Categories > Original > Drama
I Kissed The Scars On Her Skin
4 reviewsI kissed the scars on her skin, I told her she was beautiful and that I never wanted to lose my best friend. || Warning: possibly triggering.
5Moving
I Kissed The Scars On Her Skin
It started when we were 13. She just started wearing a whole load of bracelets. I couldn't understand it. She said she needed "a bit more color" in her life. Still, I didn't understand. When I asked her to take them off, she got real defensive, and said no. Finally, I got sick of it. I tackled her down, held her to the ground, and forced each bracelet off her left wrist. What laid underneath shocked and scared me and made me cry a little bit. There were lines covering her wrist. They weren't deep - they looked like they could be papercuts. I asked her what was happened, and she started to cry. She said her dad, whenever he got angry, would take his pants off, and tell her not to wake her little brother. If she did scream, he'd hit her. She tried stealing her dad's bottles of clear liquid to take her mind off it. He found out, and took his pants off more often. She had turned to this. I kissed every single line, and told her she was beautiful, and that I never wanted to lose my best friend. That day, she promised to stop.
Two years later, she started wearing long pants and long sweaters. She always used to wear tank tops and shorts before. I started thinking she might be doing it again, and I wanted to help her, because I was doing it too. I was pressing coolness to my skin and making pretty art with blood. I was also inhaling things that made me feel happy, weightless, free. I was also drinking that clear liquid that made my throat burn and my head feel woozy. I would drink it until it all came back up again. I noticed that her skin was clinging tighter and tighter to her bones, too. Her jeans were getting looser and looser. I wanted to tell her that she wasn't alone. I asked her to come swimming with me. We would go on a picnic, too. She agreed, with a frown. I told her to wear her swimming costume under her clothes. She did. I stripped off, and I let her see the red paintings on my skin. Slowly, she took off her sweater, and stripped out of her jeans. I saw big, big, big lines, I could see white. They weren't just on her wrist, but on her ribs and on her thighs. I pulled her close and hugged her while she cried. Her dad would bring his friends home now, and they would all whisper "don't wake your little brother" as they pulled their pants down. I told her to run, run, bunny, run. She smiled, and together, we jumped in the cool water and forgot our troubles. We got out and I offered her a sandwich. She refused. I asked her why. She told me was fat. I told her to lay down, and I kissed all the scars on her skin, and I told her she was beautiful, and that I never wanted to lose my best friend. That day, she promised to stop.
Three years later, I'm standing over a tidy mahogany box. She lays inside, cold and white. A tear falls from my eye as I bite on my lip. She had tried to run away. Her dad had taken his pants off and wouldn't stop hurting her. I came over, and screamed at him, I told him to stop and that he was killing her. He tried to make me not exist. I made him bleed, I made him bleed so much that his eyes stopped seeing and his mouth stopped breathing. She cried and cried and cried, and she told me that she loved me. She called up her little brother and told him what had happened and that he had to come to my house. She told him the address and hung up. I thought it was going to get better.
But one day, I came home to find her lying on the bathroom floor, her wrists making waterfalls of red. Her little brother was crying, crying, crying, crying, screaming, screaming, yelling, scratching. He cried into my chest. Together, we organized her final procession. I sang her favourite song to her as I cleaned her body, ready for the box. I lifted her out, and together, we waited for the men to come and take her away.
The next day, I found her little brother attached to the ceiling fan, his feet dangling and kicking and he couldn't breathe because of the rope. I got him down, and I called the men, and together, we waited for the men to come and take him away. Like I did to her, I held his hand and sang his favourite song.
Their going-away parties were awful. I wore a lot of black, and I cried. I cried and cried and cried and cried and when I got home, I made so much art on my skin, there was almost no white left. I drank two whole bottles of the clear liquid that had become such a comfort. I made my head so dizzy, from all the powder I had inhaled, that I couldn't remember my own name. I felt like I was in some sick Heaven. The heaven wore off, and I missed her and him so much. I missed them so so so much. I remembered the lyrics she had shown me: "the red ones make me fly, and the blue ones help me fall, and I think I'll blow my brain against the ceiling." I painted the beautiful white ceiling with the insides of my head, and it was all black.
The next day, my landlady had to call the men, and she held my hand as we waited. She cleaned up the mess I made, and didn't cry one bit.
I saw her beautiful face, and his beaming smile. I rushed forward, and I kissed the scars on her skin. I told her she was beautiful. I told her I couldn't lose my best friend.
She told me she loved me, and I was happy again.
A/N: Wow, I'm not in a good mood, am I? Anyway, I hope you guys liked this! Rates and reviews would be so appreciated! Also, do you think you could go read the first chapter of my Jalex fanfiction, Infinity? It's kind of really important to me. I'll be moving it to the Romance section soon, I just plopped it into the My Chemical Romance section because I've been kind of stalking this site for a while and I know it's the section most used. -blush- Anywhoo, I hope you guys like this!
Love, as always, Lucy. Keep running, Killjoys! x
It started when we were 13. She just started wearing a whole load of bracelets. I couldn't understand it. She said she needed "a bit more color" in her life. Still, I didn't understand. When I asked her to take them off, she got real defensive, and said no. Finally, I got sick of it. I tackled her down, held her to the ground, and forced each bracelet off her left wrist. What laid underneath shocked and scared me and made me cry a little bit. There were lines covering her wrist. They weren't deep - they looked like they could be papercuts. I asked her what was happened, and she started to cry. She said her dad, whenever he got angry, would take his pants off, and tell her not to wake her little brother. If she did scream, he'd hit her. She tried stealing her dad's bottles of clear liquid to take her mind off it. He found out, and took his pants off more often. She had turned to this. I kissed every single line, and told her she was beautiful, and that I never wanted to lose my best friend. That day, she promised to stop.
Two years later, she started wearing long pants and long sweaters. She always used to wear tank tops and shorts before. I started thinking she might be doing it again, and I wanted to help her, because I was doing it too. I was pressing coolness to my skin and making pretty art with blood. I was also inhaling things that made me feel happy, weightless, free. I was also drinking that clear liquid that made my throat burn and my head feel woozy. I would drink it until it all came back up again. I noticed that her skin was clinging tighter and tighter to her bones, too. Her jeans were getting looser and looser. I wanted to tell her that she wasn't alone. I asked her to come swimming with me. We would go on a picnic, too. She agreed, with a frown. I told her to wear her swimming costume under her clothes. She did. I stripped off, and I let her see the red paintings on my skin. Slowly, she took off her sweater, and stripped out of her jeans. I saw big, big, big lines, I could see white. They weren't just on her wrist, but on her ribs and on her thighs. I pulled her close and hugged her while she cried. Her dad would bring his friends home now, and they would all whisper "don't wake your little brother" as they pulled their pants down. I told her to run, run, bunny, run. She smiled, and together, we jumped in the cool water and forgot our troubles. We got out and I offered her a sandwich. She refused. I asked her why. She told me was fat. I told her to lay down, and I kissed all the scars on her skin, and I told her she was beautiful, and that I never wanted to lose my best friend. That day, she promised to stop.
Three years later, I'm standing over a tidy mahogany box. She lays inside, cold and white. A tear falls from my eye as I bite on my lip. She had tried to run away. Her dad had taken his pants off and wouldn't stop hurting her. I came over, and screamed at him, I told him to stop and that he was killing her. He tried to make me not exist. I made him bleed, I made him bleed so much that his eyes stopped seeing and his mouth stopped breathing. She cried and cried and cried, and she told me that she loved me. She called up her little brother and told him what had happened and that he had to come to my house. She told him the address and hung up. I thought it was going to get better.
But one day, I came home to find her lying on the bathroom floor, her wrists making waterfalls of red. Her little brother was crying, crying, crying, crying, screaming, screaming, yelling, scratching. He cried into my chest. Together, we organized her final procession. I sang her favourite song to her as I cleaned her body, ready for the box. I lifted her out, and together, we waited for the men to come and take her away.
The next day, I found her little brother attached to the ceiling fan, his feet dangling and kicking and he couldn't breathe because of the rope. I got him down, and I called the men, and together, we waited for the men to come and take him away. Like I did to her, I held his hand and sang his favourite song.
Their going-away parties were awful. I wore a lot of black, and I cried. I cried and cried and cried and cried and when I got home, I made so much art on my skin, there was almost no white left. I drank two whole bottles of the clear liquid that had become such a comfort. I made my head so dizzy, from all the powder I had inhaled, that I couldn't remember my own name. I felt like I was in some sick Heaven. The heaven wore off, and I missed her and him so much. I missed them so so so much. I remembered the lyrics she had shown me: "the red ones make me fly, and the blue ones help me fall, and I think I'll blow my brain against the ceiling." I painted the beautiful white ceiling with the insides of my head, and it was all black.
The next day, my landlady had to call the men, and she held my hand as we waited. She cleaned up the mess I made, and didn't cry one bit.
I saw her beautiful face, and his beaming smile. I rushed forward, and I kissed the scars on her skin. I told her she was beautiful. I told her I couldn't lose my best friend.
She told me she loved me, and I was happy again.
A/N: Wow, I'm not in a good mood, am I? Anyway, I hope you guys liked this! Rates and reviews would be so appreciated! Also, do you think you could go read the first chapter of my Jalex fanfiction, Infinity? It's kind of really important to me. I'll be moving it to the Romance section soon, I just plopped it into the My Chemical Romance section because I've been kind of stalking this site for a while and I know it's the section most used. -blush- Anywhoo, I hope you guys like this!
Love, as always, Lucy. Keep running, Killjoys! x
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