Jack~

One minute I'm gazing over at my new found friend, completely mesmerized in his voice, in his playing, in him as an entirety. The next, I find my gaze turn into a gawking stare. What caused this, you may ask. The answer is simple, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing row after row of angry looking cuts. Some new, some scarred, all red and angry and just plain unsettling.

"Alex..." I whispered, not even trying to remove my stare.

"Jack- I- um... I have to go," he stuttered, panicking to readjust his sleeves while running to grab his door.

"Alex wait," I said, following him out of my room, "You don't have to go..."

"Yeah I do," he mumbled, "If I stay you'll just make fun of me like everyone else does. I can't take that right now."

"But I won't," I reasoned, "I'm not like that. You can trust me."

It's true, not once had the thought of making fun of him even crossed my mind. Obviously someone who needs to do that already has too much on their plate to deal with bullies. If anything I felt sad, sad that he had to do that. That something is making him so miserable that he can't cope with it. He doesn't deserve that, know one does, but especially not him.

"How do I know Jack?" he asked, continuing to walk towards my front door, "I just met you. I have no reason to trust you."

"You also don't have a reason to not," I muttered.

"It's just," he said, sounding rather hopelessly, "No one cares about me, no one has for years."

And with that, he was gone. He left my house, slamming the door as he left. It broke my heart, surely someone has to care, right? He can't be all alone in this world, can he? And even if he is, I'll make it my mission to care, no one deserves isolation.

Alex~

I blinked rapidly as I ran down Jack's driveway and towards my own house. I can't believe I was so stupid to reveal my arms to him, especially considering I just met him. Now tomorrow at school he's going to tell everyone and I'm going to be labeled 'emo' all over again. And Rian's going to hate me, and Zack's going to beat me up, and all of those people I didn't even meet are to watch and laugh. Because it's what I deserve, because I'm nothing but a fuck up.

I ran through my front door, not surprised to find my mother wasn't home. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed the first bottle of alcohol I could find, and taking a swift chug. Not even caring at the burning sensation as the warm liquid ran down my throat.

I took the bottle with me as I went upstairs to my bathroom, one thing on my mind; my precious blade. I took another chug of what I discovered to be vodka as I retrieved it from it's hiding place behind the toilet. I pulled over my shirt and swiftly pressed the blade into the swollen skin that is my stomach.

A sip, a cut, until I eventually ran out of alcohol. I didn't even cry, I'm past that point. No matter how much I feel the burning in the back of my eyes, the tears just don't come. Through the months I've cried myself dry.

I take a pained look at my stomach, and see nothing but red. Red blood, red, zig-zaged, overlapping cuts. Deep cuts, shallow cuts, long cuts and short cuts. All equally loved, all equally hated. I'm nothing but a mess of scars and over thought thoughts. Everything important has somehow slipped right through my hands. I'm alone, I'm unloved, I'm ugly and I'm fat. Why am I still alive?

All of these thoughts and more ran through my mind as I stumbled into my bedroom. I didn't notice the effect the alcohol had on me until I slumped into bed. Blacking out into a deep, hopefully endless sleep.

Notes

Title Cred: Dear You- If Worries Were Weights

~Mary(: