A Kiss on the Wrist

Our Scars Remind Us {4}

Author's Note sieben:
I don't own the songs! (duh)
Dedicated to @readingreaders for her wonderful comment, I really appreciate it :DSong of the Chapter is "Scars" by Papa Roach (it's in the media section)

+btw... you will meet Miss Jetta Ramsey in this chapter (she becomes a very involved character! so basically... you'll either love her or hate her... but her role is very significant...)

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Chapter 4: Our Scars Remind Us

|| c h a n n i n g ||

Once I got in sight of my familiar two-story home, I hopped off my skateboard and hesitantly approached the front porch. Relief swept through my veins as I could see that Jeff's beat up truck that was usually parked across the street was gone. It's rare for Jeff to leave the house these days since he has no job, he just bums around all day; so anytime he's gone I make sure to take advantage of it. I rushed in the front door, I had no idea when he was supposed to be back, and I wanted to play some music. I couldn't risk doing it while he was home, because he hated it, and I was constantly afraid he'd smash my instruments into smithereens. I always made sure I hid them in the back of my closet, I coulnd't risk leaving them out where he could destroy them.

I slammed the front door shut, then decided to turn around and lock it. I prayed that he'd forgotten his key and wouldn't be able to get back inside the house, because I sure as hell wouldn't be letting him in. He could sleep on the porch for all I cared. I dashed up the stairs and made my way to the tiny room at the end of the hall. My room was nothing special, just a few band posters, and nick knacks scattered throughout. I grabbed my beat up lap top and positioned it on my desk, then headed into the depths of my closet to dig out my guitar. I also had my keyboard hidden back there, but no drums. It pissed me off because there's no way I could fit my drum set in here, so Jetta allows me to stash it in her basement for now. It's been about a month since I've been able to play them.

Gripping my guitar tightly, I examined it's tattered appearance; it was old and had a few scars of it's own, but it was my baby and I loved it. I hopped onto my bed and leaned forward to hit the record button on my laptop. For the past three months, I'd been recording myself and posting the videos on YouTube. I hadn't been getting too many hits though, because I refuse to show my face, but I didn't really care about that, I uploaded the videos for myself, and didn't care who did or didn't see them.  After taking a moment to position the camera so that all that was showing was my mouth and below, I crawled back onto my bed, positioning my guitar comfotably on my lap. I began strumming the first few chords to the song that I'd been working on for the past few nights. I'd started writing it months ago, and only recently found the inspiration to finish it:

"I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
And my scars remind me that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel

Drunk and I'm feeling down
And I just wanna be alone
I'm pissed cause you came around
Why don't you just go home
Cause you channel all your pain
And I can't help you fix yourself
You're making me insane
All I can say is

I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
And our scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel

I tried to help you once
Against my own advice
I saw you going down
But you never realized
That you're drowning in the water
So I offered you my hand
Compassion's in my nature
Tonight is our last stand