Comfortably Numb (Kellic)

Chapter Nine

I'm getting close and I hate it. I'm falling into the simple mind-washing routine. He's giving me hope and I hate it. He's holding on to the slimy tendrils of my sanity and I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. But I'm quite fond of him. I hate that too. God, he's shoving himself into my life trying to pull me out of whatever fucked up mess I'm in and fuck I hate him for it.

I sat Indian style on the floor of my bedroom. The creamy colored carpet that has a few spots paler than others due to the bleaching charade I had when I bled all over it was coming loose from its stitchings. Likewise myself. Though a carpet can be replaced. Well, again, likewise myself. A little loose around the edges, areas that've been ruined by the things I do at night, and replaceable. I don't think it's healthy I can relate to a carpet. A doctor wouldn't recommend it. Then again, would a doctor recommend anything I do?

There was a soft knock on my door. I glanced up to see his familiar face peeping in. A face that brings on that addictive yet sickening feeling. One that haunts my dreams at night. The feeling that makes me want to rip out every fiber of my body and set it on fire.

"Hey." He slipped in, shutting the door behind him.

Mother was leaving to spend the night with her boyfriend so she contacted Vic to be my caretaker. I feel like a little child now. A corrupt child.

"I rented some movies." There was three discs in his hand: Where The Wild Things Are; The Grudge; and Insidious. One of these are not like the other.

"Get comfy and I'll put one in." Already he sounds like a protector rather a friend. Friend. I don't like the word.

I situated the pillows and comforter so that our backs were supported by the wall and we faced the television. He crawled on the bed and kicked his shoes off. We both pulled the sheet up, seeing as it's cold as shit. November is rolling around and the weather is showing it.

I'm not one to complain about it though. Fall and winter are my favorite. People don't usually ask why I'm wearing long sleeves and a hoodie during these months, whereas during the summer I look like a mad man. The interpretations wouldn't be wrong.

The beginning credits to The Grudge started to roll. I couldn't get into it. My thoughts wouldn't shut up long enough, drowning out the voices on the movie.

I've never understood the horror genre. Everything is so sickeningly obvious it hurts. The jump scares are practically aforementioned at fault of the suspenseful music and they're all the same.

"I know school is the last thing on your mind right now, but today is the last day of the week." Vic spoke up.

Ah, the hell hole specifically designed to push the limits of a teenager- also dubbed school. I've been dreading this. They gave me a week off to get myself together which I've been doing much the opposite of. You're right. Not the epitome of my concern

The point of it all- there really isn't one. The whole system is flawed. The student body is equally insane though judged differently based on who or what you are. I, on one had, was shunned for a mere sexual preference. Imagine what other hell some people go through. I wonder what Vic's high school experience was like.

"I don't want to go." The words sounded about as confident as I am in myself. Which isn't an awful lot for those oblivious.

People know about what happened, I'm sure of it. God knows how seeing as none of them were there. But rumors find a way. They always do. And when they're spread, that makes my life a living hell. The hallways become a battlefield and each kid has their own arsenal of insults. It's outstanding really how a whole school can direct their hatred one one single person for absolutely no reason whatsoever. I may be biased, but I've never done anything to them. Hell, I'm on their side. I hate myself just as much as the next guy.

"Yeah, I know." Again, that fucking twinge of pity in his voice makes me want to shoot myself if I didn't already.

"God Vic, stop caring so god damn much." I have a knack for saying things I shouldn't. Things that should've probably stayed in my mind but that's another reason why I'm labeled the fuck up I guess.

He whipped his head around with an expression of disbelief. Don't be so fucking surprised, jeez.

"I probably wouldn't have to if you weren't so intent to waste yourself. Why are you anyways?" Oh, I don't know. You'd think I would've found a reason to stay within my seventeen years of existence and believe me, I've tried and failed numerous times. Honestly, I don't see a point in living if there's not a valid reason.

"Like you'd understand." My voice held a hostile tone that could only be fueled by my growing hatred for the world and how it has treated me. Or how people pretend like they know. Wouldn't I like to pretend I didn't. I'd like to pretend I'm okay and not ready to paint the walls with my fucking brains.

I want nothing more than to be six feet under with stuffing where my brain once was and a still heart. I want to bleed out in my bathtub with letters to the lessening group of people that ever gave a shit about my life. Call me sadistic and I won't disappoint.

"I understand a hell of a lot more than you think." Really now?

"Like hell you do. People like you piss me off thinking you know how I feel. Thinking you can come in and hold my hand like that's gonna make everything okay." I feel like he's holding my hand trying to keep me on this ledge I call life. When all I want is to just let go.

Vic has intervened with enough. Maybe I would've consumed myself on the living room floor and been nothing more than a blood stain because lets face it, I fuck things up even in the afterlife.

"You can get better Kellin. I just don't think you want to."

How long did it take you to figure that one out?

"And what if I don't?" I said the last part out of spite. I don't, but he doesn't need to know that. He doesn't need to know how fucked up in the head I am because he'll try to save me.

His whole entirety changed once I had said that. His eyes held sadness and a frown was plastered to his face. I should feel bad, I should. But I don't. Perhaps I don't give a shit anymore because god knows the world doesn't.

"Promise me you'll at least try." So now I'm the one making promises. Like a good Mayday Parade song once said: a promise doesn't mean a thing anymore.

I don't want to try. I don't want to get better. I just want to die and is that too much to ask for? I guess so because I can't seem to find a way to. I'm stuck between a goddamn rock and a hard place. I can't take the world anymore but I don't entirely feel ready to leave and god do I want to.

I made a promise with my fingers crossed behind my back. Fingers that lie because I'm tired of this. I'm tired of playing around with fate. I'm tired of fucking losing and I'm not going to anymore. This is my game to play. Vic is the opponent, he's losing, and time is running out.

-----

Just thought I'd share something with you guys.

So, we've a sick ass music channel a few towns over from mine, and we happened to be going through it. I put headphones in when I'm writing, and mom jerked them out saying, "We've music."

Me: Yeah, so do I
Mom: Listen with me
Me: I need music when I've writers block..
Mom to Pa: Sam writes
   ( ...no shit Ma)
I've never read it, but I should
Me: Uhm no. It's not your type of books
Mom: I could be evil on the inside

She called me evil. Then preceeded to inform Pa that I've a fucked mental state. But apparently in a good way?

Bloody hell.