or something,” I called, gathering up my bag. I looked back towards Zoe, and she gave me a small smile and chuckle. “Alright kid, be safe, alright?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, mom,” I said sarcastically, earning another laugh. “Get outta here, kiddo, before I toss you out myself.” She cocked her eyebrow, raising her fist, and I scooted on out, hearing her laughter filled the otherwise quiet night air. I had spent more time than what I thought I had at the diner, and hopefully I wouldn’t be chewed out when I got home.

I adjusted the strap and went off on my way back home. The sun was halfway submerged under the water, painting the sky different blues and purples and oranges. I admired that for a minute or two before heading off again.

When I was halfway home, the sun was gone, and I knew I was in for shit when I got back. I’m not going to lie, though. The city is actually creepy as hell when the sun goes down, which is why everyone is usually in their homes before dark. I quickened my steps, though still managing to look like I’m not nearly running for my life.

I managed to make it home in one piece. But of course, I can never escape behind chewed out. That would have made this too easy.