I know you aren't going to read this.
My eyes seemed to be glued on the gum speckled pavement below my feet as I waded my way through the endless streets of New Jersey. The clouds in the sky above me were growling, warning me that if I didn’t hurry up and walk home, they were going to rain on me, but my pace did not speed up.
No particular thoughts ran through my mind as I walked, and that was anything but comforting to me. It just told me that I was so lonely even my conscious did not want to talk to me.
I scruffed the bottom of my black converses as I walked, kicking rocks with the toes of my shoes and watching them bounce out onto the disserted road by the paths side.
Afternoon walks like this are always somewhat peaceful and somewhat depressing at the same time. It’s always so quiet between the world and myself. Not a word is ever spoken and never do I have company. But I’m not complaining about never having company, because, in a way, that is blissful. Without company I don’t have to worry about starting up a cliché convosation or awkward silences. Without company, all I have to worry about is myself and getting myself home before it pisses down with rain.
Just at that moment I felt a few wet droplets of rain against my face, so I stopped walking and stared up at the grey sky so high above me.
The rain was now falling gently. Every droplet kissing my skin before rolling down my cheeks.
It somewhat comforted me as I walked. I don’t know how. It just did. The way it trickled and tapped on the windows and roof tops of the houses I passed while making my way to my own house made me feel like smiling, but, of course, I didn’t.
The rain was so free. Unlike me.
I frowned and looked ahead when my home came into my view.
It doesn’t feel like my home. It feels like a dungeon, a prison cell, or a tomb where things are left to rot away, slowly and painfully. On the outside it looks nice, clean. White wooden walls. Small stair case onto the front porch. There’s a few green trees on the front yard. But on the inside it feels like a place where I just slowly fade away.
The dim lights peeked out through the close white blinds on every window, well except for my bedroom window. My blinds were black and my light was off.
I could see a silhouette moving around in the kitchen, it had to be my mother for sure.
Suddenly, I snapped out of my thoughts and realised that I was still standing in the rain, which was now pelting down at a rapid rate, almost hurting every time a drop would hit my skin, so I quickly ran across the wet, green grass of the front lawn and ran onto the porch.
I found a towel already waiting for me on the small bench on the front porch, which didn’t surprise me. My mother always leaves a towel out for me on days like this. I think it’s so that she doesn’t have to deal with the troubles of lecturing me; it’s just another way for her to avoid communicating with me.
I dried myself with the towel and slipped off my now muddy converses before stepping inside.
“Mom.. I’m home..” I called, holding the towel tight in one hands grip.
I heard a slight mumble come from the kitchen that was aimed at me and was obviously from my mother, as if she was telling me she had acknowledged my existence but didn’t actually care.
Ducking my head into the kitchen I said, “Sorry, I got caught up in the rain.”
My mother was doing the dishes with her back to me, but, when I spoke, she seemed to stop and just stare out the window at the raindrops that slid down its surface. She then looked over her shoulder at me, her cinnamon coloured eyes much like mine were dull and a single thin strand of her brown fringe fell in front of one of them. She looked at me from head to toe without saying a word and then went back to doing what she was doing. “Have a shower.” She said blankly, her back still to me.
That’s it? That’s all I get? No lecture? No punishment?
Squeezing the towel in my hand, I frowned. I clearly didn’t have enough guts to say those things to my mother, so I just kept them to myself and turned before leaving the kitchen and storming up the stairs.
I sat on the floor of the shower, hugging my knees with my chin resting on them.
The droplets of water hit my skin. Soothing. Calm. Releasing any tension or negative emotions that I had earlier felt. And the longer I stayed in the shower, steam began to form in the air.
I closed my eyes and let the hot steam envelope my body.
I never wanted to leave this little heaven. But all good things come to an end.
Opening my eyes and leaning my back against the cold, wet wall I stretched my arm out and grabbed the knife which I had placed on the ground for when I needed it. Which was now.
Shutting my eyes, I leaned my head back and let the drops of water run down my face as I ran the blade along my skin.
“Frank?” My mother said as she knocked on the bathroom door, causing me to jump and the blade to slip. It jabbed into my leg, deeper than I had ever cut before. Immediately, the blood came gushing out, out of my control and I tried my hardest not to scream from pain.
“Y-Yes Mom?” I asked, pulling myself to my feet and turning off the water before limping over to the towel rack and pulling off the towel.
“Are ok? You’ve been in there for a really long time and you sounds like you’re in pain..”
“I-I’m fine..” I lied, hopping around as I pulled on my boxes. Blood dripped everywhere.
“Ok..” She mumbled.
I didn’t say anything in reply and dropped to the ground with a slight thud and then I began looking through the draw out of pure urgency. I needed something, anything to cover the cut - well, more like gash. I listened as my mother’s footsteps began to walk away from the bathroom and down the hall as I fished out a bandage from the bottom draw bellow the basin. Sighing from relief, I unwrapped the bandage so that I could wrap it around my leg.
Once the bandage was on, I limped down the hall, quietly hissing in pain, and as soon as I reached my room I shut the door and locked it. Grabbing my over sized black hoodie from my dressing table on the way, I hopped over to me bed. Once I was on my bed I slipped the hoodie on and stretched its fabrics over my knees, then proceeding to curl myself into a ball.
I could feel the hot tears filling my eyes as I thought about how pathetic I am. I have absolutely no control over my life. I no longer control my emotions. I no longer control my fears. I no longer control anything.
I’m so pathetic.