FicWad

I woke up to the feeling of a dog licking my face and stared at the brown and white spotted pug that sat on my chest, licking my cheek while wagging his tail. I smiled a little, completely forgetting what happened the night before. After a minute of petting the soft dog it got up and moved around on the bed a little. I rolled over, my face colliding with a different pillow. It smelled sweet and familiar. Like vanilla cigarettes, sugar, and a smell that I couldn't place but knew belonged to one sole person. The dog climbed on my back and I just buried my face into the pillow, absorbing the scent.
My body was sore, my stomach in an intense pain. I had a really bad head ache, my legs burned. My eyelids were heavy, and my wrists were sore. My mind was damaged, and my sole was torn. All that aside, I stood. I wondered to the nearest washroom. It had crimson stains on the white floors and the sink. I frowned a little at the stains and shut the door, pulling off my shirt. There was a short jagged cut on my stomach that had been sloppily stitched up. But I guess it was better than bleeding to death.
I sighed a little, pulling out the small bag I had in my pocket from the day before. What would a little smoke hurt? If anything it'll help the constant throbbing. I pulled out my lighter and started to smoke. I could only hope that I wouldn't get caught by the residents in the house. I finished it off and put it out on my skin, putting my shirt back on as I slowly made my way through the house to a small kitchen. There were two some-what familiar voices coming from the kitchen, so I stopped in the living room to listen to what they were saying.
"...When did he leave?" I could put a name and a face to that one. It was Spencer.
"I don't know like, and hour ago." I could only put a face to the other, the name getting lost in my hazed mind.
"Everyday, everyday he comes over here, and stays all day only to go back home. Why dose he always go back?" Spencer asked. It sounded like he had been crying and I wanted to know what he was talking about. I couldn't help but feel bad about it.
"Because it's his father. Their family. He pretty much has to go back." The other boy stated.
"But he treats him like crap. And he left in the middle of the night." Spencer said.
"We woke him up, remember?"
"Yeah." Spencer said defeated.
"I wonder how that kid is doing." With that sentence I started to walk to the kitchen, deciding it was best to show that I was, in fact, awake and doing somewhat okay.
"Ah, Brendon, we were just talking about you." Spencer said with a smile as I sat down at the old wooden table. I nodded, putting my arms on the wood before resting my head on my arms. Walking really made me dizzy and tired.
"How are you feeling?" The other asked putting the back of their hand against my forehead. I muttered shitty, but I knew it was incomprehensible to them. I could here one of them sigh but fixated my view to the counter on my left, not wanting to meet any of their eyes. "Brendon, how did you get those cuts on your arms?" I closed my eyes, wishing I had just allowed myself to bleed to death in a street instead of asking for help from someone I didn't even know.
"Jon." I heard Spencer say in a warning voice. I squeezed my eyes even tighter. My high was practically gone, the pain in my stomach growing. It was tearing at my insides. My muscles pushing up against my skin, which hugged my bones tightly, making it look like I didn't even really have skin. I could feel each time my heart pounded in my chest, pumping blood down to the stitches that were sure to leave a scar. I could hear Spencer and Jon talking in the background, but I couldn't hear what it was they were saying. I couldn't focus on anything but the pain that was throbbing underneath the fabric of my sweater.
"Brendon?" Spencer asked and I felt a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it lightly in a comforting way. Well, what I'm assuming was supposed to be a comforting way. I didn't lift my head. "Brendon, can you walk?" I noticed that I was starting to sweat, and I shook my head. I felt someone help me get up and I opened my eyes to see that Jon had left and that Spencer had slung my arm around his shoulder, helping me walk to the washroom. "Do you know how long you've been asleep?" I shook my head. I had just assumed that it was one night. Spencer sighed. "Didn't think so. You've been out since Saturday around one in the morning to Monday, which is today. And it's about three in the morning." I frowned closing my eyes as he put me up on the same counter that had my blood stains on it.
"I need to go home." I muttered. I heard him laugh, but I kept my eyes closed.
"No, you don't need to do anything other than take a bath." Spencer said still chuckling lightly. "And since I know you won't be able to do it by yourself, I've been given the job to help you out a little." I wasn't particularly fond of that idea, but I wasn't in any shape to protest. "Now let's have a look at your stitches." Spencer said to himself as he pulled off my hoddie, allowing it to drop to the ground. I stared at the wall to my left, not wanting to see the look on his face as he looked at my scars and freshly made wounds. He sighed a little. "How in the world did your body get this beat up?" I started to shake, tears forming behind my closed eyelids. I didn't want him to know. I didn't want anyone to know. But I knew he was going to ask anyway. "Brendon, come on, don't cry. You don't have to tell me anything. If you want, I can leave." He said as he walked over to start filling up the bathtub with hot water.
I shook my head. For the first time in what seemed like a really long time, I didn't want to be left alone. I was terrified. Not because I was scared that my uncle would come after me, or that Spencer would call a mental hospital about me. No, I was scared of something I could never run from.
I was scared of myself.
Of what I would do if I was left alone. It was the first time a decent person had seen all of my bruises scars and cuts, and in all honesty, I didn't really like it. I didn't like thinking about it. The reasons why I did it to myself. The reasons why others had done it to me. I had a dead feeling in my chest, and all I wanted to do was to stop breathing. Right on the counter with my blood permanently stained on it. I wanted my eyes to close and my breath to stop forever.
At least, that's what part of me wanted.
My mind was begging for it, but my body wanted to keep living. My heart wanted to keep pumping. My legs wanted to be able to move. My hands wanted to play an instrument they could get. My ears wanted to continue to hear, my eyes to see. My throat wanted to speak. My tongue wanted to taste. My stomach wanted to feel full for once. My entire body wanted to be healed and whole again. It wanted to be bathed in the warmth of the bath, to be able to feel it scold my skin.
But my mind kept on screaming. Screaming over, and over, and over again. I knew I was still crying as my mind screamed at me to die. It kept telling me I was a waste of space. That I was useless. That I had destroyed two family's. That I would never be loved again. That I would never have friends. It told me everything I didn't want to hear. Everything that my naive mind thought was the truth.
I stared at him through teary eyes, and he looked concerned. I wondered why for a moment. And then I realized that I just had a mental breakdown in front of him. One of the two boys who had saved my life, watched my face turn from that of someone who was sick, to someone who wanted to die. I wondered if he knew that that was what I was thinking about, but assumed that he knew by the look on his face. He gave a small sigh, helping me take off my pants.
"I'm sorry. I have a way with saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Or, really, all the time." Spencer said as he turned off the water. I stayed silent, but I knew that he knew I didn't care. He helped me up and into the tub, keeping my boxers on. Not that I really cared. I still felt somewhat vulnerable in the state I was in. He took a wet cloth, rubbing my sore body with it slowly. I felt like he probably worked a hospices place, and that he was used to doing this sort of thing. "You're so thin. You know what, as soon as this is over, I'm going to make you a nice breakfast. Okay?" I nodded, all though I was barley listening to his words. I was to focused on the way the hot water burned my wound like it was child play. I was still alive. I could tell from the burning sensation that I was still alive. Reminding me that I should have died by now. That there were so many chances of death for me. Spencer continued to talk, having a conversation with me. Even though we both knew it was a one sided one. I stayed silent, staring at the wall as he slowly lifted my left arm. I closed my eyes, turning to face his concerned face. He had stopped talking when he picked my arm up.
It was now or never, might as well tell someone what I've been doing to my life.
"I did them you know." I whispered as I looked at my pale arm littered with cuts and scars, one of his hands holding it up, the other holding the rag to wash it off with. I didn't want to look at his face. He was such a kind kid. I didn't want to see if I had scared him off.
"Brendon, why?" He whispered my name, breathing out in a sad sigh for the question that he had presented me with. I didn't want to tell him, not yet at least. So I stayed silent. After a few minutes, he nodded and sighed. "You don't have to tell me." He said somewhat quietly. After a minute his phone rang and he stood. "I've got to take this, it's Jon. Probably calling me to pick him up." He said and he answered it while he walked out of the room. I sighed a little, looking down at my wrists. I couldn't say why I was so ashamed of what I had done to myself when I was around Spencer, but I knew I was.
I got up reluctantly, using the wall for support as I started to dry myself off. Pain shot through me and made me week as I tried to put clothing that Spencer had already placed in the washroom for me on. When I had clean boxers and pants on, I gave up, sliding down the open door. I sat there breathing briskly, trying to regain the breath that I seemed to have lost in the few minutes of doing any form of physical activity.
I'm not sure how long I sat there on the floor trying to catch my breath. I do know that it was long enough for me to start to sweat, and I was panting somewhat heavily when Spencer came back.
"Oh good, you got dressed." He said bending down next to me. I nodded, breathing somewhat heavily. He put the back of his hand against my forehead, and I leaned onto his cool hand. "God, you're burning." He muttered, picking me up. A look of worry crossed his face when he picked me up, I guessed it was from how lightweight I was. He carried me to the bedroom I had slept in the night before, putting me down on the bed and pulling the blankets over me. "I'll be right back, I'm going to get you some food, okay?" I nodded and he walked off.
The blankets were only pulled up to my hipbones, which made it easy for me to look at the bones that were sticking out of my body. I frowned, still having a hard time breathing. Every time I inhaled, my ribs seemed to be even more pronounced. I could easily see my ribs, my hip bones, my chalky pale skin that clung to every bone. I was sure that my spine was really pronounced on my back, I could feel it.
When I breathed in my gash burned, and my heart stopped momentarily- it felt as if one of my ribs was brushing against it. My whole body was sore and slightly flushed. I was sweating, and panting, and in all honesty, I wanted someone to be there with me. I felt too sick to be alone. I closed my eyes, and drifted off into an overly light sleep.
"Here's some food. How are you feeling." I jumped a little when I heard Spencer's voice and he gave a week smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were asleep." I shook my head, sitting up as I rubbed my face.
"It's fine. I wasn't really asleep." I muttered, but it really just sounded like a jumble of strangled sounds. He gave me a weak smile, putting a plate of food down on the bed side table.
"Listen, I'm going to go puck up Jon. I'll take a little more than forty minutes, will you be okay alone?" He asked as he pushed my damp hair out of my face. I nodded, not really having the voice to say anything. "I'm going to go get you a wet washcloth, okay?" I just held still, looking over at the food that was placed close to me as he went to fetch a wet cloth.
There was a bowl of soup, a piece of bread and an orange on the plate, a tall glass of cool water sitting next to it. I lifted my heavy arms, trying to pick up the glass of water. I almost dropped it even though I was holding on with both hands, but I still manged to drink some of the cool liquid. I ended put spilling the rest, dropping the glass. The water spilled on my chest, the glass rolling off the bed and shattering on the ground. Spencer came back, looking at the shattered glass he sighed.
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." I stuttered, hoping nothing bad would happen. He shook his head, giving me a small smile as he put the washcloth on my forehead.
"Don't worry about it, I'll clean it up." He walked out and I couldn't help but feel horrible about making him clean my mess. He came back with a broom and a dustpan, quickly sweeping the floor before dumping the glass in a wastebasket. He sighed, giving me a smile that looked extremely forced. "I'm going to go. Are you sure you'll be okay here by yourself?" He asked one more time and I nodded. He flipped the washcloth on my forehead, putting down a plastic cup of water on the bedside table. I guess he should have done that to begin with. He walked out of the room, saying a simple bye.
And then I was alone.
Everything just kept getting hotter and hotter as time went on. I was sweating like crazy, gripping at my chest to try and help me breath. I was in pain, and the worst part was I was alone. I was left to suffer by myself, like I always have to. My head dropped into my hands, and I started to cry, shaking with every intake of breath.


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You're so lucky I updated today. I got a really bad migraine earlier, and I couldn't do anything for a few hours. Let it be noted, I hate allergies.
AnotherKinfeInMyHand:
I'm glad this is one of your favorite stories, I hope I can keep it up.
PartyPoison:
They do. :) But I can't say when that will happen again. Haha, I'm evil.
marissasorrentino:
You don't have to do something you normally wouldn't do. I would feel like even more of a fail if all of my reviewers were only doing it because they feel they have to.
-xoxo Pansy.