The Fault In Our Minds

Fault 14

Author's note: I should probably start putting trigger warnings.

I wake up early. Early as in four in the morning. I left the room; shutting the room door softly. The air was cool and felt better against my skin than it did in New York. Air is air but this air was golden full of healthiness. Makes me feel like I can perserve in life. I lean against the balcony.
"What are you doing up?" Stacey asks. I only stare at her for a few minutes and realized she was standing next to me.
"The real question is what are you doing up?"
"Feeding my addiction for cigarettes. I got them out of Josh's car. I don't think he smokes. They're probably his dad's."
"Oh," I say. "Can I have one?"
"Didn't know you smoked."
"I'd probably get cancer faster and die much quicker" I comment.
She questions, "Is your fault just wanting to die?"
"No. I'm not sure what my fault is. What's your fault?" She hands me the cigarette and puts the lighter to the top of it.
"You'll just have to interview me for now."
    Our eyes meet and we run down the   stairs, across the street to a still open coffee spot. I ask the manager if we could record something in here. Of course there was some attachments. Like them watching us. And having coffee with the manager. Stacey teased me as I tried to set up. She's lucky I want to hear her fault otherwise I wouldn't have done this.
"Are you ready to begin?"
"Yes" and she sips her coffee. Never in million years would I have thought about interviewing her. I start recording and as the camera rolls I actually want to laugh.
"What is your fault?"
"Shame. I shame everyone but more importantly I shame my parents."
Never thought I'd meet someone who shamed other people.
"Why do you shame your parents?" I ask but I already studied Stacey enough to know why.
"They're gay and it's just embarrassing to go to parent teacher conference with two guys. I don't hate them. But like parents disliking their child's sexuality I definitely don't like my parent's."
    Yet another fault I couldn't find questions for. These type of faults make mine seem like child's play. I have no fault. I shouldn't even be doing with.
"Was it always like this? How does this affect you? You can simply stop caring."
Stop giving advice, I yell in my head.
"It was always like this. Since I was kid. Before they was less open about to so I don't get bullied. Everything affects me. Once I bring friends over or they see me at the supermarket with them. I can feel them shaming me.... it makes me shame my parents."
     This is worse than any fault I can ever require. All I am is whining brat who thinks they got it hard. I will never have or gain problems like this. I just need to suck it up and stop crying over every little thing.
"I'm sorry I have to cut this short."
    I don't let her respond. I immediately turn off the camera and pack up quickly. I pat the manager on the shoulder to represent see you tomorrow. I run. I run back to my room and hide under my covers. Josh is up at the time but he's only laying in bed. My skin is smothering me. I wish I could rip it off.
"Josh."
"Yes" he answers.
"Can you give me the keys to the car? I left something in the trunk." He throw the keys at me. I dig deep into my small bag with semi work like clothes. I find the metal heart jewelry box and sink into the passenger seat. I look for an unnamed one. I take the bag up with me.
"Are you okay?" Josh's ask once I'm back inside.
"Perfect," I answer. Imperfect.

I shut the bathroom door and sink to the floor. I hold my head in my knees. I think I might throw up. When I don't I did in my bag. I pull the rectangle blade out. I wonder what I'll name this one.
    I roll up my knee high leggings up to my thighs. My left one was healing beautifully so I would harm that. The right on however was sparkling without a single cut. Sorry things have to change.
    I find words for this blade. Ihad already used so much. I name this one worthless. Crimson red flows down both sides of my thigh and touch the cold floor at the same time. It grows into a puddle. There's three small ones on each side. The blood flowing was a train and the passengers we're carrying out my mental pain.
   The room is silent. The air is still Nothing but worthless me. It's cold,
Smooth, sharp, uncontrolled. I can't control it. I could but I lost control. I am the killer. If I ever came back to reality I'd wonder how these scars came to be. I have no morality. I can cut through diamonds as hard as my skin.
"Ryan I know what you're doing in there. Please come out. Tell me what's wrong?"
Poor Josh.
"Everything is wrong" I answer and put worthless down. "I can't deal with life."
"It's not like you have to do it alone. You have friends and family."
I consider myself alone without on friends.
"I don't want you to worry my life is ending in a hurry. I'll be fine and happy, death is what I wished for and soon it will be."
"You can't tell someone that and expect them not to worry. No hates you that much," he practical yells. I get up to sit in the tub. The door opens as I close the curtains. It rips open and I sit with my head in my knees. "Get up. Now."
    I step out the tub. Josh puts the toilet seat down. I sit on the soft cushion. Josh only puts a bandaid on them. No rubbing alcohol (thankfull). He rest his head on lap.
"You make me feel worthless when you mutilate yourself."
"That's why you have to stop feeling for me."
"Never" he responds.
    Josh slips his hand under my knees, rests on my back, and picks me up. I wrap my arms around his neck willingly. I put at his caring reaction but blossom because of his warm touch. Josh cuts paper as soft as me.
"You're an idiot."
"I'm an artist of self destruction. I doodle in shades of crimson." Josh makes a face. He disapproves. "I don't sell. My art is for me and only me."
"I hate you" he comments.
"Tell me another lie," I whisper.
"I hate you."