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imforbidden

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I look in to the blue icy eyes and i feel like time has stopped. The pain inside me was gone, I feel my heart beating quickly, and my legs feel heavy.

"Hello? Are you ok?" A voice snapped me back in to the real world,

"Is it ok to say jesus fucking christ?" i wince as i remember the pain, he laughs, his voice light and so beautiful.

"Yea it is, umm do you need a hand? I can walk you home, i mean not like a boyfriend, i mean urr for protection" He says quickly, this time i laugh and take his hand,

so  smooth, his eyes are heaven, i want him to wrap his arms around me,i want to feel his heartbeat, i want to run my hand through his lush copper hair, i want to taste his sweet kiss... i want to know everything about him

We walk slowly across the park, his arm holding me up slightly and every step i take hurts my stomach, like a thousand knives stabbing me at once. I try to hide my pain by looking downwards. I can feel his gaze upon me, scanning me for emotion, trying to get an idea of who i am.

We reach my house and i try to find my keys.

"Did they steal your keys?" he asks, i nod,

"no they're here" I pull out my keys and unlock the door. "umm thanks for walking me home" he smiles, his whole face glows and he looks like an angel.

"it's not a problem." He looks at me awkwardly, "Umm i'll catch you later then?" i nod and smile, he doesn't return the smile this time and walks off down the empty road. His copper hair glistening in the setting sunlight.

I try to walk upstairs as quietly as possible, trying not to let my dad know i'm home. I sneak in to my room and lock the door. My room isn't brilliant, but it's me.

White walls with a few posters on the wall, a bed which i describe as a large single but a small double. Black sheets of course. My desk with a computer and shit loads of books all piled up in the corner. A lot of cds spilled all over the desk and an empty cup which is usually full of coffee. My window is hangs over my bed with drapes hanging down gracefully, the light flooding in to the room giving it an orange look. Finally, next to my bed and photograph of me and my mother.

She's gone, don't dwell on the past, it's not your fault she's gone. Is it though? If i didn't leave the house she might still be alive. But what would you have done if you were there? stop them? Take on all of them single handed? No i didn't think so.

I shake my head and head towards the en suite next to my desk. It's fairly small, but it's useful for when dad is in the bathroom for a million years. I look in to the mirror and see myself. Blue eyes, long wavy purple hair that appears red in the sunlight. Fairly slim, curvacious though, and my bust is perfect for my figure..not too big not too small.

I'm not pretty though. Why would anyone want to love me? A  16 year old with paranoia problems and depression. I take my shirt off and look at my body. Scars penetrating my skin, all red and raw. All at the top of my arms and some on my chest. My body is a canvas and my blade is my tool. My blood, crimson, is the paint i what i use to create my master piece. I turn on the shower and start to cry.

Why are you doing this? You know you don't want to. You hate your scars, you hate hiding all the time. Why do you continue? I know i don't want to...but it helps, in my blood are my thoughts and emotions...they flood out as soon i do it..i love my scars, i think it's art..tatoos that can't be removed by surgery. people don't see it my way.

I pick up the blade and step in to the shower and let my thoughts wash away.