I'm A Walking Travesty

My mom shook me awake when the plane landed in London. It was late afternoon, and I was still a little disoriented as we made our way through the airport to find our bags. The familiar pain of hunger pulled at the inside of my stomach. I did my best to ignore it. I would not let myself gain weight. Once we got our bags we took a taxi to the house where the moving truck was waiting for us. The house wasn't huge but it was big enough for the two of us. I helped carry on the furniture and brought my boxes up to the room I had claimed. I picked it because it was fairly large, had its own bathroom, and had a window I was pretty sure I could climb out of if I wanted to sneak out. I unpacked the essentials, sheets, pillow, clothes, etc., so that I could get ready for school in the morning, and decided that I would unpack the rest later. I wanted to walk through the neighborhood, so I walked down the stairs, let my mom know what I was doing and left. As I was walking out the door I remembered I had to buy more razors because I was afraid to pack mine in case my mom went through the boxes. I new there was a Rite Aid not to far from here, so I'd decided I'd pick some up there.

Alex's P.O.V

I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out the front door of the house with tears streaming down my face. I didn't know where I was going and I honestly didn't care. All I cared about was getting away from here. I ended up in a park a few blocks away. I sat underneath the slide crying hysterically unable to control myself anymore. It was pitch black at that point and the only light was provided by the bright neon letters that read RITE AID on the building next door. Even so, I could see each and every one of my scars. I looked like a freak. They covered my entire body. I cut all the way up my arms, across my stomach, and down my legs. I deserved it. The only person that ever gave a shit about me was my brother, Tom, and he killed himself. After that, my parents never failed to remind me how worthless I am and how much they wished it was me. "They're right. I fuck everything up." I looked down at the deep scar that ran across my wrist, more prominent than the others. "Hell, I can't even successfully kill myself."

"Maybe you're just meant to stay alive." I suddenly looked up to see a lanky boy with black hair that had blonde highlights in it who looked about my age. I hadn't even realized I was talking out loud. When I didn't respond he sat down next to me. I have to admit he was cute. No Alex you're a boy. You like girls. You're not fucking gay. I blocked that thought out of my mind. "Are you okay?" The boy asked. He sounded worried. Why the fuck was her worried. He doesn't even know me.

"Do I fucking look okay?" I responded, a little more coldly that I probably should have.

"No," He admitted, "but you should be. I know how much pain you have to be in to do that to yourself. I do it too. But as much as I feel like I deserve it, I know you don't. I 'm so sorry that you feel like you need to, but you're too perfect for that. You're so much more important than you'll ever be able to see. You're gonna change the world someday; you just gotta stay alive long enough to see it happen."

I wrapped my arms around the boy and buried my face in his shoulder. I was still crying, but now they were tears of joy. "Thank you. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much that meant to me." I sobbed. Then I did something I'd never thought I'd do. I kissed him, and he kissed back. I knew it was wrong. I'm straight, right? Straight guys don't kiss other guys you idiot, I reminded myself. You know what fuck it, I don't care. I was happy to be kissing him. Then, there was a flash of a camera and my heart sank. I quickly pulled away to see the photographer had already managed to disappear into the darkness. My stomach twisted and breathing became more difficult as I started to panic. Whoever took that picture can do anything the want with it. Which means one thing: I'm fucked.