I Scream For Everything That I've Loved

It was three in the morning and I could not sleep for the life of me. I'd tossed and turned for almost three hours before just giving up, taking out my phone. I had already gone through everything that interested me on twitter, and was now going through my tag on Tumblr. This always made me happy, seeing all the stories of how I've helped people or at least brightened their day; and all of the pictures they joked about on or used to make inspirational quotes. It always reminded me of why I kept going with what I do. 
But then there was the "austlan" and "cashby" posts, those never failed to make me laugh. It was funny how much they supported it, because even though "Austlan" wasn't real, I "shipped" it as hard as the fans- even more, even though I played it off as a fake and I denied it whenever asked. Because it wasnt real- yet- but even though it wasn't real doesn't mean I didn't want it to be.

 Oh, but then there were the stories they wrote- their 'fanfictions.' I'd made the mistake of clicking on one of those once, curiosity getting the best of me. Horrible idea. Those fans could be quite creepy, I had to admit, though I loved each and every one of them. 
Half way into the second page of the 'Austlan' tag, I came across the picture of Alan and I on stage together, when I had kissed him while he played guitar. I just stared at it, feeling that weight creeping into my chest. I want to go back, relive that night- that moment- over and over. I had been so happy up on that stage, performing with my best friends in the whole world; and looking at him, I was so overcome with the emotions that I had taken a leap and kissed him. But what really got me was that he actually had kissed back. For a split second I had felt him working against me.
 Why didn't I just tell him? Why couldn't I just tell him how I felt, everything could be so much easier. 
I wish he was still here. Then maybe I could fall asleep, not to mention I'd be at least a little bit happier. I just want to hug him, lay my head on his shoulder and feel okay again. It's really been bothering me lately, I've just wanted to cry since he left earlier in the day. I slammed my phone down on the bed beside me, curling up on my side. The same line that had been running through my head all day had finally got to me, and with my hands covering my face I whispered it to myself. 
"I love you so fucking much..." 
Wouldn't that be something if he somehow heard me? 
Fuck. I sat up on the edge of my bed as my eyes filled involuntarily. I wiped away the tears, just staring down at my legs. 
I'm so stupid, so fucking stupid. Loving my best friend? What the hell is wrong with me? I brought my fists down on my legs over and over, my knuckles 
thudding against my bone. I only stopped when the pain had numbed my whole upper leg, there were bound to be bruises there in the morning. But it was still nothing compared to the ache that filled my body, feeling it most in my chest where it sat like a rock. It was the kind of ache that made me want to just rip my fucking skin off, and my fingers were working at just that involuntarily, scratching at the skin of my forearms. It was the ache I felt whenever I was upset. 
Then it hit me, that I'd practically just done it again. I may have not used a razor, or even broke skin at that, but I'd done what I said I wouldn't again. 
I needed to stop, I know what it can do to people and I don't want it to happen to me. I don't want to be...well, addicted. 
But wait, it can't really hurt me though, right? So much more worse things could happen that could actually hurt me, so really, what could this do?
I looked down to my hips, where most of the scabs were already gone. 
It healed, and it healed pretty fast. No, no, no. I am not doing it, I am not even going to think of doing it. 
But part of my mind ached with the want to go at it again, I had felt a lot better when I was done that night. I pushed those thoughts away by laying back against the pillows and forcing myself to try and sleep. But once again, I couldn't do it. I had too much shit running through my head.
 Amidst all of my thoughts, I chose to stop at one in particular, one I could recall in full detail. 
It was the time the band had decided to go to a water park on one of our free days on our very first tour, just a little while after I met Alan. 

&

"Are you sure you can't get on?"

"I am positive. I can't get on that ride, Al." I  added a nod for assurance. 

"Why, are you scared?" Alan teased, a smirk present on his face, his shoulder lightly pushing into my side. I laughed, then looked down to the ground. 

"N-no... I-It's not the ride I'm afraid of." He was confused at this, so I guess it was time to spill. 
"Alan, I have...A condition, I-it's a disease, actually. I-I can't go on big rides l-like this one. My... My heart might l-literally explode." 
The smirk fell from his lips, and was replaced with a worried frown. 

"What? I- I'm sorry, Austin, I-I didn't... I don't- I j-"
I cut him off, laughing at his failed attempt to speak. I probably shouldn't have, considering I'd begun to have a stuttering problem myself. 

"Alan, it's fine, y-you d-didn't know."
"No it's not fine, I shouldn't have... I-I'm sorry. But, what is it? I mean, your... Condition." I gave a grunt of a laugh when he cringed at the word, but spoke again. 

"I have M-marfans disease. It j-just makes m-my body abnormally long, which isn't alw-ways a b-bad thing." I winked at him playfully, laughing. 
"But it is w-when it c-comes to my- my heart, my aorta valve i-is bigger than normal a-and it's going to keep growing until I have su-surgery on it, or else it, um, c-could burst. A-and going on these rides is bad for it, the rush could be too much a-and it could burst faster than it, uh, normally would." I finished, scratching the back of my neck nervously before running the same hand through my hair from habit. 

 "Oh... I'm sorry, Austin. You know what, I'll stay with you. The rest of the guys can go." He smiled up at me, shielding his eyes from the sun.
 After we had told the rest of the guys that we wouldn't be going on the large roller-coaster, we had gone to one of the many tents to buy our lunch.

 Both of us sat across from each other, a giant bowl of fries on the table between us. For a few moments we had sat in silence, just eating, simultaneously dipping or fries in the ketchup.

 Sometimes it was awkward being with him, we weren't as close at the time; but that day helped our friendship grow quite a bit.

He then spoke up after taking a drink from his cup. 
"So...um, are you going to have to have the surgery soon?" 
I felt my face heating up when he found that I had been looking at him. I didn't mean to watch him so intently, I hadn't even realized that I was staring. 

"Um... Y-yeah. I have to go in a couple months. I've been having pains in my chest lately so th-they, um, decided to do it soon." I ducked my head down, my dark hair falling over my eyes while I played with the wedding band on my left hand. 
It always made me feel uncomfortable when he watched me while I talked. It was like I felt like he could see my thoughts or something. 

"Geeze, man. I'm really sorry." 
I shrugged. All I could think about was my mother when this subject was brought up. 
"That must really suck. Can you like...feel it? Your heart. When it grows, I mean." 
I took a deep breath, pulling my knees up to my chest, my heels digging into my chair and my arms wrapped around my legs to hold them there. 

"I dunno, i-it's not like I can feel it gr-growing, but... I feel something. All I kn-know is that it hurts and I can't wait t-to get it fixed." I was kind of wishing we could stop talking about this now, so I could get my mind off of my Mom. I really missed her, and talking about the disease I inherited from her that she also passed from didn't help one bit. 
Alan was silent for a few minutes, and when I peeked up from behind my hair that hung over my vision, I found him looking at me, right into my eyes, with a small, almost unnoticeable frown set on his lips. After a silent, awkward few more seconds he spoke again.

"Do you know an exact date you're going in?"
I shook my head, chewing on my bottom lip.

"I f-find out in about a, um, a week."
He was silent again, his eyes still burning into mine. I had my head hung, avoiding eye contact but I could still feel his gaze there. Then he finally spoke, it came out barely more than a whisper.

"I'll be there."

&

I smiled at this memory. Telling him that was a major pawn in our friendship. And he had gone, just like he said he would; the day I went in to have my operation done he had been there, waiting right outside the door until the doctors had to ask him to leave, to go back to the waiting room. My wife hadn't even waited there. She stayed in the waiting room, or in the cafeteria. She could have even been off fucking some guy for all I know, or all I cared. 

The heaviness that had filled me before seemed to lift a little at the thought of Alan. I didn't want to bring it back by thinking about Gielle. 
For a while after that I just lay in bed thinking of some of the memories of Alan and I, and finally I started to feel tired. I fell asleep in the middle of another of the most prominent memories, only to turn around and have it played out in my dreams again. 

&

When I woke up the next morning- or should I say, afternoon- I felt no better than the night before. Maybe even worse; waking up from any dream that Alan filled always upset me because I was forced to acknowledge that it wasn't real, and that just made me miss him that much more. The weight still sat heavy in my lungs, choking me with it's constricting fingers. It really felt as though I was being choked from the inside out, the way you feel before you cry, like your throat closes in on its self. 

And with nothing to do and no one here to distract me, all I could do all day was just think. 
I didn't want to stay in, because of the fact that all I could do was think. My thoughts hadn't been exactly the greatest lately, and they seemed to be getting worse day by day. But I didn't know where to go so I ended up staying home, sitting around in my boxers all day. I wasn't hungry, so I never even really had to leave my couch. 
My mind kept wandering back to just above the waistband of my boxers, and by five o'clock I couldn't take it anymore and put a shirt on. Even though the shirt was there to stop me from looking at my hips I just couldn't stop thinking about them, and how upset I was and how much better I had felt the first time I had harmed myself. 

Sitting stretched out across the couch, I decided to take another peek and lifted up my shirt to run my fingers over the scars that were only half-there now. 
I really liked how they felt. All the little bumps brushing the tips of my fingers, it felt... Odd. But cool. I just know I really liked it. It made me feel so guilty looking at them, adding to the mood I'd been in all day, which was less than okay. And it just made me want to do it more. 
What could one more time hurt? I could do it this once then never do it again. That sounded okay to me, just one more time before I said goodbye forever.

I was going to do it. 

I tossed the remote from my lap and moved from the couch to my room. Going over to the drawer which held my weapon, I paused with my hand on the handle. I didn't want to make such a mess this time, remembering last time. I remembered getting in the shower, my eyes blurred by tears and my drunken state, and leaning against the white tile wall. A few days later I had discovered that in fact the blood had dripped down and streaked the wall, mixed with the water. I had scrubbed at it for quite a while but that sickening tint of red remained. 
So I couldn't use a razor this time, it made too much of a mess, too easy to find. I tried to think of what I could use that wouldn't draw as much blood. I couldn't think of anything, but now that my mind was set on doing this, I was going to do it; even if I decided I really didn't want to, I just couldn't stop myself now. Turning to the closet I pushed a pile of clothes aside, looking for anything that seemed suitable to use. 

I yanked my hand back, hissing in pain when something caught the skin of my palm. I shook said hand then reached in again to pull whatever had pricked me out. I found that it was an old studded belt that I'd completely forgotten about, the back side was ridden with unhooked studs, their backings sticking out dangerously. 

Belt in my right hand, I looked down to my left where it had got me. There was no blood where it had stuck me, but boy did it sting. 
This was perfect. There would be no mess, and it still stung which was what I really enjoyed about this. 
I unhooked a colorful stud from the leather, tossing the belt back into the closet and moving to sit on my bed. 
I couldn't go back to my hips, there were already marks there and I didn't want to just go over them. 
Where could I do it that no one could see?
I thought back to last night where I had pounded my legs till I thought for sure they'd be black and blue- they weren't, which I was surprised at- and it gave me a great idea. 
I didn't walk around naked, therefore I never took my underwear off in front of anyone. Which meant nobody saw beneath them. 

It was a perfect spot. 
I slid the hem of my boxers on my left leg up as far as they could go and took a long breath, adjusting the stud in my hand to where the clip of it stuck out. I dragged the stud across my upper thigh, and it didn't leave a mark. But it wasn't enough, I pulled it across again, this time quicker and a bit harder. A white line appeared where I had just scraped the skin, but there was still no burning, no stinging. 

Fuck it. 

I pushed down hard, whipping my hand across my leg quickly, a raised red line following in it's path. It stung, maybe even more than when I had broken skin, and there was no mess. Just a little red line, barely even noticeable. 
Again that feeling was triggered inside of me, and I just wanted more. And so I got more. 

The sound of the metal ripping at my skin was sickening, but I kept going, I didn't want to stop. It felt better, made me want more with every scratch I left on my skin. I closed my eyes, just letting my hand move back and forth; it was like the sense of the stinging was heightened with my eyes pulled shut, just feeling that much better. 

Soon I was just going over what I had already done, having no space left where I wanted. My body just wanted more, but I didn't feel like I could move anywhere else so I set the small weapon on my bed-stand, just staring at the red irritated patch of skin. 

There were a few spots where I had gotten caught on my skin, and only in those spots were the smallest droplets of the red liquid I had otherwise avoided. Fully satisfied, I re-positioned my boxers to where they were comfortable, and went back to the living-room to take in the stinging while it was still there. 

When I got to the couch a huge wave of guilt swept over me when I found that Alan had texted me. He said he wanted to get out of the house, and if we could hang out tonight. The thought of him brought on the thought of what I had just done, and it caused those little flips to appear in my stomach again- something that had been happening off and on quite a bit the past few days. 

 He wanted to hang out, and of course I wanted to, I always wanted to be with him. I sent him a reply, saying yes and asking what he wanted to do. He said he wanted to just stay in tonight and I was fine with that. But what if he somehow saw my thigh? Or even my hips? I was still worried about them, even though I'd moved to another spot- which was even hot to the touch beneath the clothing. 

I could feel the heat coming off of them, as I pulled the cloth up to look at them again. Seeing the red scratches made the feeling of relief I'd had a moment before disappear, and again, I regretted doing it. I knew I would, but had done it anyway, knowing I'd feel better for at least a few minutes once it had been done. I sighed when my phone vibrated once again.

"be over in 10?" He asked, I said it was fine then locked the phone so I could fix myself up. I know he didn't care if I wasn't dressed up or anything- heck, he wouldn't care if I was naked- but right now I'd feel most comfortable with as much clothing on my skin as possible. I ended up putting on a pair of baggy, plaid pajama pants and a gray hoodie over my shirt. 

I hadn't done anything all day so there wasn't anything to pick up, all I had to do was wait. I sat on the couch with my knees held to my chest, the tv off so there was absolutely no noise until he knocked on the door a few minutes later.