I fumble with the razor, and drop it. In a split second, my sleeve is pulled down, and the only trace of my previous activity is the droplets of blood on the locker floor.
I look up.

It's Mikey.

A mixture of fear and relief washes over me. If it had been anyone else, I would've been screwed. For a moment, I thought he didn't see, but his look of disbelief proves me wrong.
"Oh my God, Frank!" He grabs my arm, and pulls me out of the locker, and into a hug. Pain shoots up my arm, and I leap back with a cry.
"Shit, sorry!" He says quickly. His eyes are filling with tears. Crap.
"Don't cry, Mikey, it's okay," I say soothingly, embracing him.
"It's not okay, Frankie! Why would you do that to yourself? You're amazing, why would you want to hurt yourself like that?" He mumbles into my shoulder. I laugh without humour, and hold him at arms-length.
"Mikey, you've seen what happens to me, here and at home. It's just how I cope. And before you ask, I'm not going to stop. I've tried to before, and I can't. " I tell him, truthfully. There isn't really much point in lies, anymore. He frowns.
"Okay, but you're coming back to mine. You have to clean up, and we may as well skip the rest of the day." He says. I agree, and we walk out.

About twenty minutes later, we're at the door. Mikey pulls a key from under the doormat, and unlocks the house. Upon entering, I see that it's quite messy, but it's the good kind. It looks ... Lived-in. I'm lead through the place, and upstairs to a bathroom. Mikey pulls bandages and gauze from a cupboard, while I sit awkwardly on the closed toilet.
"Take off your hoodie," he says. Despite the situation, I still manage to take that the wrong way, and I giggle. Mikey rolls his eyes. I poke out my tongue at him, and take it off.
His eyes widen when he sees my arms. They're drenched in blood, and covered in scars.
"Oh, Frank..." He whispers, reaching out a hand to touch my arm, and trace one of the lines. I shiver, and he looks up from under his lashes.

I'm taken aback. He looks... Well, I guess sexy is the best way to put it. Glasses frame his eyes that are still a bit bloodshot from crying, and his strong jawline is set in a way that makes him look gorgeous. I've never thought about Mikes this way, and to be honest, I'm kind of surprised I haven't. Once you get past the shyness and awkward knees, he really is beautiful.

I blush when I realise that I've been staring at him for the past minute, and look down at my mangled arms. We both laugh awkwardly. The tension in the room is almost palpable, as he washes the blood off my limbs, and starts to bandage them.

He's done after about five minutes, and we stand.
"Hey, d'you want to stay here until school is officially over? You can go back home then, so your parents don't suspect anything." He asks kindly. He knows I'll do anything to get away from them.
"Yes!" I cry, almost too quickly. I blush again, and mumble, "I mean, yeah, sure." He laughs, and we leave the bathroom. Down the hall a few doors, stops, and opens one. We stand in the doorway.
"Well, this is my brother's room. He's a big art freak," he added. I look around the room, to find it covered in paper, pencils, canvas, and almost every other artsy thing I can think of. I walk inside, and look at one of the nearest drawings. It's amazing. It has a woman, pale as a ghost, lying in a coffin. Some words are scratched off to the side. 'So long and goodnight.' Overall, the picture is completely depressing, and I love it.
"Wow," I say. "These are awesome. I didn't know you had a brother," Mikey nods, and we leave the dark room, closing the door softly behind us.

The next room down turns out to be Mikey's. It has a large bed, a desk, a TV, and literally boxes and boxes of comics. I laugh, and flop onto the bed. "You are such a nerd, Moikey." He blushes (which is adorable, might I add) and agrees.

He sits down next to me, and asks what I want to do for the next few hours.
"We could watch a movie," I say. From what I've heard, Mikey owns every zombie movie in the history of the universe. His face lights up like a Christmas tree. "Dawn of the Dead! Can we?" He almost shouts. I laugh, and give him the thumbs-up. He leaps from the bed, to a bookshelf, where he deftly pulls a CD from what looks like enough movies to fill a rental store.

He puts the movie in, and we start to watch.