Stay Right Where You Are.

*Alan's P.O.V*

I had gotten home much earlier than the other guys, after all they said they were gonna go shopping and get lunch, so I had a few daylight hours all to myself.

Although the Cinnabon and orange juice I had shared with Justin began to haunt me, bad thoughts beginning to return.

'C'mon, Alan. You're still a fucking fatass.' The voice laughs in my head. 'No wonder Austin ran away.'

And just like the trigger of a gun, I was on my feet and walking as fast as I could to the bathroom, throwing myself to my knees as I began to shove my fingers down my throat.

My breakfast shoots up my throat as I empty all the contents of my stomach, repeating the purging process once more, before I hear it again.

'Good job, cunt.' It sounds rather smiley. 'Now go slice your wrists up so you never forget it.'

"Wh-what?" I ask out-loud and beginning to get terrified.

The voice hadn't asked me to cut in a year and a half, right after I had stopped talking to Austin. Then all the threats and noise stopped. I was becoming the voice myself, always making myself throw up after every meal, only eating small things every other day. I couldn't gain anymore weight...

"I c-can't." I blurt out, standing on shaking legs while I flush the toilet, erasing all evidence.

'Pfft. Of course you can.' It says, cheekily. 'Your arms are already scarred, not like you can do that much more damage. Please, Alan? We both know it'll make you feel better.'

I sigh, finally letting myself give into it. "Yes, but is this really necessary?"

'You ate that sugary fucking mess, in public. You grossed everyone out, Al. There's no other punishment.'

I nod to myself, knowing he's right.

What was I doing? Thinking I was ready to tackle something like that, I had just gotten over the self-harm thoughts, and was beginning to lose a bit of the bulimic ones. And it was my fault that all of them were making their home in my head again, set out to make my life a living hell.

Walking to my room, I honestly felt like I simply needed to die right this instance. Justin was disappointed, Austin didn't want me, and Tino and Shay didn't really like me anymore. I was all alone in the dark once again.

The need for death became a sickening urge building with each step I took, leaving me to wrestle with my thoughts.

Suicide wasn't really fair anymore. Austin had just gotten back, and I really didn't want him thinking it was his fault like I knew he would.

I grab my plastic baggy hidden inside of a crack on my wall, that contained my carton of cigarettes, (Justin would kill me if he knew.) razor blades, and three lighters. Two were for cigarettes, one was for my skin.

I decide I'd better start out with the razor, considering that I liked to burn my cuts around the edges, ensuring scars to allow everyone to know I was labeled as a failure.

My fingers shake uncontrollably, holding the thin blood-stained metal piece as I set it carefully to my wrist.

My breathing had also picked up by now, and I was hyperventilating as I pushed down hard and dragged the tip of the razor into my skin, as I dragged it, left side to right.

"Oh God!" I groaned at the pain, a sudden fire beginning to build back inside of me.

'Feels good, huh?'

"Great." I mumble out, eyes closed in the pure ecstasy of feeling the blood beginning to swell up, leaving my veins and flowing freely onto my bed sheets.

Taking a firmer hold on my blade, I press it roughly to my wrist, whipping it across quickly, thoroughly enjoying the dull sting that emits from it.

I do the same thing, once more, before running over all of them as hard as I can once more, making the depth double.

Now, I had made a real dent in myself. Lazily, I press with half-strength, running it vertically down one side of my lower wrist, and do the same to my right, making two decently deep cuts, nothing to be satisfied over though.

This had to be my favorite part. Picking up my red lighter, I flick it on and singe the edges of each cut, stopping some of the bleeding too.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I repeat multiple times, trying to calm myself down.

Burning had always hurt the most, which is why I'm guessing that it's my favorite. It was the most deserving, yet accomplished feeling I had ever experienced.

Looking down after my sick deed, my fingers are stained with crimson blood, not like I care. The guys knew I painted, it could easily pass as paint too.

I pull a cigarette out of the carton, and set it between my lips, lighting it carefully as I walk to the bathroom to attempt to clean off my fingers a bit. The water runs a coppery color as I rinse my hands, and a bit of my wrist and throw on one of Justin's sweatshirts lying around in the bathroom. He didn't give a shit if I borrowed his clothes. I'd just have to wash it before he smelt tobacco on it.

He'd kick my ass, he knew I would get addicted, just like I had gotten addicted to everything else I'd been doing since senior year.

I roll my eyes at the thought of him, coming at me after finding cigarette butts scattered around my room, and I figured I'd better start locking my door. Seemed like a good idea to me.

I saunter into the kitchen, scanning the fridge for something to drink. Unfortunately, the only alcohol we had was a bottle and half of the wine Justin had picked up last night. That was as good as anything else.

Grabbing the cork-puller thing, I shrugged, pulling both the bottles off of the shelf and flop down on the couch, turning on tv to watch 'Adventure Time'. Pulling the cork off impatiently, and taking a long sip, holding my cigarette with my other hand.

I took another drag of my cigarette, and I felt like I was laying on a featherbed. It was all of a sudden just so peaceful, sitting here, making smoke shapes and giggling to myself about all the stupid shit I was going to do this weekend.

Even though I hated crowds, I had decided to accompany Justin and his boyfriend, (He barely told me anything about him.) to one of his friend's 21st birthday party. Like I was about to miss free alcohol and dancing with cute boys at a club.

Austin coming back into the picture hadn't really changed my perspective. To me, it seemed like just the thing to ease my tension and maybe relax a little. As long as I didn't bring anyone home.

Austin was also known as a major jealous type, which could be adorable at times, but he would get defensive even if I called another guy cute, or told him he looked nice. Yes, Austin because I'd totally leave you, a diamond, to be with a guy I'd just barely met who I complimented so I didn't seem like a rude little asshole.

All I knew is that if Austin saw me with another guy, in any way other than simply friendly, that he didn't know, he'd fucking murder them. Guy or girl, he'd rip anyone's head off.

I smile at the thought of him as my vision begins to blur, starting the other bottle of wine and glancing at the clock.

It was already eleven, and I was getting drunk on my couch. I'm such a classy broad.

'Do you really think drinking will help?'

"Fuck off." I mumble standing up, and walking to my room, flicking my cigarette butt into the garbage can on my way there, wine bottle clutched in my hand.

Throwing myself carelessly onto my bed, I laid there for who knows how long, just thinking and contemplating. I had finished my wine and I was absolutely shit-faced.

Oops.

I hear the front door click open and the creaky door swings open as Justin calls out my name and I hear the voices of the other guys.

"Hey! J-J-Justin!" I cry happily, scrambling off my bed, immediately running into my door frame.

"You alright?" He asks, appearing at the end of the hallway, eyebrows raised.

"Peachy!" I say, pulling myself off he wall and running over enveloping Justin in a hug, before watching Austin slink over and sit on the couch silently. "H-how was shopping?"

"Uh, it was fine, Alan." He says, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Do you happen to know where all the wine went?"

I raise my eyebrows much too high. "No!" I say, dragging out the 'o' for an unnecessary amount of time.

"You drank the entire fucking bottle and a half?" Justin throws his hands up in the air. "What the fuck, Alan?!"

"Is that cigarettes I smell?" Tino asks, giving me a 'It's for your own good' smile.

Little prick, I wanted to run over there and punch him in his fucking stomach.

Justin takes a loud and ragged deep breath before turning his head to glare at me. "Is. That. Cigarettes?"

"No?" I say weakly, giving him a playful smile, attempting to lighten to mood.

"What did I say about smoking?" He asks, taking swift steps toward me, coming after me.

"Eek!" I squeal, running away from him, but his legs are a bit longer, and he catches me easily, pinning me to the carpet.

"Were you smoking?!" He asks, angrily once I stop trying to struggle against him, holding my wrists above my head, causing me to scream bloody murder.

"Yes!" I admit, doing anything to escape him again. "Now let me go!"

"Alan Anthony Ashby, you are lucky your boyfriend is here or I would kick your fucking ass!" He yells, standing up and letting my go, the inside of his sweatshirt sleeve had rubbed my wrist raw, opening up every last cut.

"For the last fucking time," I cry out, tears threatening to spill over while I glare at Justin menacingly. "He. Dumped. Me."

I turn away and storm off to my room, slamming the door and locking it before grabbing another cigarette and lighting up, staring at the lighter a little longer than I should be, and I make another quick decision.

Pulling up my sleeves and holding the lighter to my inner forearm, I shudder feeling the pain rocket through me as I try not to yell out.

"Fuck." I sigh, beginning to feel numb again as I let the effects of alcohol pull me into a deep sleep.