Civil War {Peterick}

Chapter Two

TRIGGER WARNING

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Pete's POV

When I drink I usually remember everything except for when I'm drunk and high together, then I never remember a thing. Thankfully last night I was only drunk. I remember clearly what happened.

I kissed Patrick. That's all I could think of. I didn't sleep good either and it's Monday morning which means, school. Lucky me I don't get hangovers anymore, I've drank that much. I need to start cutting back, or maybe just cutting.

You see I don't know what's wrong with me. I do so much stupid shit, I do terrible in school, my parents beat me and they don't even want me. I'm pretty sure I'm a burden to everyone around me. I don't even know how I'm popular let alone the captain of the soccer team.

I got out of my bed this morning to get ready for school but my dad stopped me. He grabbed my right hand and and slapped the left side of my face hard. He then whacked my left arm and punched my in the stomach knockibg tha air out of my lungs somehow.

I needed to take a shower before school and make sure I cover up all the marks my dad leaves on my skin. I need to wear hoodies all day to cover my bruised and cut arms.

If Patrick remembers what happened last night he'll probably never talk to me again. If anyone finds out I'll get bullied. Why do I have to be a worthless piece of shit.

I feel so dead inside. I need to quit soccer, it's stupid. I only started playing because my dad wanted me to, but then he started to drink heavily and abuse me. This had been going on for ten years now, the sad thing is no one knows.

My mom died when I was three so I have no one to protect me now. But It's okay I'm a tough cookie, I never cry. But I do cut. Which is pathetic and a cry for attention blah blah blah heard it all before. The only reason I do it is to know I'm alive because it doesn't feel that way.

I don't feel anything not when my dad hits me, not when I'm high. I just feel numb. But when the blade tears my skin and the red liquid seeps out, that is how I know I'm still living.

I don't want to live, but I always tell myself that there are kids out there who have it way worse off than me and that if I die I'm not sure how Patrick will hold up.

I love Patrick, but only as a friend I think. After that kiss I have myself confused. I'm pretty sure he enjoyed it because he kissed back. But then again he could have been drunk off his mind and not know what he was doing.

My mind goes all over the place and I can't control it. One minute I'm thinking positively and then the next minute I'm rethinking my whole existence. And most of this occurs on a Monday morning in the shower after I've had my morning beating, skipped breakfast and pulled a blade along my wrists and theighs.

When I get out of the shower I put on black skinny jeans and a black hoodie. I pull on my shoes, grab my backpack and leave the house, trying not to make any noise to anger my father in some way.

I always anger him, mainly just for living longer than my mom. Aparently I gave her cancer. Which is false because she got cancer after I was born. But of course my dad blames it on me and I just take it.

On my way to school I listen to music to distract myself from well, myself. I hate my mind, it plays tricks on me and well technically I play tricks on myself. So basically I hurt myself more than anyone else does.

Of course I got to school late because of that beating I had earlier and the extra long shower. I grab my books fot science and head to class.

As I walk in there's no teacher so I just take my place at the back next to Patrick. No one else seems to notice and I pretty much scared Patrick, enough that he nearly fell off of his chair.

He won't tell the teacher I was late anyways, he's not that one person that tells on everyone. He's the kind of guy you can trust to always have your back.

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Bye hoes!!