I Scream For Everything That I've Loved

Of all the times I'd imagined him saying those words, this was not the scenario I'd been hoping for. 
I was thinking something more like...oh, theatric, white flowers, suits, ties and silver rings. 

   Not a rooftop, with his hand on my cut up hip claiming he was, indeed, well aware of my frequent behavior. 
Not to say the rooftop wasn't nice- I actually hope we spend more time up here in the future because it really is beautiful. 
Unless this night ruined it forever. Which would probably be the case for me, who couldn't let things go; not even things that happened years ago. 

In ten years, I can see myself still being stuck on what is happening right now, what happened almost two years ago, and of course, what happened when I was seventeen. Of course you don't just forget your parent's death. Especially the one who played a main part in your life, being your only friend for years, teaching you how to get through life it's self and simply keeping you alive. 
 
  But the other things, a normal person would let go within a couple months, maybe a year; but I, being the way I am, would probably hold it till my deathbed. 
And the way I hold on to things, and get too attached, makes me feel like I'm never going to get through any of this. Makes me feel like I'm never going to stop hurting myself, never stop being sad, never be able to stop going to therapy. 

  But it's not even that I really want to. Half of me wants to go back to my room right now and throw out everything I have ever used against myself, and the other half wants to go take all of those things and use them. The thing is, it was usually the latter that won. 
So while I was upset and kind of on edge with myself for doing those things, I still didn't give a fuck. Because I love it and I'm not even afraid or ashamed to say that I know I am addicted, and I don't even care. I mean, it's better than being addicted to, say, crack, right? Really, how could it really hurt me, what's the worse that could happen? Yes, I could go too deep. But of course I was careful. I wanted to hurt, not die. 
So really the worst part was when it hurt, for what, twenty minutes? And there would be scars sometimes? Everyone has scars they're no big deal. 

It's no big deal. 
Maybe I could explain that to Alan, if I ever figured out how to talk again. I had just been staring at him the whole time, I couldn't form the words to say, I didn't know WHAT to say in the first place. So I just said 

"Oh." 

Oh. 
You know I slice myself open?
 Oh.
You know I scratch my skin until it just barely breaks?
 Oh.
You know I slam my fists on my legs until bruises form? 
Oh. 
You know I can't be the slightest bit happy without being drugged up?
 Oh.
 You know I go see specialists who are there to help me reorganize my brain until I can feel happy without pills again?
 Oh. 
But you don't know why. When the answer is not only in front of you, the answer IS you. 
I'm almost proud at how well I must have it hidden. It takes a lot to not break down and cry all the time over the smallest things, to hide cuts on your body in places that you'd usually have showing off half the time. It takes a lot of work, a lot of paranoia and a lot of biting your tongue. 

   "Are you okay?" 

I couldn't even answer him, still trying to figure out what to say I covered my eyes and rolled from my side onto my back. 
Was I okay? I don't even know how to tell anymore. 
I'm okay. But I'm not okay. 

I was all happy and ditzy earlier, but I realize now at the end of my high, I feel low as shit. 
And I just want to cry. 
But I won't. 

"Yeah. I'm okay, Alan... I'm okay." Those words felt like a lie, probably because they were. But I didn't want him to know that. 

  "Austin?" I still didn't look at him, just staring up at the dotted sky through my fingers. 

  "W-what?" 

  "Why don't you talk to me about this stuff?" His voice was low, but in a high soothing pitch. 

  "Because." 

"Because why?" 

 I wiped my eyes, dragging my hands down my face and sighed. 

  "Because, I don't want to. I do want to. I don't know. I feel like if I talk to you about i-it y-you'll think different of me, and it m-makes me feel pathetic." 

  "So you think you're pathetic for having feelings? Why would you think that?" 

  "Because I'm not supposed to have these feelings, I'm not supposed to want to hurt myself. And it makes me feel pathetic because it seems like I'm looking for attention when that's actually the last thing I want." 

He was quiet then, thinking over what I said and coming up with a response. During that time I found it in me to turn over to face him. 

"You're not pathetic, Austin. And none of this makes me, at least, see you any differently. You're still my best friend, I still know who and how you are and I still know how amazing you are. Don't be afraid to talk to me about any of this, okay? I want you to." 

"I feel pathetic. I fe-feel...disgusting. Even if you don't see me any differently, I do. Why would you want me t-to um, talk about it?" 

He propped his head on his hand, looking down a bit at me. 
 
  "Because I feel like I can help, so you won't think of yourself that way any more. I don't want you to think wrong about yourself." His lips were threatening to turn into a frown, their corners pulling down slightly. 

  "I don't think wrong about myself. I know me better than anyone. I've known myself my wh-whole life, h-haven't I?" 

"Austin, if you could see yourself from anyone else's point of view, you'd realize just how wrong you are. You're the greatest person I know and I don't care if you agree with me or not, I'm not changing my mind." 

In that moment I felt something in me, that I hadn't felt in months and never thought I would again. 
I felt hope. I felt ambition. What Alan was telling me, I couldn't help but believe that that was really what he thought and knowing that just one person believed in me, made me rethink the whole situation in seconds. I smiled, pulling myself in to hug him. 

  "I think I can do this." 

 "Do what?" 

  "I want to stop. I'm gonna stop." My smile got bigger and I swear I could feel my heart swell with the hope I was feeling. I want to stop, and I'm going to do it for Alan. I'm going to do it for myself. I'm going to do it for the fans, because I need to be there for them just like they were here for me now, and I don't think cutting myself is the greatest thing for them to look up to. 
  
  "Good, that's wonderful Aus. Throw everything away." 

 Throw everything away? I couldn't do that. Even if I wasn't going to need any of it for the bad reasons I still needed everything. I don't want to throw everything away. 
And besides, I can't throw my hands away anyway, which was something I often used on myself. 

  "I can't throw everything away." 

 "Of course you can, why cant you?" 

"I...I need it."

Alan pulled back and I looked up at him. 

"You don't need it. You don't need any of this." He pulled the hem of my shirt up maybe an inch, and I reflexively shot an arm down the push his hand away, putting the shirt back in place.  

  "But I d-do-n't want to throw everything away. I can't throw my hands away, f-for one. I can't throw away some of the stuff because I actually need it, for like...e-ev-every day things."

"Alright then, keep that stuff away. But throw razors away. I mean it. You can do this." He squeezed me in a short hug again, my face getting burried in his chest. I could hear his heart, feel the slight rise of it beating against my cheek. It was so calming, and so beautiful; to think that that noise was what was keeping the most precious thing in my existence alive. I could imagine listening to it literally for hours, and ached so badly to do so someday. 

 "Okay." I muffled out. "I'll throw that stuff away, and keep the other stuff in a box. Fair?" 

  "Yes." I could hear the smile in his voice. 

No. 
I was already starting to regret this. I was already losing that feeling of hope, feeling it slide it's way back into the depths of my mind where it was shrouded by the dark. It was really an emotion I felt like I could see, and that's what it looked like. Dark. I can see my depression and it scares me. 
I'm going to miss it. I'm going to miss slicing open my skin, and watching myself bleed. I'm going to miss wiping away the blood, and the sting of the cuts. I'm going to miss hiding them from everyone. I'm going to miss wincing when the fabric of my jeans rubbed against them, pulling at the skin. 

I can't do it. And I don't want to. 

I already want to do it again, and it's only been a matter of minutes. 

"And this," he reached down between us, lifting my shirt up. 
"Is okay. You don't have to hide them now. You don't have to hide them ever." 

I pulled the shirt back down again, staring wide eyed at Alan. 

 "I don't want anyone to see my stomach." 

"Why? It's just me, you can. Here." He sat up a little, tugging his t-shirt off over his head. I felt my face get warm when he laid back down next to me, his skin soft against mine. 

"That's fine, you can take your shirt off Alan," Oh, please do. I just wanted to pull him in, kiss him all over. 
"But I can't." 

"But why?" 

"Because my stomach is disgusting!" I almost shouted at him. 
"It's disgusting and I don't want anyone to see it, ever!" 

"But your stomach is fi-" 

"I don't care! I don't care if nobody in the world thinks my stomach is disgusting; I do, and I don't want to see it." 

 "I want to see it." He said, his voice almost a whisper near my ear. 

"I don't care." I turned over onto my back again, pulling my shirt down more. I was getting angry, not even at Alan, but at myself. I was getting angry at the fact that I hated myself so much and that I was so disgusting. My problem was that I was kind of taking it out on Alan. 

See, I ruin everything. I'm mean to Alan for no reason but myself? Stupid, stupid, stupid. I let out a heavy sigh, frowning. 

"I'm sorry..." 

"What are you apologizing for?" 
I just wanted to rip my hair out, stand up at the edge of the roof and scream it to the world. I reached up and tugged at the front of my hair, letting out an aggravated grunt. 

"I fuck up everything." It came out sounding so desperate and whiny I wanted to gag. I sound so stupid an pathetic. He probably thinks I'm just looking for attention. I sounded so stupid I didn't even want to hear myself talk about it any more. 

"No you don't, what are you talking about?" 

"I don't know. I don't want to talk about this, forget it, okay?" I put on a small smile, the biggest I could manage at the time. 

"Okay, fine." He sighed and pressed a kiss to the corner of my lips, his face looking rather warm when he pulled away- as warm as mine felt now. 

-

I don't know how I'm going to do this. 
Ohhhh God. I leaned my head in my hands, sitting at the edge of my bed. And all I could do was picture those razors, sitting across the room in a little box. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to push their image from my mind but my whole body seemed to ache, telling me to go pick them up, use them. 
No. I can't, I promised. 

But how is Alan going to find out, anyway? I thought back to myself, the thought sounding like it came from another person entirely. 

I don't know.
 I answered.

Then why is it such a problem for you to walk over and do it? 

Because I promised Alan I wouldn't.

So don't tell him you did it? 

You don't understand. I need to keep this promise. For the fans. 

I thought you were keeping the promise for Alan? 

"It's kind of hard to do that when he's the reason I hurt myself in the first place!" My hands flew up to cover my mouth. So now I'm talking to myself? 
That voice in my head didn't feel like it was controlled by me. It didn't sound like me. 

I kind of just creeped myself out. Thats the first time thats happened and honestly, it was pretty weird. What the fuck is wrong with me? Maybe I'm just over tired. Maybe I'm still high. 
No, I'm not high any more. I don't think, anyway. 

Speaking of which, that was actually pretty fun. Not...fun, but, nice? Everything was funny and- you can laugh now because I realize how stupid I sounded- I swear the stars were moving. But then- yes I definitely know I'm not high anymore- when I was...not high any more, I got so depressed. I felt even worse than I had before I had done anything. 

But, with only Alan, I think I'd like to do it again.