Scream, to Be Heard

Chapter 6
“It’s all my fucking fault!” Alex screamed to himself as he threw random crap around his room. He was having one of his moments, I guess you could say where the depression and anger really hit him hard and he went on rampage. His mom wasn’t home to hear the crashing of furniture.
“I shouldn’t even be alive! Tom shouldn’t be gone…I deserve to be. IT WAS MY ENTIRE FUCKING FAULT.” That was it. That was where he had crossed the line. He ran into the bathroom, crying hard. Things were pushed off of shelves as he searched for his razor blade, the one his mother had been sure to hide. Alex eventually found it tucked in between her cosmetics. He slid down against the door onto the floor, holding it in his hand tightly enough where it broke the skin. But that wasn’t all he intended to do.
On the floor in front of him were all sorts of pills-some for his anxiety, some for his mother’s high blood pressure, and some aspirin and Tylenol. Beads of sweat were dripping down the boy’s forehead as he stared at the bottles, contemplating. How would he go about doing it? He wasn’t at all concerned about writing notes. He had done so months ago. Right now he was staring down at the scars that his band bracelets were covering up. So many attempts, but his fucking mom had to see them. He could have been gone right now, instead of having those crimson gashes staring up at him. Reminding him.
“Nobody fucking cares…Rian…that fucking bastard…” Alex greedily opened a random bottle, thinking about all his friends. Or, rather, friends he used to have. They wouldn’t care. His mom was never home, she’d be better off. All those whores at school could find someone else. They only liked him for what was in his pants anyways. He dumped whatever was left in the bottle in his hand, tears still streaming down his face.
“Be seeing you soon, Tom.” He growled to himself, about to down a few pills, razor still in his other hand. Suicide. Sweet, sweet suicide. It sounded like the only good option to him. Free from the guilt of being responsible for his brother’s death, free from his care-free, douchie friends and his mother who was never around for him. His heart was racing unbelievably, mentally listing off people who would give less than a shit about him if he was gone.
“Rian, Lisa, Zack, fuck he probably wouldn’t even know…Bail-“ He stopped. The mention of her name caused him to drop everything. Pills scattered across the floor, blood covered blade staining the white tile.
“No...I-I can’t. She…Bailey…” Without thinking, he bolted from the bathroom, wiping his bloody hand on his jeans. He reached for his guitar.
“I can’t do this.” He cried, reaching for his notebook. Even though he hadn’t been talking to her, he couldn’t just drop the streak he had without self-harm. It had been two weeks, the longest he’d gone for a while without reaching for his razor.
“I need to…I need to write…write a fucking song...” Alex managed to say in between gasps of air. He grabbed his notebook and a pen, scrawling down lyrics. It was an overwhelming flow of emotion being let out through the writing, tears occasionally smudging the freshly written ink. He banged chords out of his guitar, finding the best fitting ones, and writing those down as well. Everything was coming together in a matter of minutes. There was crossing out, rewriting, editing. He wiped his red eyes with the back of his still bleeding hand, which he kept rubbing on his jeans, leaving a big red stain on his right thigh. He wrote down the final lyric.
“This one’s for you, Tom.” He took a deep breath, “And for you, Bailey.” The boy flopped onto his bed, his guitar flying onto the floor with an upsetting twang. Nobody was going to find out what had occurred previously. Not until he was ready to talk about it. God knows he could live without talking to that damned therapist. The boy ran his hands through his hair.
“I need to fucking get myself together.” He heard his mother walk in the house, and he booked it for the bathroom to clean up any evidence of what had just happened. Five minutes later, he walked downstairs.
“Hey, honey. How are you?” His mom asked, putting groceries away.
“I’m fine.”