I wake up on the recliner, and my dad is still sleeping on the couch. I throw off my blanket and go get my laptop from my room and bring it back to the recliner. I check my email and see nothing..."whatever."

I see that the accident with MSI is one if the headlines, I suck it up and click on the link to the story.

Yesterday evening a bridge in New Jersey collapsed, luckily there were very few vehicles on it at the time. Unfortunately there were few survivors, while most bodies were not recovered. The bridge also took with it the tour bus of band Mindless Self Indulgence. Lead singer Jimmy Urine commented from in the hospital saying, "I don't know what the f*** just happened." Other band members have not yet been found.

my eyes start to swell with tears again, but I'm not going to cry this time.
"Wait a minute..." I start to say to myself.
maybe mom's still alive, maybe they're all still alive.
"No, they can't be...well..." I fight with myself for maybe 20 minutes, knowing this isn't going to get me anywhere.

Around 10:00am dad wakes up, and I tell him they haven't found any bodies.

"Okay," he says, obviously not awake enough to digest the information I just told him.

*A few hours later*

I've been alone in my room for a few hours now. I don't know what to do, or how to cope with what just happened. I'm about to go talk to my dad when my mind goes to a place it's never gone before. I think about cutting myself. I've never cut, and I've always cringed at the thought of slicing any part of myself. But it helps other people, right?
I go to the kitchen and find a small, smooth knife. I hesitate, knowing it will hurt. Just as it touches my skin, I hear my dad.
Oh shit! I think.
I quickly put the knife in a drawer and run to the fridge, pretending to look for some food.

"Uh, hi dad," I say with with a small smile.

"Oh, hi ...Bandit," he says with what also looks like a fake smile, "wasn't expecting you here."

After a moment of awkwardness he walks out of the kitchen.
I make sure he's gone before taking the knife up to my room. I hesitate again, and slowly bring the knife to my wrist. I, being the chicken I am, graze the knife across my skin, leaving the smallest scratch. Not satisfied, I decide to try again.
Wait a minute, dad will see this, I think.
I roll up my basketball shorts exposing my thigh.
I slide the knife across my thigh, this time deeper. It stings like hell! But I realize, like the blood bleeding out if the cut, so does some of my sadness. The pain from the cut distracts me from the pain in my heart...and for a few minutes, I actually feel better. But it doesn't last forever, and get a little carried away and an hour later, I have probably 5 cuts on my left thigh.
I hear a knock on my door, "come in," I say, completely forgetting what I'm doing.
My eyes land on the knife in my hand.
"Oh wait, no! Don't come in!"

"Is everything alright Bandit?" Dad yells through the door.

"Yes! I'm just, uh, getting changed," I yell, looking for a place to stash the knife. In my panic I don't even realize my dad's opening the door. I run in my closet and pretend I'm changing.

"Just a minute dad, I'm changing!" I scream emphasizing the word 'changing'.

I quickly wipe up the blood in my leg and change my clothes so I'll at least be somewhat telling to truth. I open the door and my dad is standing right there.

"Bandit are you okay?" He asks.

"I'm fine, okay?" I say to him, not even realizing how rude I probably sound.

"Hey, what happened to your wrist?" He asks.

"Oh, I just scratched it on something," I lie.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, dad, I'm sure." I say losing my patience.

My dad looks at my leg, so I look down, too. I see some trickles of blood, it must still be bleeding. I look up at my dad and he seems a little embarrassed. I run to the bathroom, and a few minutes later hear my dad yelling at me.

"Bandit! What is this doing in your room?!"