"You'll do anything to escape the habit of living...
until the escape becomes the habit..."

It all started in seventh grade when I caught my father banging the seventeen-year-old neighbor girl I looked up to as a role model. A series of events before and after that occurence left me in the hospital for attempted suicide by slitting my wrists with a pair of dull children's scissors.

I cut my wrists for a year after that until my mother sent me to a rehab facility. I was thirteen.

I came out refreshed, with only the scars as the reminder. But, a couple of months later, my mother informed me I would not be attending our local high school. Instead, I would attend a bording school where I could escape the drama my family life had become. Her and I both knew it was for the best, though I still left with resentment. Yet, weeks into my freshman year away from home, I came to love my new habitat. It was everything my home life wasn't. Well, until I started running into familiar faces. Anthony, for one. Bailey another.

I'd been good since then and I hadn't thought once about slitting my wrists. Until tonight.

It started this morning when I woke up in the arms of (but of course) Jack. Contrary to popular belief, we have not had sex. He simply fills a void I only recently realized I had. He spends the night quite frequently, and we occasionally kiss. We've started a pattern. Though our pattern is quite sinful.

He's "talking" to Serena. By that I mean not techincally dating because she is working her way into another man's heart, but they flirt in that unrespectable I-want-you banter. More than I do. He also, above all, has a girlfriend in the school slut. Irony's a bitch.

As he was leaving my dorm, his top shirt slung over his shoulder, he turned around at the door and kissed my cheek. It was a sign of affection I wished he hadn't have shown. Nonetheless, I smiled up at him and shut the door as he walked away. Nearly seconds later, the door flung open and I smirked.

"Forget something?" I asked, my back turned.
"Fucking hell, Des, what was Jack doing in your Dorm looking like he just screwed a girl!?"

Anthony. What else? I stood up, shocked, and tried to act like it was nothing. We were simply friends, with benefits, much like Anthony and I. That's what I told him, but of course, he didn't take to that all too well.

"You have no fucking respect for me." he yelled, his hands balled.
"Why the HELL would I respect you?"

Now this is where I become a whore. I spent the night in one boy's arms (we still didn't have sex) and I found myself, an hour later, in the arms of another. He wrapped his arms around my naked front and I felt dirty. Like Jenna Jameson or something.

Unfortunately, that's not the bad part.

"I think I love you, Desi."

I turned around to look at him, so utterly appalled it should have been illegal. That's when I realized it. In the early afternoon's sunshine, the rays coming in from my side window, his eyes sparkled a dark brown and his pupils where the size of the tip of a needle. It suddenly it him.

He was high.

I pushed him out of my bed like he was light as a pillow and he fell with a thud. I yelled at him, slapped him across the face a couple of times and told him to get out, that I never wanted to see him again. Though part of me thinking this was a sick joke Matt concoted. My heart, however, sang to the tune of "Drunken minds speak sober thoughts."

As soon as he came, he too, was gone. I fell asleep minutes after I heard the door slam shut, sucked into a world of happiness that awaited me in my dreams. When I woke up, around 6:30, I got a call from Ryan's mother. A call I could have lived without.

"He's in the hospital, Desiree. Three gunshot wounds to the chest."

Her words were slurred, whether literally or in my barely comprehending mind, I do not know. Though I broke down in tears and heard her utter simple words.

"Don't leave school though, dear. The doctor's say it's fifty-fifty and if he dies, I don't want you to have to drive back to school in the condition you will be in."

Selfless. Lifeless. Cruel. Fucking. Cunt-ass. Bitch.
That's what I thought as I slammed the phone against the wall, hoping it'd disconnect, or if luck have it, break her face in two.

I debated for the next two hours whether or not I should go, despite his mother's advice. It was almost nine when I realized I hadn't eaten all day and should have something -- if even a glass of water -- before I would ultimately pack my bags and leave.

After a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I decided coffee would be a good idea for the long drive ahead of me. I pulled out the container of coffee grains and I noticed it was a new one. Instead of the plastic cylinder holding the ungrinded beans, I found a metal can containing already grained. I ignored the subtle sign I'd only later actually think of as a real sign and slipped my hand in to scoop some out. As I pulled it out in a rushed and frantic surge, I slit my wrists on the edge.

That's when euphoria overcame me.

I ran to the bathroom with a kitchen steak knife and horizontally cut two individual lines on both my left and right. Now, I sit in my room, nowhere close to where I should be with Ryan, relinquising in the last minutes of my Addernol high, bandages wrapped around my wrists.

Don't you wish I was making this up?
Fucking hell.

Labels: Anthony, Jack, Matt, Ryan, Serena