I Will Soon Forget the Color of Your Eyes

It had been 43 minutes and 34 seconds since I last saw Vic. He walked off, tears were running down his face and anger was clear in his features. That anger stopped for a brief moment as he choked on a few tears before he regained composure. That was just before he rolled up his sleeves to portray thousands of scars; some pink and deep, other white, shiny and shallow. But scars all the same.
And they were my fault.

Every dent in his tanned skin, every scratch, and every burn was my entire fault.

I took another swig of the bottle of vodka I’d stolen, along with other alcoholic drinks, from my house in hopes of washing away all this guilt that was eating away at me. The liquid burned as it made its way down my throat, sending a short shiver through my body and adding to the familiar-dizzying feeling.

Drinking wasn’t something that was uncommon for me. I usually drank until I passed out. Or I got high enough so that I couldn’t remember anything. Trisha usually had to cover for me. She’d always drag me home or clean my room out so my parents wouldn’t smell the alcohol or the drugs.
Another swig of vodka was poured down my throat.

I looked towards the sky. The stars shone brightly. They always used to help whenever I felt upset. I’d come outside with a can of beer and a cigarette or a joint. And I’d stare up at the sky as self-destruction took its toll on me.

I never meant to hurt Vic the way I did. I just couldn’t take the looks I got from people. Leaving him was honestly the worst thing I ever did. And I did it just because some fucking kids were making fun of me for hanging around with Vic for having different coloured eyes. It wasn’t even that much of a fucking problem!

My fist collided into the nearest tree. I let out a small yelp as I heard the knuckles crunch and click.
My middle finger and ring finger’s knuckles were obviously broken. This wasn’t uncommon either.
But who am I kidding? Even if I did walk away from Vic, why did I spend all those years torturing him?
Kellin, of course you know, you fucking prick. You’ve liked him all these years. But you didn’t know how to deal with it, so, instead you just picked on the most beautiful boy you had ever seen for a slight disfigurement that could not be helped. Could you be even more stupid?

Jealousy would most likely have come into it. Yeah, I was jealous. I was jealous of how attractive he was. And, honestly, the thing I loved most about him was his eyes.

Fuck, Kellin. Stop. He even said it himself, there’s no chance any more. You fucking blew it.
I downed the rest of the vodka. About a quarter of a one litre bottle. Then I threw the bottle into the river I was sat by.

My vision blurred even more. And I was finding myself becoming more and more disorientated. But I still managed to bring my rucksack in front of me; producing a tin full of weed and tobacco.

I wasn’t thinking straight. I just didn’t want to think at all. Vic had hurt himself- badly, might I add- because of me.

I just wanted to pass out.

---

“Kellin? Kellin?! Fuck, Kellin, you idiot!” Someone had gripped my shoulders and was shaking me violently, screaming my name in between curses over and over. My eyes shot open. Vic was hovering above me.

I tried to speak, to apologise. But all that came out was an incoherent mumble. I felt the pain in my head. Blood was gushing out from a wound. I must have passed out and fell onto a rock.

“How fucking much did you drink? Wait, is that marijuana?” I nodded as best I could. Vic put his arms underneath me and carried me to our tent.

“Kellin, why did yo-“

“I’m sorry. For everything. I fucked up. I was scared. I didn’t want to keep getting those looks from people for hanging out with you. I was jealous of how you look. And I was jealous of how much you loved being you. And I fucked it up. I made you turn to self-harm. I made you hate yourself. I caused everything. And, fuck, I honestly didn’t think I’d gone that far, Vic. Fuck, man. I’m sorry. I just, fuck. I can’t do this, man. I’m scared. I have all these emotions towards you, and I’m scared. I don’t show people the real me. The only person who knows the real me is Trisha. The real me is an alcoholic and a drug abusing worthless little fucking scrawny cunt who can’t ever get things right. I’m sorry, Vic. I’m so sorry.” I moved up from where I sat. Shock plastered his face. I kissed his forehead gently and went steadied myself so that I could stand up and take care of the wound.

“I-uh- I honestly didn’t know. I-“

“Save it, Fuentes. I mean, my life isn’t your concern. But yours is mine. So I’m going to fic this. I promise I’m going to fucking fix this, Vic. And if fixing this involves me just hanging around with you when needed and not speaking a word to you when it’s not, then I’ll do that. I’ll even try to make Matty and the gang stop. But, please, just don’t hurt yourself again.”

He whispered something under his breath but I didn’t stick around enough to hear it clearly. It sounded sort of like ‘too late’ but I didn’t want to think about that. I just wanted to clean my wound and erase any signs of my alcohol and drug activities last night.

But, most of all, I wanted to fix things between Vic and I.