What's So Good About Picking Up the Pieces?

Kellin's POV:

“Kellin, I’m always here for you. You can tell me anything.” Vic gives me a reassuring smile and squeezes my hand. I nod, giving him a small smile in return to his.

This was it, my chance to tell somebody about my past and possibly get help. I could get all of this hidden information off of my shoulders and I could be free. I had to do this, I had to tell Vic. I could trust him, right? I opened my mouth to continue but eventually snapped it back closed.

“I… I can’t do this.” I dropped his hand and stood up, the tears threatening to start pouring down my cheeks. “I’m sorry.” I say quietly, making my way to the door.

“Kellin…” I can practically feel his eyes boring into the back of my head, pleading me to come back and finally tell him. My nerves are getting the best of me and I just can’t do it. What if he comes back? He’ll kill me! He’ll kill Vic. I can’t tell anyone, I can’t risk people’s lives just for my possibly happiness. Nikon was always right, I’m not worth it.

“Second chances will leave me alone eventually.” I’m crying now, still facing the door. “It’s not worth picking up the pieces. I’m too broken.” I finally state before opening the door and walking down the stairs, not looking back before making my way back to my house.

---

Music filled my ears and the sight of my bruises filled my eyes. I had decided to play some music to keep my mind off of things but ended up straying into the bathroom anyways. I reached up and ran the tips of my fingers along the faded bruises on my arms. They were normal colored bruises now, like a bruise should be, no longer black and painful. My skin was still littered with them but they’d eventually go away. At least I hoped they’d go away, they don’t compliment my creamy pale skin very much.

Vic hadn't tried to come after me, which I didn't expect him to at all. I told him I was too broken and I couldn't be helped, so maybe he realized that getting involved with me was way too much drama. I probably scared him away, I seem to do that to a lot of people. I’d just bring him sadness in the end; I don’t think I could ever be a proper boyfriend. Nikon said I couldn't be, anyways. He said only he could ever love me, which from what I could see is probably extremely true. My mother has been gone for a while now, which she often does so it’s not a surprise. She’ll show up soon enough acting like nothing happened and trying to be the perfect mother that she never could be again. My father’s been gone for years, I didn't have a clue where he was and I guess it didn't matter. Nobody loved me except for Nikon, and now he was gone too. Right now I think I’d rather him be here with me, to be honest.

The pain of his abuse is better than nothing. I can feel something when he does it, it’s better than the empty, lonely feeling I have now. If Nikon couldn't provide that feeling for me, I’d have to provide it for myself.

I opened the mirror cabinet, rummaging around the different types of medication until my hand lands on my razor blade. My eyes were blurred with tears and I accidentally knock over a bottle of prescription pain killers and the top knocks off, spilling a few onto the counter. “Fuck it.” I grumble, picking up the spilled pills and deciding just to take them. Do these things work for all types of pain? Maybe they’ll numb out my heart if I take enough of them.

I down the pills and slide down onto the floor, leaning against the bathtub. “Fuck second chances. Vic doesn't know what he was getting himself into.” I raise a shaky hand up to my wrist and start to cut lines into my soft and already badly scarred skin, watching as the blood drips down my wrist. I continue this action until I can’t move my arm properly anymore, the pills obviously starting to work.

I had absolutely no idea how many pain pills I took, hopefully enough to stop the pain. Maybe I’ll die, that would be so much easier. Nobody’s coming to find me, my mother isn't coming home, so it’s a possibility I’ll lose too much blood and overdose. The last thing I remember before slipping into an unconscious state is somebody pounding on the door. Although I was too out of it and I couldn't make out who was knocking, their voice seemed so distant and I felt like I was floating a thousand miles away. I might have been imagining all of it, but I could swear I heard a voice calling my name through the thin bathroom door. There were only a handful of possibilities on who could be at that door right now…