Light up the Sky

I slid the blade over my wrist, not making a deep cut but a shallow one. There were cuts all up my left wrist – I was right handed and it made it easier, obviously. It looked a bit like an arm full of scabs. It wasn’t the most attractive of things but I didn’t deserve to look attractive, I wasn’t attractive!

I was used to the pain now, and the sting didn’t really bother me all that much. I had gotten over it and I watched as the blood flowed swiftly out of the wound and down my arm. I was getting pretty close to the main vain – the one in the bend of the elbow – and I wondered what would happen when I eventually got there.

Would it kill me? I’m not sure if I want to die, I didn’t deserve to die. Dying was the quick way out and I didn’t deserve that. I deserved the torture and cruelty of this world and I didn’t deserve to leave this so soon.

I stifled my cry as I dug in a little bit deeper into my arm; I wanted to feel more pain. I needed to feel more pain; it’s what I deserved and what I was going to get. Tears prickled at my eyes and clouded my vision over and I dragged the blade across my wrist. I wasn’t trying to kill myself, quite the opposite actually. I was trying to feel alive and the sting of the cut gave that to me. It made me realize that I could still feel pain, that I still hadn’t manage to numb myself completely yet.

You see, that’s what I’m planning on doing. Numbing myself, numbing myself so that I can’t feel pain. So I can’t feel hurt, so I can’t feel betrayal, so I can’t feel pain, so I can’t feel trust, so I can’t feel love. A boy like me can’t have any of that, I don’t need it and I certainly don’t deserve it. So there is no way that Michael Way will be getting it.

“Mikey?” Gerard called through my door as he knocked.

I panicked and my eyes flew up to look at the door, checking that I had locked it and once I was satisfied that I did I called back to him.

“Y-yeah?” I sniffed, I was crying slightly and my nose was running.

I wasn’t crying in that sobbing, hysterical way. No, Michael Way does not cry like that. Michael Way had managed to block out that kind of pain, the only amount of crying that Michael Way ever did now was the few tears sliding freely down his cheeks – occasionally making his nose stuffy.

“Are you okay?” Gerard asked, concern filling his voice.

I didn’t understand why he was concerned – no one needed to be concerned about me, I was doing just fine on my own and I didn’t need anyone there for me. I was managing perfectly fine to block out all of the pain and misery in my life and I didn’t need my brother to come and try and butt into it all, asking me if I’m okay. I’m God damned okay!

“Yeah, I’m great, Gee,” I replied, almost fooling myself.

I was fine though, I was great! I was causing myself not to feel a thing and it was great. I didn’t want to feel anything, and I didn’t deserve to feel anything. It was perfect really, it was what I needed and it was what I was getting.

“You sure?” I heard the jiggle of the door handle and almost laughed to myself.

Does he not realize that I lock my door every night; that I lock my door everyday? That I carry the key to that lock around in my pocket at all times, the key never leaves my sight. Every night he comes to ask if I’m okay, goes to open the door and find it locks. In a second he’ll stop jiggling the door handle and say ‘come on, Mikey, open the door’ in an almost whiney voice and I’ll just ignore him, cleaning up my cuts on the cloth that I took from the bathroom earlier when I went into the bathroom to get the razor.

“Come on, Mikey, open the door,” he wined and I mentally high fived myself.

What did I tell you he would say?

I ignored him and went about washing the blood away with the blue cloth that I wet with my spit, wiping the blood away and staining the cloth. Why mom gets blue cloths is beyond me, I have no idea and they’re so ugly! No one wants to look at a skanky blue cloth, it’s just gross. Almost worse than me. Almost.

He continued wiggling the door handle, pushing on the door and begging me to let him in. It went like this every day; he knew he wasn’t going to get in so I don’t even know why he was trying. It just seemed pointless. I didn’t want him to be in here and he wasn’t allowed to be in here. I wouldn’t let him; I wasn’t allowed to let him. It defeats the point of me trying to be numb; I can’t have my brother barging into my life.

“Mikey, please,” he begged and I continued to ignore him.

I threw the blood covered cloth into the black bin bag along with my dinner and tied a knot in the top of it again; tightening it to make sure nothing fell out of the top. I don’t really want food falling all over my floor – mom wouldn’t be too happy.

I stuffed the bag back under my bed, took my clothes off and fell onto my bed. I pulled the covers over me, rolled onto my side and closed my eyes. I was tired, shattered, I was pooped, let’s say. I guess not having anything to eat for a little over two months really does that to you. But I didn’t understand why it wasn’t working; I still looked like a great big fat monster. Sure, the scales were telling me I’d lost weight but just by looking at me you wouldn’t be able to tell! I was still big, fat old Michael.

Gerard was still banging on my door and begging to be let into my room by the time I felt sleep overcoming me and I grumbled slightly at him to go away.