Pushing the front door open, I ignored my little brother calling my name from his perch on the couch watching cartoon. My hands cupped under my chin collecting the blood gushing down from my throbbing nose I took the stairs two at a time up to the bathroom at the end of the short hall.
Closing and locking the door behind me I braced my hands on either side of the grubby porcelain sink, as I stared with bruised eyes into the cracked mirror, letting the red, goopy substance pour from my nostrils and into the basin of the sink.
“Michael!” my little brother Mason shouted banging on the door, “Are you okay?”
“Go away!” I sobbed, looking around for a towel Mom didn’t care too much about to stop the bleeding.
“Michael let me in!” Mason demanded, throwing himself against the door.
Ignoring him, I gave up on finding a towel, instead unrolling a snowball sized amount of toilet paper and pressing it to my face, wincing as the cheap tissue paper thin material made contact with my aching nose. Crying out softy, I tried to apply pressure to the affected area as I surveyed the horrific mess I’d made of the floor, counter and sinks.
“Michael, come on!” Mason called out, “Just let me in.”
“Leave me alone!” I roared.
His knocks stopped abruptly as he immediately fell silent. Feeling bad, but too preoccupied with the soggy toilet paper in my hands, I sunk down the wall to the floor.
I wasn’t surprised that I had gotten beaten up, to be perfectly frank I would have been more surprised if I hadn’t, however it didn’t hurt any less.
Feeling a tear threaten to fall I mentally cussed myself out for being a wimp, knowing full well that my Dad would shove his foot so far up my ass I’d cough up shoelaces if he were here to witness me sat huddled in the bathroom, bleeding and crying.
Clearing my throat, I whipped my eyes on the sleeves of my blood spattered Gotham High sweatshirt and rose to my feet. Disposing of the soiled toilet paper in the toilet, I replaced it and tilting my head back and pinching the bridge of my nose, cleaned up the mess I’d made.
Once I was finished, I was relieved to find out the bleeding and lessened significantly, diminished to a small drip spilling from my right nostril. Wadding up a small piece of toilet paper I plugged it up before standing back and looking at myself in the mirror.
My dirty blonde hair was wet with rain, hanging down in my face. My eyes which already had deep purple bags from lack of sleep underneath them were now circled by the green freshly forming bruises. The jeans I had just gotten to start out the school year were ripped in both knees, and the neck of my Sex Pistols t-shirt was stretched out, revealing my collar bones which poked out disgustingly, emphasizing my bony frame.
Sighing, I rummaged around under the sink until I found Mom’s makeup bag, and removing the small pale tube of concealer, dabbed it around my eyes, and on the tip of my nose which was beginning to bruise. Stepping back I looked at my reflection again. Realizing that the concealer looked positively idiotic I tried to cover it with the weird powdery stuff in the bottom of the bag, however that made it somehow worse.
Giving up completely I washed my face, and removing the toilet paper from my nose, which had finally stopped bleeding completely, opened the bathroom door. Not paying attention to where I was going, I tripped over Mason, nearly falling, however I hastily reached out, steadying myself on the door jam.
“What the hell you idiot?” I snapped, stepping over him and walking to our shared room, ditching my bloody clothes and replacing them with pajamas since I had no intention of leaving the house.
