My Injuries, Your Injuries (Completed)

Chapter 4

Mikey and Ray turn around, obviously having heard the gasp or the mumble of 'oh my god'.

Even though he's seen it all, I quickly grab my shirt and put it on, buttoning it up and grabbing my jacket, "You weren't supposed to see that!"

"Let me see them," he demands, walking towards me. "Please?"

"No," I mutter, backing up and crossing my arms, "They're embarrassing and... no."

"It's important that you show me," he vaguely explains, trying to ease me into showing him all the imperfection my body has to offer.

"Why does it concern you?" I ask, narrowing my eyes into a glare.

"I'll tell you when you show me," he bargains, a slight pleading tone present in his voice.

"No. No, you don't know me, I don't know you. I can't just let a stranger see all the shit I've had to deal with. Just leave me alone." I grab my keys and phone and go straight for the door, glad that no calls for me to come back are being yelled.

*~*

The minute I get home, I slam my car door shut and semi-angrily walk up to the front door, my gait heavy with anger and frustration. How dare he demand that I show him my scars.

I ignore my parents' greeting and stomp my way up the wooden and slightly creaky stairs.

Upon entering my room, I slam my phone on my dresser top and begin stripping, throwing everything from my pockets onto my dresser.

After putting on my plaid bottoms, I sit on my bed and take deep breaths. Nothing good will come out of me being angry. I desperately pull at my own hair, wanting to just forget he ever asked and just fall asleep, even though it's only about six.

*~*

Midnight just struck and I'm wide awake. I'm now just staring at my arm and wondering if tonight will be a lucky night. No cuts, no burns, no anything.

One 'o clock. I'm still sitting and staring at my arms. For some reason I have this aching feeling to be able to see the cuts happen. I just want to know that it's real, that I'm not just imagining them happening on their own.

Just when I'm about to rip my gaze away from my pale underarms, one appears. A cut. My skin immediately starts to ooze the red liquid.

This cut is on my wrist. Vertical.

I know it means that whatever's happening, it's trying to kill me, or itself, or whatever. The only thing stopping me from running down stairs and screaming at my parents to wake is that more are forming, creating a word or two.

S... T... R... feeling weak... A... N... weaker... G... E... R.

Stranger.

I slump forwards and try not to close my eyes, but I really want to. The only thing I'm really aware of anymore is the blood trailing to the other side of my arm and falling to the floor.

My eyes are half lidded and I know that I need to get downstairs before I loose all consciousness.

I shakily get up and slowly walk to my door, reaching out before I can even touch the knob. After slowly and very weakly making it to the wooden door, I open it just enough to squeeze through.

After attempting to step down the first stair, I lose my balance and tumble down the steps, landing hard on the awaiting floor.

I barely hear my parents running around their room and through the doorway. "Frank?!" Mom shouts, rushing towards me.

"Hos... Hospi... tal," I say softly, weakly lifting up my arm.

Dad rushes over to me and picks me up. I know he's running to the car, but I can't see all the interior of our house zooming by, my eyes are half lidded and my vision is blurring.

The only thing I can do the whole way there is pray, asking that I live. I'm only seventeen, I can't die yet, I haven't lived.

"Frankie? Frank, are you awake?" Mom asks, pulling me from the backseat.

"Mm," I mumble, barely able to make the sound.

"Help! Help!" I hear Dad shouting as Mom, or Dad, I'm not sure, rushes towards the hospital.

As I feel my body getting settled on something, or someone, my vision goes black and I can't feel anything anymore.

*~*~*~*~*

Sorry it's so short. ;-; I only wanted this scene to be in it and I couldn't come up with a way to make it longer.

xoCrashFire