Pretty Boy

In Heart Stopping Waves Of Hurt

Serge:

Heaving with the discomfort of how bad this day has been, I conflict my mind and try to rinse off any memory of my early collision. I knew meeting up with Hogan once again would feel quite indifferent. But, did I expect us to have a literal blow-up on our first day? No. Definitely not.

Last year, I managed to detain my feelings adjourned. Hell, I might've given hints, but it was never acknowledged as much as it is now. I didn't even presume that it would come back and hit me squarely in the face. So what is it now that I can't seem to do the same?

All I know is that I shouldn't have reacted so strongly to his accusations and should've at least tried to not make it so obvious. But damn, if my emotions didn't get the best of me and now, look at what happened.

I should even feel better now that I don't have to deal with him anymore, but I'm also pretty certain that he's right about the fact that I'm letting my misleading crush ruin any history I have with him. I have to admit, these feelings definitely made me a disconcerted asshole.
Fuck. I should probably go and apologize to him, but my self-conscious brain tells me not to. Maybe it's for the best. Maybe he'll find someone better to be his friend since it's obvious that I can't be that for him.

Leaving my fazed thoughts sail their vigilance away, I head straight for the shower and is welcomed with the uncovered view of a hauled sight.

Opening my phone, I click on the music section and press on the liked songs. I scroll for a while and run my finger through a list of pure favored choices and ended up playing September by Earth, Wind & Fire.

I take off my clothes while matching the bliss pounding through the rhythm, and step into the shower, grooming myself playfully with the beat.

It only took me a few minutes for me to finish and with the last chorus of the song coming to its sensation, I grab a towel and dry myself off.

Still flooded with the flow taking its dominance, I walk to the mirrored sink and grab a blade from my backpack. I lip-synch with the music as I cut horizontal slits within my wrist and feel the blade's instant sharpness deepening its wound under my skin.

It's definitely painful, and with the stir of torture beaming against my body, I couldn't help but bite my bottom lip and just take the hurt. Blood continues to run off from the domain of my veins and i am deprived of the sight of red commissions, reminding me of my condemn.

The ache of maiming myself isn't that unfamiliar anymore. With all the unpropitious events that keeps happening in my life, I couldn't blame my mind for craving hurt to resolve it. Even with its agonizing pain streaming into voids, the reward of its ideal consequence still takes the pain further more. Even in heart stopping waves of hurt, unknowing pleasure strikes when I go back to the fault of my conflictions.
I know it's fucked up of me to think this will help erase my wrecked interaction with Hogan, but I just can't think of any other way to deflect its hurt against myself. Even though my body is protesting with its ruins, my mind tells me I deserve every single pain that it will counter.

Wrapping a piece of cloth around my wrist to momentarily cover the wound, I take my backpack and clothes and head out of the bathroom.

I continue to dress myself and stay for about an hour in my room to check out my homeworks. After answering them, I grab my phone, close my room, and leave our house.

I take my bike out of our garage, and position myself on the seat, driving off to head straight to our local club.
Once I saw, the sign "High Ground NightClub," I stop on my tracks, park my bike near a pole and chain it to the sturdy pillar. I quickly my phone for the time, was pleased with the sight of "8:47" persisting in its icon. With lit-up designs glamouring its exterior facade, I begin setting myself once again before walking to its deeming entry.