Cancer//adopted by my chemical romance

Chapter 32:

I hear the sound of light switch being flicked off, and hold my head against the door of my barricaded in room, listening to the sounds of footsteps, stopping by my door hesitantly, almost as I'd listening in, before begrudgingly slinking off into the further shadows of the shared house.

By the sounds of it, it was Ray, and after waiting patiently all night, I came to the conclusion that Frank has previously headed off to his own bed around an hour ago.

I sit down next to the door as I continually wait, trying my best to time at least twenty minutes before I put my plan into place, I can't get caught; it would ruin them if they caught me.

They've tried to speak to me, tried to get through to me, but I can't speak to them, I can't with the ever looking guilt hanging over me.

I just want to die, and having it drawn out in a slow, steady decline is what I deserve; I deserve to suffer.

I look down at my bare arms as I wait, noticing the heavy wounds plaguing both of them.

Their bad, and their obvious, and yet I don't care, nothing will matter soon, because in the end I really don't plan to live that much longer.

My hope of a better life is gone, everything that was making me slightly hopeful has slipped away from me. What's the point in living when the one person that you were finally starting to open up to and trust is gone. I know that he's going to want nothing to do with me now, and I can't face seeing his face when he tells me that news.

The chilled out band practises, the long movie nights; their gone and their new coming back.

I sigh, flipping my phone up to check the time 1.25am.

It's time.

I push away my pile of things holding the door in place, before opening the latch with a silent precision, keeping my footsteps airy and light as I push the door open.

I make sure that it doesn't creak, and ask I hold my breath as I take my first step onto the floorboards, grateful that the floor doesn't creak under my weight.

In the darkness of the room I walk slowly, careful not to bump into any objects in my unfamiliar surroundings. It wasn't like I hadn't been in this house before, but I didn't know it well enough to have memorised the exact placings of all of the furniture.

I let my feet take me and slip into the kitchen, eyes fixated on the knife holder.

I slink over to it, and my reach my hand onto the handle of the largest looking knife, it could do some serious damage, and I need it; I crave it.

I feel a deep shiver go down my spine as I pull it from the rack and take it into my grasp, the blade glinting from the reflection from the moonlight from the windows.

I debate taking it for a second, debate just placing it back and forgetting about it. Deep down I think that maybe, just maybe I can live without harming myself, live without the constant pain running through my body.

But I'm not going to get this opportunity again, and my blades are running dull, I need a backup plan.

So I'm that moment I check to see that I haven't disturbed the knife wrack or the kitchen surface, before quietly slinking back into my room, knife in hand.