I lay in my bed, sobbing silently as hot tears flowed down my cheeks, lingering upon the thought of all the things Gerard had said. This time I knew that there would definitely be nobody to tell me things will get better. This time the pain will be endless. I’m alone. Completely alone.
I tried thinking of something else – Anything else. But nothing worked. Memories a images of Gerard strained my mind as his words echoed throughout my head.
It was all inevitable. Stuck there like a photograph stuck on a wall.
Sighing heavily, I dragged my body into a sitting position before crawling over to my beside table and opening a draw; pulling out a razor. I slowly pulled up the sleeve of my hoodie and stared at my pale arm riddled with scars. There’s barely even room for new cuts. It’s kind of really disgusting. Each scar tells a pathetic, childish story and by cutting myself now I’ll just be writing another one.
Just as the blade pressed against my skin, there was a knock at the door.
Sighing heavily, I curled my hand into a ball, hiding the razor as I mumbled, “What?”
My mother opened the door, granting herself access and looking down at me. “Are you ok?”
“I’m fine.” I lied. The lie just slipped through my lips without even the slightest stutter.
“No you aren’t.” She sighed, sitting beside me.
“What makes you think I’m not?” I frowned.
“Well, you’ve been up here for hours..” She mumbled, wiping my cheeks lightly with her thumbs, “And the tear stains on your face kind of give you away.”
Looking away, I mumbled, “Why do you even care?”
“Because you’re my son. It’s my job to care.”
“Oh yeah? Where were you when I started getting depressed? Where were you when my life went into a downwards spiral? Oh, that’s right. You weren’t around because you didn’t care!” I snapped. “You didn’t care then and you don’t care now.”
“Frank. You think people don’t care, when, in reality, they do. You just push them away before that fact can actually sink in.” She sighed.
“Oh great, now you’re talking like Gerard does.” I groaned, flopping onto my back and staring up at the ceiling.
“Who’s Gerard?” She asked, looking down at me.
“He was a friend..” I mumbled.
“Something happened between the two of us. And I overreacted.”
“What happened?” She asked.
“Nothing.” I mumbled.
“No, what happened?” She frowned.
“It really doesn’t matter, Mom.” I stated, rolling into my side and facing my back to her.
“If you’re up here in your room crying to yourself then I think it really does matter, Frank.” She said, tucking my fringe behind my ear.
“I cry all the time..” I whispered, squeezing the razor in my hand. “This time is no different.”
“Hey.. Look at me..” My mother said, tapping my shoulder.
I shook my head.
With a sigh, my mother rolled me onto my side and made me look at her.
“I know you don’t think I care, Frank, but I do. You’re my child. Even if I wanted to hate you I’d still care about you.” She said, moving my fringe away from my face once again. “I care about you, and I can’t stand the thought of my baby boy hating himself and everyone around him..”
I bit down on my trembling lip and didn’t reply.
“There’s nothing more hurtful than watching your own flesh and blood hate themself...” She said softly. “I don’t know how you feel, because I have never felt how you feel myself, but I know it’s not the best thing ever to feel.”
“That made no sense.” I sighed shakily.
“I know.” She smiled for the first time in ages. “I suck at comforting.”
I sighed and rolled onto my stomach without a reply.
“Frank.. Tell me about Gerard..”
“I don’t want to.” I muttered.
“Come on.. Tell me at least one thing about him..”
“He was my only friend..” I mumbled, staring into the darkness of the mattress that was pressed against my face. “And I ruined it all.”
“Oh..” She breathed out. “Well that doesn’t seem that bad.. What did you say or do to him?”
“He did something, and we both said things..” I was now frowning and thinking of Gerard’s words.
They now echoed through my mind louder than ever like a mocking call of death.
Potentially, it’s your own fault that you’re depressed. You’re just a victim of your own creation..
You’re so melodramatic.
My mother then cut into my thoughts, “Ok.. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s you decision.”
“Mhm..” I mumbled, rolling onto my back and looking up at her, remembering the razor that I was still squeezing hard and was now cutting into my hand. “Mom.. You know what? I think I’m going to have a bath..”
“A bath?” She asked, looking at me as if it was the most obscure thing she had ever heard.
“Yeah..” I shrugged, sitting up, still clutching the razor in my sure to be bleeding hand.
“Why?” She asked.
I stood up and walked towards my door with my back to my mother before I mumbled, “No reason..”