Found

Seven

The moment we got back home, I headed straight to my bedroom. Shutting my door, I locked it and moved to my closet.

I knelt down and pulled out a small box, inconspicuous. No one would give it a second glance. A simple wood box. That's all it appeared to be. Innocent. Harmless.

I used this almost as a symbol that nothing is ever as it seems. It seemed innocent, but the inside begged to differ. Razors of all kinds and even a few pill bottles. They, like a person, told a whole different story than what first met our eyes.

My appearance told of someone who had suffered. Suffered greatly. People who looked at me did one of two things. Quickly glanced away because staring was rude, or the kept looking, trying to figure out. But their eyes never pried long enough to get past the wall I built around my heart. Beyond that façade, I was a mess of constant emotional and mental torment. I constantly remembered their slurs, the feeling of their hands on my skin, even after all these months.

Under the facade I was a boy afraid to look at his reflection, or even glance at his skin. I was an adult, scared to be touched, scared of the horrors the dark held.

I pulled out a razor and placed the box back in the shadows before standing and moving to my bed. I sat beside my bedside table, setting the metal down long enough to roll up my right sleeve, exposing the pale, puckered, scarred skin.

Closing my eyes, I pressed it against the skin, like I had some so many times before. The first time, it was a punishment that Drake forced upon me. Then, it was for another's pleasure. At last, it was finally when I realized just how much it helped quiet my mind.

Hey, slut. Cut a little deeper this time. Everyone's life would be better. Oh! Even better, cut up you arm. Nice and deep. Just end it all. It's not like your parents want you. You are fucking burden, who just won't fucking die. You are almost twenty one and you still aren't on your own. Forcing your parents to care for you. Damn whore. Why not go find somebody to fuck you? You know you want it. Deny it all you want, but I know. You want it.

With that voice screaming in my ears, I paid no attention as I turned the razor and ran it up on my arm. In the haze, I had dug the blade deeper than I had ever done before. But it was successful. It silenced my mind.

The pain was worse than ever before but it blocked out the voice, the memories, everything. Tears fell down my face, mixing with the blood as it pulsed from the wound. Everything was faded a gray, like a dull childhood memory.

I stared as the red dripped into my pants and soaked up into my sleeve. I was thankful it was black. But I would have to change before I did anything.

Laying the bloody razor on the bedside table, I pulled my crimson smeared wrist to my chest and laid back, closing my eyes. Soon, lethargy dragged at my mind until it finally claimed my consciousness.

I don't know how long I was out before there was a knock at my door.

"Mitch? Are you up? I have to come in." Scott. But why would he need to come in? What did I have that he needed? My head felt like a hundred pounds, and was filled with cobwebs. Everything was a gray, jumbled mess.

"Wha'?" My tongue felt thick.

Before I could even understand, the door swung open. Some thing in my body told me that He wasn't supposed to be in here. I struggled to get up, gasping in pain as my wrist landed against my leg. I looked down, it was covered in the brown-red color of dried blood. My neck felt dirty.

"Hey, Mit-Holy shit Mitch! Oh my god! There is so much blood! And you are fucking covered!" He moved towards me and I instinctively hid my wrist under my stiffened sleeve. My movements didn't go unnoticed because he knelt down in front of me as I threw my legs over the edge, and gently grabbed my blood covered hand.

"No..." I mumbled, struggling weakly, the pain calling some sense to my head. "You can't..." My movement were still lagged.

"Shhh." He murmured, grabbing the edge of the fabric. "I'm pulling it up. I have to see, Mitch." His voice was soft and calm, it put me at ease, though I was still on edge. My head hurt, and my whole forearm throbbed.

Slowly, he moved the black fabric up to my elbow. He simply stared at the mess. Despite the shock I watched register on his face, his voice was still soft, as though he was talking to an easily startle deer. He got to his feet and tugged at me gently, movinc me towards the bathroom room down the hall. We got there without seeing someone else.

He shut the door and instructed me to sit on the edge on the bathtub. He walked over and stood with his knees on either side of mine. His hands moved under my hem and then begins to pull it up. Over my head into a heap on the floor. I was tensed as he did this, my whole body awaiting some terrible "game". But there was none. Then, when he had his back turned, I found the strength to do something I didn't even known I was planning on doing.

I stood up. I didn't know why, but I did. I looked at my reflection, trying to block out the visible edges of the scar on my right shoulder, the one Wednesday had given me on my 'initiation'. My eyes shot straight to my neck and chest. My neck was covered in blood as was my chest, my Dead Mau5 tattoo almost invisible. I looked almost as though I bathed in it.

"Come on, sit back down." He coaxed, getting me to comply. His began to wipe the blood off my arm, swiping the cloth carefully around the laceration. Soon, I could see the extent of what I had done to my arm. Thankfully, he made no mention of my other cuts.

"God, Mitch. This is an ugly mess. Would you tell me why?" Gentle words. This is the only reason I answered.

"The pain, the memories, the thoughts, it all gets so great. This helps. It makes everything fade away. This time, the voice was so loud, I didn't even know how deep I cut." I spoke, my voice raspy. Suddenly, I began to sway. He caught me and then looked at my face, lovely blue eyes flicking back and forth over her face.

"You need food. Sugar, preferably. And water." He had me move to lean against the bathroom wall as he disappeared to ransack my kitchen. He returned, arms full of various items, including a water bottle. He set everything down and shoved it at me. "Drink. All of it." He ordered and I complied slowly.

After a while, he finally moved on to bandage my wound up.

He had me hold my arm out as he wrapped it tight in the white gauze.

"Don't tell anyone. Please!" I pleaded to him as he finally moved to look at my other wrist. "It helps. It blocks out the voice. When I stop talking after I cut, I finally hear nothing. It's my only escape. Please, don't take it away from me!"

"I won't tell, under the condition that this never happens again. If I even come in to find you covered in blood, or a cut this deep, I will tell." I could see the battle he fought in his head over this. No doubt, he knew that it was a stupid promise, but I doubted he cared. Why?

I nodded to him and he then had me go back to my bed. "Rest up." He whispered to me as we both climbed into my bed. He leaned against the wall behind my bed and something allowed me to get my body to lay against him.

I closed my eyes, my mind silent. But it didn't last long.

Just as I was fading to sleep, I heard that all to familiar mocking words.

I'm back, you fucking Bitch.

~°~
Yay! Update. Let's just say that one of the beloved readers of this book had been bugging me non stop.(*looks across the bedroom as I die of heat, then at the main light*) So I updated it. :)

I am just going to say it right now: I will probably be always be sad when I write chapters. Lol.

Please, will you guys tell me your thoughts? And I would love to here chapter fluff(and other ideas, like more sadness) ideas that you guys want to see. So tell me?

Oh, and stay sexy
-Scomiche❤🍓❤