Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
I slide the blade across my arm with ease, sickeningly enjoying the red droplets of blood slipping out of the fresh cuts. I bite my bottom lip as I concentrate on the blade.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
If anyone walked in right now, this would be tough to explain. But they’d have to get through a locked door first, and by then the evidence would be gone. Perhaps not gone, but hidden underneath the sleeve of my jacket, and the blade between my mattress and the box-spring.
Nine.
Ten.
Eleven.
Twelve.
That should do. I put the razor away and look down at the blood sliding down my arm. Gravity pulls the blood, craving it just like the blade. Hearing footsteps down the hall, I quickly pull down my sleeve.
“Pete?” my mother knocks on the door, “Dinner’s ready.”
Dinner. As if I actually want to eat. No matter, I’ll just feed it to Hemingway under the table, take a few bites to make it convincing. Sounds like I’ve done this before, right?
“Coming mom.” I answer in a bored voice.
“We have company, the new neighbors that just moved in, so please dress appropriately.”
“Okay.” I stand up slowly and pull off my hoodie, using it to wipe the remaining blood before I pull on a clean shirt, and a different hoodie.
I hate when my mom invites people over. I get she’s being nice, whatever, but I hate it. I hate how they ask me about school and if I have a girlfriend and blahblahblah. It’s none of their buisiness that I hate school, and like dick. I peek out of my door, listening to my mom setting the table while speaking to another woman.
“So you have a son?” the stranger asks.
“Yep, Pete’s seventeen.” my mom answers.
“My oldest is eighteen, Gerard. My youngest is fifteen, Mikey.”
I walk into the living room where two boys are sitting on the couch, talking among themselves. The taller one must be Gerard, from this view I can see that he’s got honey brown hair, and glasses. The shorter one, I’m guessing, is Mikey. Dark hair to his shoulders, and really bright green eyes. When they notice me they look up.
“Oh, hello..” I mumble awkwardly.
“You’re Pete right?” the boy with dark hair asks, “I’m Gerard.”
Well I was wrong.
The younger, but around a foot taller boy smiles, “Mikey.”
I nod, “Hey.”
“We’ll be starting school with you tomorrow, and your mom offered to give us all a ride.” Mikey says eagerly.
I raise an eyebrow, “Why do you seem excited?”
“Nerds love school.” Gerard shrugs, being elbowed in the ribs by his brother, “Ow!”
Mikey grins, “Oops.”
“Just.. don’t get a head of yourself... this school isn’t all that great.” I shrug.
“School is school. All schools have hardass teachers, bullies, and girls who make up and spread rumors.” Mikey shrugs, “It’s just part of highschool. But if you look past that, it’s not so bad.”
I can’t help but notice the way his eyes light up as he’s talking, “You..must really be a nerd.”
He giggles and shrugs, “My glasses kind of give that away.”
I shrug, “Not really... I have glasses, that I never wear, and I’m not really a nerd...”
Mikey shakes his head, “You don’t wear them, though. I do, rather than buy contacts like kids who care about how they look, and whatnot. I just like to see.”
“Boys!” my mother calls from the kitchen.
We get up and go the the table, Hemy waiting at my feet like always.
Two.
Three.
Four.
I slide the blade across my arm with ease, sickeningly enjoying the red droplets of blood slipping out of the fresh cuts. I bite my bottom lip as I concentrate on the blade.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
If anyone walked in right now, this would be tough to explain. But they’d have to get through a locked door first, and by then the evidence would be gone. Perhaps not gone, but hidden underneath the sleeve of my jacket, and the blade between my mattress and the box-spring.
Nine.
Ten.
Eleven.
Twelve.
That should do. I put the razor away and look down at the blood sliding down my arm. Gravity pulls the blood, craving it just like the blade. Hearing footsteps down the hall, I quickly pull down my sleeve.
“Pete?” my mother knocks on the door, “Dinner’s ready.”
Dinner. As if I actually want to eat. No matter, I’ll just feed it to Hemingway under the table, take a few bites to make it convincing. Sounds like I’ve done this before, right?
“Coming mom.” I answer in a bored voice.
“We have company, the new neighbors that just moved in, so please dress appropriately.”
“Okay.” I stand up slowly and pull off my hoodie, using it to wipe the remaining blood before I pull on a clean shirt, and a different hoodie.
I hate when my mom invites people over. I get she’s being nice, whatever, but I hate it. I hate how they ask me about school and if I have a girlfriend and blahblahblah. It’s none of their buisiness that I hate school, and like dick. I peek out of my door, listening to my mom setting the table while speaking to another woman.
“So you have a son?” the stranger asks.
“Yep, Pete’s seventeen.” my mom answers.
“My oldest is eighteen, Gerard. My youngest is fifteen, Mikey.”
I walk into the living room where two boys are sitting on the couch, talking among themselves. The taller one must be Gerard, from this view I can see that he’s got honey brown hair, and glasses. The shorter one, I’m guessing, is Mikey. Dark hair to his shoulders, and really bright green eyes. When they notice me they look up.
“Oh, hello..” I mumble awkwardly.
“You’re Pete right?” the boy with dark hair asks, “I’m Gerard.”
Well I was wrong.
The younger, but around a foot taller boy smiles, “Mikey.”
I nod, “Hey.”
“We’ll be starting school with you tomorrow, and your mom offered to give us all a ride.” Mikey says eagerly.
I raise an eyebrow, “Why do you seem excited?”
“Nerds love school.” Gerard shrugs, being elbowed in the ribs by his brother, “Ow!”
Mikey grins, “Oops.”
“Just.. don’t get a head of yourself... this school isn’t all that great.” I shrug.
“School is school. All schools have hardass teachers, bullies, and girls who make up and spread rumors.” Mikey shrugs, “It’s just part of highschool. But if you look past that, it’s not so bad.”
I can’t help but notice the way his eyes light up as he’s talking, “You..must really be a nerd.”
He giggles and shrugs, “My glasses kind of give that away.”
I shrug, “Not really... I have glasses, that I never wear, and I’m not really a nerd...”
Mikey shakes his head, “You don’t wear them, though. I do, rather than buy contacts like kids who care about how they look, and whatnot. I just like to see.”
“Boys!” my mother calls from the kitchen.
We get up and go the the table, Hemy waiting at my feet like always.
Sign up to rate and review this story