Naren finds a park, and gets emotional. Things become a little too much to handle.
I walked from the Starbucks, plugging in my iPod and putting it on shuffle. One of my favourite songs, Creep, by Radiohead came on. I listened to the lyrics as I walked.
"What the hell am I doing here?"
Yes, what the hell am I doing here?
"I don't belong here!"
No, I don't.
Creep was one of my favourite songs of all time. My dad had listened to it a lot, and constantly played it to me. I loved the bass, it sounded amazing. And the pain came across clearly in Thom's voice, it was amazing. I loved the part where the guitar the guitar came in, and it just made it... Louder, but not any less beautiful? It was hard to describe. As the song came to an end, I had tears in my eyes.
Impatiently, I wiped them away and walked faster as the next song came on. Runaway by Linkin Park. Well that's ironic.
"I wanna run away, and never say good bye."
I walked for about another hour, and my feet began to ache. I wanted to stop for a rest so much, but I was too scared. Who knew what would happen? I've never been here before, I don't know whic areas are the crime ridden ones, or which ones are slightly more friendly. Eventually I came to a park.
'It can't hurt to have just a little rest, under that tree over there. I'll just sit for ten minutes, then I'll be off!' I thought.
So I sat down under the tree, putting my bags down beside me. I thought a lot. About the 'home' I had ran away from. That fucking psychopath I called my mom. I remember when I was still very young, she wasn't kind, but not abusive either. Then she cheated on my dad. The scumbag she had the affair with was a drug addict, and turned my mom into one too. I was about nine at this time. Too young to understand. But I did. She started to hit me. Pull my hair. Go out partying when I had a ballet recital. Forget to pick me up from school, which meant that in the winters I had to walk for an hour and a half to get home, when it was dark and freezing cold, at the age of nine. I started to grow up faster than my classmates. I became less bright and bubbly and sociable. I woke myself up at 5:30 every morning so I could trek to school, in the ice, in the rain, in the snow, in the heat, whatever. At the age of 11 I began to self harm. I didn't tell my mom at first, but I told Nan. She cried when I told her, and helped me to try to recover. She had died almost a year ago. What little life I had left in me dissapeared. All I lived for was music. My dad bought my a guitar for my 12th birthday, and for the last three years that was all I ever did. I drew too. And read. And cut. That was my life. A lot of people hate me for self harming, and I do too. Every time I cut, burn or scratch, I feel like I'm betraying MCR. And I feel so guilty for it. I swear I'll never do it again, and I do. Recently though I've began to do it less and less.
I switch on Heaven Help Us, and sing along under my breath.
Hear the Sound the Angels come screaming.
Down your voice,
I hear you've been bleeding.
Make your choice,
They say you've been pleading,
Someone save us!
I concentrate on Gerard's voice, wondering how there can be people like this in the world. It's surreal. How can there be five men that don't even know I exist, but care about me? My life has revolved around them, and I can't seem to understand how they exist. I wonder if I'll love anyone as much as I love MCR.
As I think about nan and dad again, and a few tears begin to escape my eyes. Before I know it, I'm sobbing. My eyeliner is cascading down my face, my nose is running and passers by are staring. But I don't care. My grand mother is dead, my mother is an alchoholic and a drug addict that abuses me, and my dad is at war. The only people except my father that care about me don't even know I exist. My grandmother will never walk this earth again. Never see me go to college, never see me ever again. All that I have left of her is a bottle of Estée Lauder perfume. I curl into a ball and hug myself, trying to stop the endless flow of tears. No one stops to comfort me. No one ever does anymore. Don't talk to the emo kid. She'll turn you into an emo and drag you into that suicide cult she's part of. That was what everyone at school said. But I didn't need them. And I never will.
Just them something catches my eye. A piece of a broken mirror.
'No,' my brain says.
Maybe just a little?
Fuck you, I need it.
I snatch up the piece of broken mirror, grab my guitar and bag, and run to the nearby bathroom. I wash some of the eyeliner off my pale, unhealthy face and lock myself in a cubicle.
I sit on the toilet seat, twirling the fragment of mirror between my fingers.
I take it and run it along my arm. Instant pain, instant relief. Blood pours from the fresh cut, and I wipe it away. I make another cut, I want to feel even better. In total, I make four deep cuts. My arm stings like fuck, but I do feel a bit better.
'For now!' my brain snapped.
I wrap my arm in toilet roll. The bleeding should stop soon. I unlock the cubicle door and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look like death itself. Tatty black hair, pure white skin, thin, pale lips, puffy red and black eyes, and smudged eyeliner all over me. I wash my face to get some of the eyeliner off, and a bit comes off. After only a few seconds, I give up and step out into the fresh air. I walk back towards the tree and begin to feel a little dizzy. There's no one about, except that man over their with the black hair. My vision begins to blur, and I can't see his face. I lean onto the tree for support, and drop my bag and guitar. He looks around and sees that there is something wrong. He walks towards me, uncertainly at first. Then he sees something that makes him sprint.
"What's wrong?" I try to say, but nothing comes out. My arm feels a little wet. I look at it, and to my horror, blood has leaked through my Demolition Lovers hoodie.
I cut too deep.
I feel extremely dizzy. The man with the black hair gets to me as I begin to fall.
He looks into my eyes and I gasp. I know those eyes!
A tear falls from my eye and I whisper, "I'm sorry," before I pass out.