The Pain of We (ON HOLD)

14

I brushed through my now black hair and pulled on black skinny jeans and a gray v-neck. I pulled on my hoodie and headed downstairs.

I grabbed my backpack and walked out the door, my father's car already gone.

...
I walked into the school, walking down the hall to find you. You turned around and gaped when you saw me. I laughed, wrapping my arms around your neck. "Hey,"

You smiled. "Hey. You look..."

I twirled a piece of black hair between my fingers. "Do you like it?"

You nodded. "Oh! I have something for you."

You dropped your backpack off your shoulders and reached into one of the pockets. You pulled out a small, poorly wrapped box. You put your backpack back on and handed me the box. "Uh... I just it's not really your birthday, and it's still too early for Christmas..."

"What is it?" I asked, taking the box.

"Open it."

I unwrapped it, pulling gently at the paper. I looked up at you. "A phone?" I opened up the small box. A small black phone sat in the center. I took it out and slid it. It wasn't a smart phone.

"Yeah. Uh, I bought it for you. It's so you can call or text me whenever, instead of just on your home phone."

I put the phone back in the box and handed it to you. "I can't accept that. Who's paying for it, anyway?"

"I am." You pushed the box back to me. "No, keep it. You'll be safer with it. I promise it's not costing me that much. Besides, I already programed my number, and my mom's and my dad's. If you ever can't get a hold of me, call them. I think I put my house in there too."

I smiled. "Thank you. This is... this is the best present I've ever gotten."

"Really?"

I nodded. "I'll, uh... text you later, I guess." I smiled, laughing a little.

"Okay."

You kissed my cheek and walked off.

...
I put the phone to use right after school, texting you on the bus. It made the ride go by so much quicker.

I'll admit, slowly I was getting used to the typing, still making a few mistakes. I double checked each text before I sent them to you. I would not mess this up.

I hated having to say goodbye when I got home, but there were things I had to do before my father got home. So I tucked my phone-damn that felt good to say-and started to clean up, wiping down the surfaces.

I stood in front of the stove, making dinner, when the front door slammed shut. I took a deep breath with a beer can in my hand and emerged from the kitchen, handing my father a beer.

"What the hell did you do to your hair?!"

I tried to keep my head high. "I dyed it. Lots of people do it."

"You look like a slut. A fag."

I pursed my lips. "Well I'm sorry you feel that way. Jarsen likes it, and so do I."

"Jarsen's a fag too."

I nearly punched him, brought my fist to his jaw. Him the victim for a change. I almost did it. Instead I handed him his beer.

He took it from me and looked at the can in his hands. "What the fuck is this?!" He threw the can at me. "You know damn well I don't drink this shit!"

He reached for me and I ducked, running up the stairs. He was right on my toes. I ran into the bathroom, pushing all my weight against the door as his fists pounded it.

"Open up, slut!"

I locked it, stepping away from the pounding. I sat down in the tub, pulling my knees close to my chest as I listened to him punch the door and scream at me.

Something hard knocked against the tub and I reached into my pocket. I exhaled in relief and dialed your number.

"Hello?"

"Jarsen? It's Lark, please come get me."

"What? What's happening? Are you okay?"

I nodded, and sniffed. "I'm locked in the bathroom. He's right outside. Please come get me. Don't knock, just come right in."

"Okay, Lark, just stay right there. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Please hurry,"

I dropped the phone.

...
After I minute, I stood up, my dad's angry shouts yet to cease. I opened up my drawer and grabbed my blade. I drug it across my wrist a few times, satisfied with the blood.

I drew more and more, moving higher and higher up my arms. I crossed them, creating small red X's. I dropped the blade in the sink, my hand shaky.

I grabbed a towel and pressed it to my arm, the faded blue turning red. I started to cry, wishing I hadn't just done all that.

A door on the other side slammed and heavy footsteps ran up the stairs. I let out a breath.

"Who the hell-"

A lighter knocking. "Lark? It's me, open up."

I unlocked the door and slowly opened it, peeking out to see where my father was. You grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the bathroom and down the stairs. My father was knocked out outside of the bathroom.

"Did you do that?" I asked once we were in your car.

You nodded. "Self-defense. I highly doubt he'll press charges."

I nodded and leaned against the window, dozing off.

...
I was asleep by the time we made it to your house. You shook my shoulder slightly. "Lark, wake up, we're here."

I blinked and looked out the window at your house. "Why did you take me here?" I asked.

"I thought it would be best. I wasn't going to leave you there."

"Where?"

You smiled. "Lark, you're tired." You got up and opened my car door, pulling my hand until I was standing. You walked me inside and to your living room. We sat down on the couch where I curled into your body.

You grabbed my arm. "Lark," You ran your fingers softly over the cuts. "Why, Larkin,"

I pulled out of your grip. "I had to..."

"Lark,"

"Shh. Just sleep."

You sighed, but didn't argue anymore.

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