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Chapter 5, Jenna (Onyx) Hill

"My god, is that what you do all your life?! Drink, yell, smoke, and abuse me?!" I spat the words hard at my parents's streched out bodies on the couch. They had a beer in one hand, the other either resting on their stomach, or behind their head. I grined my teeth as they stared blankly at me. "You guys are fucking robots! No emotion what so ever." I waited words. Any. Either 'go do what you do' or even 'get out the way'. It was obvious that neither was going to answer, so I answered for them. "Fuck you!" I spit the words out, and stalked away. But I swired around on my back heel one last time, spit in their direction furiously, and moved on.

I walked stomping my feet hard, and turning sharply at corners.

I reached my destination about 5 minutes later; the up-stairs bathroom. I closed and locked the door, and then turned around to look at the bi-colored bathroom. It was yellow and purple, showwing hints here and there of gray and blue shades. I speed walked around the bathroom, gaining supplies like cotton; rubbing alcohol; some tissues; and some toilet paper. I was missing something, the most important and needed thing on the list- a balde.

I looked through everything- cabinets; drawers; even the classic yet retarded look-under-things bit. I was about to give up and look for one in the bathroom in my room, but a small glint got my attention. It came from the bathtub. A smile creapped its' way to my lips when my skin felt the blade's cool metal.

It wasn't like the kind that you use to. It was like the tip of knife, cut into a small square. It was silver, with a little, 'Mosccoe Indistries' stamp fading on one side. It was sharp, and overwhelming when I held it. It always made my heart race, to cut myself, but I can't get by life without it. 'Physical pain is better than emotional pain' is always my moto. Just as I pressed, and was ready to glide it along my skin, a voice interrupted me, and I sighed.

"The emo kind. Great choice he made, by choosing you."

"I go better with self-injector." Some how, the deep voice didn't scare me. I turned around to find a man dressed in black sitting on the tub edge.

"Well, by me, I would just leave you there or kill you. But he wants you alive so we can either do this the good, easy way, or the bad hard way." The man looked great in the tight clothing - muscled, but not too much. he looked young, but the mask was covering most of his face.

I knew the way to cut yourself correctly- press, swipe slowly a few times, then press harder and swipe across your skin. It always worked. I was looking forward to extra pain, so I got rubbing alcohol to put on it later.

Pressing the blade, my eyes shut automatically from the practice. I've done this so much before, and it always made me feel better by focusing on the other pain. I sliced my forearm, moaning in the process. Blood dripped to the floor, slipping along my arm. I stared at it. Blood was a wonder to me- it was red, like fire, painful like fire, yet, I felt a soothing pressure when ever i saw it. How could it be? I never knew, and didn't exactly plan to find out.

Stinging pain radiated from my arm, snapping me from my blood-produced trance. I calmly walked over to the sink, making a trail of blood on the floor. I completely skipped the cotton, and just poured the alcohol over the wound and winced. But, I didn't wince at the pain. I winced at the memories they produced. The time my so-called mom got a cow whip and cut me with it in one violent thrash. When my dad hit me because I was exactly one minute late for lunch. When they left me with just an ounce of food and water to go on vacation. God, I wanted to kill them.

"I could do it for you." I gasped. " Oh, come on, chill. I won't hurt you. But, you were thinking about killing them, weren't you?" A tall man, dressed in black was sitting at the edge of the tub, staring at me, then my cut.

"Killing who?"

"I don't know... Mom, dad."

"How-how did you know?"

"You mumbled 'Mom... Dad... kill... NOW!' Violent mind, I might add."

"So... what do you want? Kill me? Kidnap me?"

"Well, kind of. I have to knock you out. Or, you can close your eyes and I don't have to."

'Nah, please do. Knock me out I mean. A blow to the head. I don't care. Actually helping me there."

"Ok...?" He made a confused look, then checked me out. "Ahh, Emo." He nodded.

"Hey- Self-Injective. I go with that term instead." He shrugged, and punched me once on the head. I weakly smiled, and he was hestitant with the second blow. I was out by the third, but not before I could say, or mumble actually, "Thank-you"