「breathe me」| Johnnyboy

t h e e n d .

-timeskip bc I'm lazy-

It'd been a few weeks since we did our homework together, but we'd been seeing each other a lot more. Talking in between classes, phone calls when my parents weren't home, and even a sleepover here and there. Were they still called that? Sleepovers. The term sounded a bit odd to me, but there wasn't another way to say it. So, sleepover was what I wanted to call them.

They were always at his house, though. My mom and dad hadn't came back from Vegas yet, though there was no telling when they would. Sometimes when they went on trips, they'd come home at two or three in the morning. They were always drunk out of their minds, and each time it happened my dad was always the one to come in and wake me up. Mom would slur some incoherent insults, but dad usually ended up taking the more violent approach.

For all I knew, if they came home and I had Ponyboy over, they'd hurt him somehow too. Even with not personally knowing him for too long, the thought made me gag. No way would I ever let anyone do him harm, at least not if I could help it. With these thoughts running through my head, I splashed a few handfuls of cold water over my face. I locked gazes with that of my reflection, and even though it'd been like this for weeks, I was still surprised to see no new marks on me. The times they were away were those that I felt somewhat comfortable in my own skin; of course, I wasn't actively speaking of self-esteem. That was something I was sure I'd always lack. I could look at myself for two seconds and list a hundred things wrong with what I saw.

Perhaps the feeling I was getting was a sense of safety. My homework always seemed to come out better, I could eat when I pleased, and I had a slightly lessened amount of troubled thoughts. I guess Ponyboy had been helping with the last, too. He distracted me when things got too bad. I'd fallen into a habit of calling him when my mentality got too complex, too dark. I wouldn't be able to do that when my parents got back, but for now it was one of those things that really kept me going.

I sat at the creaky desk that sat at the far side of my room, hands opening the journal slowly. I'd been writing almost every night, and since then I kept count of how many entries it included. Presently, it was at exactly twenty-five. I was about to make twenty-six.

Dear Diary,

Four weeks after starting this writing thing and I still feel girlie starting off with that every time. Will that stop me? Probably not.

Things are okay. They still haven't been home. I don't think I have to name anyone for you to know who I mean...

I've been spending a lot of time at Ponyboy's. He doesn't know everything. If I'm being honest, I've been lying to him a lot. He asks about them and I can't tell him too much or he might call them in. If I get sent away, I can't see him anymore. I don't know if I'd hold up good if that happened. I got through things before, but now that he's around so much losing him would hurt too bad.

I think he's getting suspicious about why I wear long sleeves too. There've probably been a lot of self-harmers around the school, but that's not what's going on and I hope he doesn't think that. He's always trying to get me to take my jackets off. Even when I'm wearing a sweater he asks if I want to borrow one of his short sleeves. I always tell him no and I think that makes him mad. I hope he doesn't ditch me for that or something.

It's just better for everyone if he doesn't know.

Mom's called a few times. She says she's checking in, but if I tell her I haven't finished something on the list she starts mumbling about how much of a useless brat I am. I think I'm going to try to avoid talking to her until they get back.