Chapter Text
I'm walking out of my dad's office. I feel like shit. All I wanted was to learn how to play the guitar to impress this girl from school who I've been messaging online. But what I got was yelling, and being told I'm a talentless musician.
I'm so sick of this.
‘ I'm sick of being the smart brother, I mean yeah, it's great when I get to correct people and make them feel less than. It always makes me feel better, it's hollow and doesn't last long, but it feels nice for a moment. But for once I want to be artistic, yeah you'll get praise for being smart, but people will also think you're rude and a smartass if you're not careful with what you say. I want to be appreciated for something I can do, like draw or play music. Why did Heavy get all the talent? ‘
I open my bedroom door and continue to search the Internet in hopes of finding someone who can actually teach me how to play the guitar. After another couple hours of pathetically strumming out of tune melodies I hear Heavy talking to his friends from school while playing his games.
“Hey what's up dudes! Hey let's play a round, I got dibs on damage dealer. Yeah! Mhm! Check it out dudes! Today was the first time ever that I picked up a guitar. It seems so damn easy. They say that you've gotta study rhythm, crap, I say just play it as you hear it. Nah, Dee isn't coming, he's been strumming that guitar all day, if I can play scream after only a couple minutes, then Dee must be shredding it like Eddie Van Halen ....”
I can't take it anymore. I can't stand listening to him brag about his talent, hearing his expectations of me become impossibly high. I shut my window and message the girl from school that I can't play the guitar.
I flop on my bed and start to sob into my pillow.
‘I feel so stupid. Why am I crying? This kind of thing has never affected me before. I don't get it. Why can't I get it? how am I supposed to understand anything if I can't understand myself?’
As more self deprecating thoughts flood my mind I start sobbing harder.
‘I just want all this to stop!’ I sink more into my pillows and tuck my head between my knees, I try to stop crying, I don't want anyone to hear me. They can't hear me. There's no way I'll let that happen. I lift my head from my pillow and take a deep breath. I look around my room, trying a 'grounding' I heard dad talk about. I decided to point out the things that are in arms reach. ‘ok. my phone, a pen, my nightstand, a glass of water, a blade, my headph- … wait.. a blade…’ A thought flashes through my head. A while ago in my psychology class we learned about different mental illnesses (depression, anxiety, PTSD, etc) and common ways they affected people. We went over things like alcohol and other drugs, but the teacher briefly mentioned types of self harm. Like engaging in risky behaviors or just hurting yourself on purpose. I could tell he felt uncomfortable talking about it, and I heard some kids whispering about attention seeking. I didn't understand why it stood out to me then, but looking at the dry skin around my fingernails that I pick at when I'm stressed… I realized pain has always sort of been my outlet. I take the blade in my fingers and just stare at it. It came with a window scraper mom got a while ago for a sticker on a motorcycle she was fixing up. She wasn't using it anymore so I took it, figured I'd find a use for it. Never thought I'd use it for this though. I sit up and place the blade in my dominant hand, for a moment I second guess myself, just a moment of hesitation, knowing this decision can never be reversed, but despite that, I take the blade to my wrist. Not directly over any big veins so as not to cause anything life threatening, after all, Im depressed, not suicidal.
The blade was fairly sharp, shiney, and pristine- only ever being used once. I drag it across, watching my skin tear, observing the white line turning red from blood. It was small, I was scared of what I was doing. But despite that It feels … good? I cut another line, and another, and another, pushing slightly harder as I become more comfortable, until I'm satisfied. My wrist burns, stinging pain radiating from the cuts on my wrist. I'm so aware of my arm, my skin, my heartbeat, I swear I can feel my blood pumping to my wounds. I sit there staring for a minute before the blood starts to drip down my arm and threatens my sage green bedsheets.
‘ shit, I forgot I would actually need to take care of this after I actually cut.’
I get up from my bed and listen to the hallway. It sounds like dad's making dinner, while I was cutting, Heavy started doing homework in the kitchen, and mom's still at the motor shop. I open the door, holding my wrist, and I go into the bathroom. I take a quick sigh of relief, thankful that no one saw me. That relief is quickly interrupted by a drop of blood hitting the floor and I remember why I'm here.
First I go into the cabinet and l grab a washcloth and run it under warm water. I place it on my wrist and apply pressure to stop most of the bleeding, the heat and pressure makes the cuts sting even more. But after a few minutes the bleeding is pretty much done, I wipe the drop of blood from before and I put down the cloth and go back into the cabinet and grab our large first aid kit.
I grab gauze, bandage wrap (the kind that clings to itself) and antiseptic gel. I put the stuff on the bathroom counter, put down the toilet lid and sit down. I take the antiseptic and put it on the cuts, making sure I don't touch the nozzle of the tube to my skin. Then I take a bit of gauze and place it around my wrist, I hold it in place with my knee while I struggle with the wrap. Eventually I get it and wrap it over the gauze, wrapping it tightly to keep it all in place but keeping it just loose enough to be comfortable.
I put the gauze, bandages and antiseptic gel back in the first aid kit and put it all back in the cabinet. I grab the bloody cloth to place in my own laundry so nobody else sees it.
I listen by the door, making sure no one is by the door or walking by. I quietly exit the bathroom and back into my room. I close my door and take another sig of relief, though I can actually stay relieved this time. Dad's probably almost done with dinner, and I hear mom coming back inside. Before I plop back down on my bed I grab a hoodie from my closet and put it on. It's one that Chive gave me in middle school. It's baggy, even on him, so it's always drowning me in the worn out fabric. Despite being washed many times, the faint smells of cigarettes and whiskey still remain. I've grown to find it oddly comforting.
Middle school was when I came out as trans, and began to face harassment and became depressed and anxious. Out of everyone, somehow I feel chive has always understood what I needed most, it's never been direct but he's always been there for me. The hoodie always made me feel more masculine, even though there was nothing spectacular about it.
I can hear Heavy rush up the stairs and turn on his game before dinner. ‘God he's obsessed with that crap.’ about 10 minutes goes by before dad calls us down.
“Kids! Dinner time!” I hear dad yell from the kitchen. I get up and put my phone in my pocket. As I'm walking downstairs, I prepare my responses to any questions about the hoodie. No doubt dad will notice. I haven't worn it since the end of middle school. It used to be a silent way to let people know I was struggling, and of course right now I AM struggling, but I don't want them to know this time.
‘its just comfortable’ I prepared myself, and walking downstairs I realized that mom turned on the AC -Probably complaining that the stove from Dad's cooking made the kitchen feel too warm- which normally would be irritating, now works in my favor. When I walk into the dining room dad is setting down bowls, he made some kind of soup I guess. He puts out a fifth bowl at the end of the table, I guess uncle Chive is supposed to be joining us. I wonder what kind of old ladies he'll tell us he met today. I sit at the table and wait, mom is already at the table and I don't think heavy heard dad though his game.
“Where's heavy?” dad asks.
“How should I know? Probably playing games or something. Didn't hear you.” I shrug
“Lose the attitude, smartass” mom remarks as she sits across from me. I guess she must've had a rough day at work, but I don't have the energy to feel any sympathy, and I roll my eyes.
“Sooorrrry” admittedly, I was being a little rude, but I was just returning her attitude around back at her.
“Oh, my bad, I didn't realize you wanted to get smacked upside the head!” mom glares at me. I scoff, I can tell moms about to yell again but we're interrupted by dad putting a pot of steaming soup in the middle of the table which breaks the tension.
“This looks different than the soup you usually make.” mom remarks.
“I wanted to try a new recipe I found last week. It's pho. A Vietnamese soup dish consisting of broth, rice noodles, herbs, and meat." dad responded to moms remark
“Ooh sounds tasty!” mom looks around. I cover my ears in anticipation.
“HEAVY WHERE ARE YOU? GET DOWN HERE DAMMIT!”
I hear Heavy rush down the stairs, along with the sound of an opening window. Chive must be here too. Heavy sits down in the chair beside me. Out of the corner of my eye I see uncle Chive pop his head in the kitchen.
“Hey hey dudes, what's up? Man, you wouldn't believe the old ladies that walk these streets, I just couldn't pass ‘em by." I swear I've heard him say that exact sentence at least a hundred times by now. Usually it comes after being incredibly late for whatever mom and dad have planned, but he's never late when he's invited for dinner. I guess food is the way to a man's heart… at least Chives.
Once we were all sat down, dad scooped us all a healthy serving. Mom and Heavy are the first to dig in. gotta admit, it was good. I'm not picky, though I didn't have much of an appetite. I try not to move around too much, my wrist still hurts like hell. Anytime I move my arm, the bandages rub against the cuts. I hide my grimaces of pain the best I can. Dad keeps glancing over at me, it makes me nervous.
'does he know somehow? No that's not possible... right?' I brush it off to be because I haven't worn this hoodie in a while. It's black, though it's more faded to a dark grayish color. It has the name of some old band on it. it's faded so it's hard to tell. I think Chive painted it himself, he told me a story about it but I didn't care so I wasn't really listening when he told me. I think it says "we're the monsters on stage" or something like that. I assume it's probably an old band from when he was a teenager that wasn't popular enough to have merch to buy. Whatever it was, it doesn't stops Dad's glances from being any less anxiety inducing.
Eventually everyone started talking about their day. Mom got annoyed at a dumb entitled client at the shop who was complaining they took too long to fix his bike and demanded a discount. Heavy failed a test, no surprise there. Dad had a few students in the morning though he doesn't talk about them much. Confidentiality and all that I guess. It's funny, he has awards from his students that praise him for being so good at teaching them how to play music, but when it comes to his own child he can't even get through a single lesson. Dad asked about my day, I didn't say much. I still didn't feel like talking to him after his "lesson" earlier.
I finished my dinner and headed back to my room. We didn't have dumb rules where you had to stay at the table if you didn't want to, as long as you excuse yourself politely and rinse your plate in the sink. Usually we do like to have some family time, games or moves or whatnot, but I just can't be bothered right now. And I still especially don't wanna be around dad. I can feel his eyes burn into me as I walk upstairs to my room, and the thought comes back to me.
'Does he somehow know what I did? Or is he still judging me for being a talentless musician and an embarrassment to him' I close my door and plop onto my bed, legs dangling off the side. I raise my arm and roll down my sleeve, small trades of blood seeping through the gauze.
‘ Damn, I know it would hurt, but not this much.’ I turn to my nightstand and grab some painkillers.
‘These should help.’ I take two and stare at my ceiling and sigh.
‘I don't know how to feel, I mean it worked, I feel better, but… wait…I… feel better? I feel better!’ Well, kinda, the continuous pain is keeping my mind more calm I think, but now I just kinda feel… numb? that's not quite right … but for all intents and purposes It worked! The realization was euphoric in a way. I didn't just fuck up my arm for no reason, and that I might have actually found something that helps, the pain kept my brain distracted. Maybe it was the painkillers, maybe it was the dull ache in my wrist, I don't know. But my thoughts were nice now, well nicer. I didn't even care about the stupid guitar, like it sucks I cant play but oh well I guess. My eyelids start to feel heavy. Just as I was about to drift asleep I hear a notification on my laptop. It’s Lif, the girl from school. I've seen her a couple times in school, and we've waved at each other in the hallways, but we've never had a one on one conversation or hung out together. Heavy always messes up my plans.
L: ‘Hey :p’
D: hey
L: wanna meet in the graveyard 2nite?
My heart skips a beat. Meeting up? In person? Together? Just us? I try to keep my composure as I type my response.
D: Sure, why the graveyard tho?
L: I heard some people talking about graffitiing some gravestones, I wanna scare the hell out of em >:3
D: lol
D: When are they supposed to be there?
L: I heard them talking about going around 1-2.
D: Alright, wanna meet up around 12:30?
L: kay :D
D: see you then :)
L: see ya!
My heart flutters. I've had a crush on Lif since I saw her. She's so kind and strange, but in a really.. cute way.
Lif always wants to hangout in weird places, though I guess this time It’s for a good cause you could say. Scaring some losers so they don't graffiti over some poor soul's resting place. I look at the clock, 6:57. I should get a bit of sleep. I set my phone to go off at 12:00 but I put it on vibrate so I don't wake anyone else. I plug my phone in, set it beside my pillow, and drift to sleep.