Tuesday(night), January 20th. -Chapter One-

*Everything in this story is real, and in reference to what happened in the most important week of my life. One in which everything changed. Thank you for reading, and more importantly, understanding.*

My mom went back to college today, and my sister was out god knows where. My brother was playing mindless video games and I myself was alone in my room. As always. But recently I picked up an old habit in that room.

Blood was filling in the small cut slashed into my right wrist. The red made me feel at home again.

I tried telling one person before, and they just didn’t understand why. Cutting is something I found comfort in, and not because I’m suicidal nor because I want to feel pain. Watching endless hours of t.v. while eating popcorn from the microwaveable bag every afternoon just doesn’t (no pun intended) cut it. And while your feeling everywhere at once, compacted into your own body with no way of escape, sometimes its nice to crack open a bit of your problems and let it bleed.

I was sitting pretzel legged on my blue chair, searching for something to clot the blood with. I ended up using an old pajama shirt and threw it into the ancient dresser. I’d throw it away later. I tugged on my blue undershirt, covering the nice scar that developed, and went downstairs to make me and my brother dinner. Dad would be home soon.

It was already pretty late, around eight o clock? Our family doesn’t really run on the right clocks. We’re everywhere everyday, and it’s a very rare occasion when were together in one room. My brother and me swallow down food in the living room, watching spongebob.

“So whatcha dooin?” Being eight, Peter needs company. He never gets as much as he should. I guess I’m to blame for that one.

“nothing.”

“Oh. Nothing?”

“Nope. Nothing.” I get up and walk to the kitchen to empty the plate, hardly touched. Then head upstairs, back up to my room.

“Can I come up then?”I roll my eyes. “Maybe later.” Then I shut my door, lock it, and crank up some music. I make a video for youtube, edit it, and then flop on to my bed. I hear my phone making impatient noises and groan. I blame my phone for all my problems. Because if we were to all the way back, it probably was the start of everything. I crawled over to the charger where my phone was located and saw two text messages.

Tristan: Hello :] Do you think you can call me tonight?

Impatience filled me. Annoyance. A subtle fear. And. Comfort? I jabbed the clear button and looked at the next text message.

Charlie: Hey you. Feeling better? Call me anytime you need me during the night. Ill be up. I Love you<3

Sadness came up with that message. More fear. And love. Lots of love.

I grabbed the remote, turned on Friends season seven, and let their voices put me to sleep. I’ll deal with everything tomorrow. Everything will be better tomorrow.