Another story inspired by people I actually know.
I hear my name repeated for possibly the thousandth time. My best friend was looking for me in this art room. My teacher had allowed me t stay here every lunchtime to help her out. Today, I couldn’t. My mind was too fried and my nerves too on edge. I knew I was safe here because nobody would think to look inside the box of newspaper. I knew that the droplets of metallic blood would look like paint when it seeped into the thin paper. I drag the blade across my hip a few more times. It felt good. It hurt. I finally had a normal reaction to something.
“Frank! Get out of that box!” Gerard exclaimed from close by.
“Frankie, come on out and talk with me.” He said calmly.
“Fine.” I pull down my shirt and climb through to the surface.
“Frankie, tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.” Gee hugged me tightly. When I didn’t respond, he continued. “You just seem so... emotionally unstable lately. I'm worried about you.”
“No? What is it then?”
“I'm just slipping. I can't hide my depression any more. I tried covering it by being angry or something, but it’s just not working. Everyone knows I'm a freak. Its winter and it is getting cold. I have to be cold by myself, just like every other year. I’m failing at school now. My mum hates me. Everyone hates me. You’re the only person who cares and I'm scared you’re gonna hate me too soon, if you don't already.”
“Frankie...” Gerard started, putting his hand on my shoulder and the other on my cheek. “How long have you been like this?”
“Umm, I'm not entirely sure, a few years?” I try figure it out. “Long enough for scars to disappear.” Shit. That was supposed to stay in my head.
“Scars? Frankie... You don't...” Gerard gently tugged on the sleeve of my shirt. Once he pulled it up, all that was there was my deathly pale skin. It’s disgusting colour reflecting the light back. “They’re not on your wrists, are they?”
I couldn’t talk to him. I just lift my shirt slightly to reveal the area littered with scars. Gerard pulled it up until my whole chest was on show. The discolouration criss-crossed over my hip bones and ribs, covering my abdomen and consuming my whole torso. My fresher wounds seeping with blood, sure to stain yet another shirt.
“Frankie...” He trailed off, just staring at me. This is why I could never let anyone know. They’d think I was a freak. I am a freak! He couldn’t even talk to me now.
“Just, forget it. Ignore it, please, Gee.” I begged, trying to pull down my shirt to cover my body.
“Frankie, wait.” I stared at his face as he stared at my addiction. He didn’t look disgusted. Why isn’t he laughing at me? He should see me like the freak I am. Freaky Frank.
Thanks for reading! Please rate, or review letting me know what you thought. Constructive crirsism is very welcome! :)