Having successfully arrived at school, and cleaned the blood from the side of my head, I'm sitting in Math, staring blankly at my teacher, Mr. Gould. He's looking at me expectantly. I think he might have asked me a question. I don't really pay attention in any of my classes. I usually just listen to music.

"Mr. Iero? I asked you a question." He says impatiently.
"Yes," I say, as though addressing a three-year-old. He goes a bit red, and breathes deeply. Must be having a bad day.
"When I ask you a question, you are to answer it," he says, a bit louder than before."What was the question?" I ask. A few kids around the room snicker at the look on Gould's face. "Detention, Mr. Iero. After school," he calls triumphantly. I shrug, and play my music once again. The lesson resumes like nothing happened, and all the rest of my classes continue in a similar fashion to this one.

At lunch I sit with Mikey and Ray. We talk about comics, Mikey's birthday, which is coming up soon, and then it's time to gather our books and part ways. Heading over to my locker, I put in the combination, and start to take out some of my books, when a shadow falls over me. I look to my left, and surprise, surprise, there's Gerard.

"Hey, Frankie, babe." He says seductively, fluttering his lashes. Behind me, his tall companion Bob laughs. Shit.
"Fuck off, Gerard." I mutter, picking up my bag, about to close my locker. Gerard stops the door with one of his slender-fingered hands, and smirks.
"I don't think so, Frankie. I think it's time to go back in the closet, don't you, Bob?" He says loudly, and my eyes widen in fear. Last time he shoved me in my locker, I was there for three hours. Gerard sees my reaction, and laughs.
"Definitely," he says. His fist pulls back, and connects with my cheek a moment later. Bob picks me up by the back of my shirt, and throws me in the locker, along with my bag. The door slams shut, and I can hear Gerard giggling as he locks it.
"Let me out!" I yell, banging my fist on the door.
"Later, Frankie baby!" He says, and I can hear retreating footsteps. I groan, and let my forehead collide with the door. It rattles the metal box, leaving a ringing in my ears that will remain there for another minute.

Despite my size, the fit inside the locker is a tight one. I squirm around for a minute, trying to get comfortable. There's a chance that I'll be in here for a while.

Why can't Gerard leave me alone? I wonder. What had I ever done to him? A hand reaches up to touch the bruise now forming on my cheek. This isn't exactly new. A lot of the wounds on my body were inflicted by Gerard. The others, though, were all thanks to me. Scars, deep purple and red cuts that decorate my arms, legs and stomach. If Gerard hurts and hates me so much, then maybe I should, too. If I take everything out on myself, then no one important has to get hurt.

I feel so alive when I cut. It's like a buzz of caffeine, the pain release, and crimson blood. It doesn't last very long, but in those moments, at least I can tell I'm here. I can feel something, aside from loneliness and fear. Something raw and untamed, that no one can control, but me.

Thinking about this, my hands start shaking. I feel dizzy, and lightheaded, my head is pounding. I haven't cut for about a week, and that's starting to take its toll. I reach into my bag, and pull out a razor I keep in there for emergencies.

The scarce light reflects off the metal, and I stare at it for a moment. How could something so simple both ruin and enrich someone's life? How can something as natural as a cut be so addicting? I ponder over these matters for a bit, the return to the task at hand. I push up the sleeve of my hoodie, and look for a patch of clean skin. I find one, near my elbow, on the outside of my arm. I inhale deeply, and slash through the flesh there. Gasping, I cut again, blood already running down my arm at a startling pace. Like a knife through butter, I cut. That one's for Gerard, I think. Next time he beats me, the scab will break, and blood will flow again. More pain for Gerard. I smile gently, and hold the metal to my skin once more.

Light floods the locker, as the door is thrown open