Isabelle comes to the conclusion that in the end, happiness never really lasts. It may occasionally pop into her life, but it never stays, does it?
But yeah, this story may or may not be finished by Christmas. I have a few other ideas too. My YouTube channel: http://www.youtube.com/user/ScreamingAtTheParty?feature=mhee
Love you guys, thank you for reading and reviewing and stuff, and the support I've got :3
The next few weeks faded quickly, and I was left alone. Almost. Gerard and Mikey were leaving town again, going back to California. To be honest, I was terrified. I'd been doing amazing with self harm recovery, even making a few friends! That group I met at the mall? Yeah, I saw them every Saturday. Jason picked me up and we met them at the mall, in the food court, just like the first time I met them. My life, finally, was looking up. Finally, I was getting the chance to be a normal teenager. Well, almost normal.
"So you're leaving next Thursday then?" I asked, balancing the phone between my shoulder and my ear. My hand were busy, shredding paper for an art project,
"Yeah," Gerard replied. "We'll still keep in touch though. When's your birthday?"
"My birthday? Why do you want to know my birthday?" I said, confused.
"I just wanna know your birthday. When is it?" he persisted.
"October 23rd..." I replied, a little perplexed.
"Great! Thanks! What date is it now?"
"September 29th." I informed.
"Right. Uhm, okay, I need to talk to Lindsey about something, I'll call you later."
"Oh... Okay, see you later," I said.
"Bye," he said, then hung up.
The conversation left me completely baffled. Was Gerard up to something? What was he planning?
"What do you say? Please!" I pleaded, staring into the eyes of my dark haired true love, Lindsey.
"Yes! Of course! Bandit's gonna love this!" she beamed.
"Are you sure she'll wanna?" I asked.
"Hopefully she will..." she trailed off.
"Hopefully..." I murmured.
Back to Isabelle/Naren's POV
"Izzy?" came a voice from my doorway. Anthony, formerly known as red head X-Men boy was standing there.
"Oh, hey Anthony. You want your comic back?" I asked, brandishing his Hellboy comic.
"Uh, yeah, if you're done with it..."
"Here you go," I said.
"Actually, I came here to ask you something."
"What?" I asked.
"Well, you know how I like comics a lot?"
"I like to draw them," he continued, sitting down on my bed.
"Go on," I pressed.
"I was wondering if maybe you could help me? Maybe give me feedback? And maybe you could show me how to draw better, because I saw your sketchbook..." he said sheepishly.
"You... You what?!" I sputtered. "You looked at my sketchbook?!"
"I'm sorry!" he said, suddenly looking a bit frightened.
"You looked... At my fucking sketchbook?!"
He remained silent.
"I can't believe you! That's private!" I spat.
"Well maybe if you didn't leave it lying on your bed as it you wanted someone to see it, I wouldn't have looked!" he protested, all fear suddenly gone.
"What!? What do you take me for, some fucking attention whore?"
"You know what? Yes, yes I do! You're nothing but a stupid attention whore! You think you're so tragic, with your 'I don't have a home!'. Guess what, none of us have a home, and none of us whine and whine and whine like you do!" he yelled.
That hurt. I felt hot tears prickling at the back of my eyes, blurring my eyes and threatening to spill over at any moment.
"Fuck you," I whispered, my voice cracking and throat aching.
"Oh I bet you'd love to, you slut," he sneered.
"Slut?" I echoed.
"Slut." he confirmed.
I turned away, unable to face the only person I had managed to befriend at this dump.
I heard fast, heavy footsteps and the door slammed. That was when I fell on the bed, crying, all the so called 'happiness' off the past fortnight slipping through my fingers like sand.
All I am.
With shaking hands, I pulled up my sleeve. The scars from the last three years greeted me. Every scar had a story. A story I wanted to forget. But the scars didn't let me forget.
My ever trembling hands pulled a sharpener out of my school bag. I had nothing sharp, and I hadn't self harmed since the 'accident'.
I placed the pencil sharpener on the floor, and stepped on it with my converse clad foot. It snapped immediately, being a very cheap and fragile brand.
I picked the plastic off it and set it to the side, until I was left with a blade. A blade that would set me free, for a little while.
I twirled it between my fingers, tears still dripping down my face.
I shook my head, and took the blade and ran it across my scarred arm. Blood seeped through it, and I felt the familiar release of endorphins. I leaned back against the pillow and sighed peacefully. The all too familiar stinging sensation in my arm settled me. I stared at the ceiling dazedly, feeling ridiculously relaxed.
But the relaxation wore off when I took a glance at my wall. A poster stared down at me. A My Chemical Romance poster. I glanced down at my arm, and suddenly felt sick. I had betrayed them. I swore to myself that I would stop. But I was too weak. Too fucking weak! Pathetic. Pathetic and weak. I grabbed my beanie and my jacket and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me.
Sudden anger flared up inside me. Anger at Anthony, anger at my mom, anger at my dad, even anger at my grandmother. But most of it was towards me. It was like a fire in the pit of my stomach, and it burned and scolded me, but never spread, no matter how much I wanted it to.
It was raining outside, but I didn't care. I ran out of the house and down the front steps, and kept going. Running and running. Running away. Leaving. Temporarily.
I ran and ran and ran, until my breath tore at my throat and burned, and my sides felt as if they were being very slowly and painfully sliced open. Panting, I stumbled over to a tree by the side of the road, and collapsed. I lay there for about an hour, eyelids drooping and teeth chattering. I was exhausted, I must have been running for about an hour straight, on a virtually empty stomach. I drifted off into a light doze for a short period of time. The rain poured down from the heavens, and my hair was in rat's tails, my clothes completely saturated. I heard a noise, but I ignored it. I didn't know what it was, but I didn't bother to open my eyes and find out.
It took a while to register in my exhausted head that it was a car. It pulled over, and I heard a door slam shut. Heavy footfalls came towards me, and I began to panic.
"Uh... Hi," said a man.
My eyes fluttered open a little. What did he want? I closed my eyes again, hoping he would go away. Next thing I knew, there for strong arms underneath me, picking me up.
"Put me down!" I screeched, kicking and punching him.
"Now why would I do that?" he chuckled.
"Because I'm a fucking teenager and you're a grown man and I don't know you and you're freaking me out!"
But he only laughed and said, "Fine. We'll stay out in the open then."
He laid me down on the grass and pinned me down by the arms. Terror coursed through me, and he started to unzip my jacket.
"Get off me!" I growled.
He grinned maliciously, and pulled the zipper on my jacket down. I struggled beneath him, and for a split second, as he made to pull down my jeans, he let go of my arms. Less than a millisecond, but it was still long enough for me to raise my arms and punch him square in the face.
"Ow!" he howled, clutching his now broken nose.
I sprang to my feet and sprinted away from him.
"Come back here you little bitch!"
I laughed dryly on the inside. Like I was gonna turn around and go back to him.
He got in his car and drove after me, probably trying to knock me over and give me some sort of injury so he could carry on with trying to rape me. I turned into a small side street to my left, and kept running. I found some sort of alley, and immediately jumped into it. It sounded although I had lost him. I waited a few minutes to be sure I had lost him, then I started to go back to the house. I took it slowly, making sure he wasn't lurking behind a tree or a bush. I let out a sigh of relief. The coast was clear.
I ran all the way home, the sky was a beautiful shade of dark blue by now. Next thing I knew, I was collapsing on the bed, fully clothed and exhausted.