First lesson. I should be in math, but I was sat here instead. This had become part of my daily routine, hiding out in the bathrooms. I wondered why someone, one of the teachers specifically, hadn’t found anything out about it yet. Frank had seen me come in here, but, thank God, he hadn’t followed me.

‘He didn’t follow because he doesn’t care.’

I hadn’t meant to shout at him.

‘You didn’t even apologise. What’s he gonna think of you now?’

In here, I was alone with the voices. The voices and the blade. I brought it everywhere with me now because I panicked if I couldn’t hold it. They nearly found it when they’d tipped my bag out. Thankfully, I'd hidden it well and luckily it stayed in the lining. No one would think to look there for it, right? Well, hopefully no one would think to look for it at all. That would be preferable. I didn't want anyone else to have this kind of addiction, or know I had it. It wouldn’t be fair on them to burden themselves with it.

‘Maybe your brother has the same idea. Maybe he gets so upset he takes a knife to his skin. Maybe he becomes addicted to the feeling of numbness. What if he hides it in his bag?’

But Mikey wouldn’t do that, would he? I knew they all picked on him too, but he wouldn’t let it get to him that much. At least, I hoped not. But if he did, if he really did ever do it, if he ever felt that low, he would come talk to me. I'm his big brother. He'd tell me, right? So I could help him. He would trust me, wouldn't he?

‘They’d leave him alone if you weren’t his brother. He doesn’t want to get shoved in some kids storage space. He doesn’t want to get treated like shit. You don’t even help him.’

Yesterday I’d sat in here while they threw him around. I’d probably do the same today. And the next day. And every day until I die. I'd never do anything to stop people physically picking on my brother. It was sad that I knew that. It was worse that it was my problem. The sooner I was gone, the sooner it would stop and the sooner I’d stop having to feel so guilty about it all.

‘You awful excuse for a human being. Self-centred bastard. Too self-pitying to even stick up for your little brother.’

It made me sick to think that the voice was right; to know that the voice was right. Realising I was so useless, I couldn't help but reach for the blade. It wasn't a choice; it was more of a reaction to negative feelings. Not a reaction I wanted, but one I had come to acquire.

I felt the tears run down my face but I paid them no attention. I couldn't even do this without crying, how pathetic was I?

‘Keep going. You're doing the whole world a favour. Why don't you go a little deeper?'

I sobbed. Why didn't I? The voice was right. I heard the bell ring and jumped. I'd been doing this, just sat here, for an hour? It didn't seem that way, but it always surprised me how much of my life I manage to waste. I supposed I should have gone to my next lesson. But I didn't. I couldn't. There was too much blood and too little time to cover it without being too suspicious. I’d either have to be extremely late once I’d got the blood and my tears to stop, or not bother turning up until this afternoon.
It’s not like anyone cares if I don’t turn up.
So I sat there and I kept going, and going, and going. I kept at it until all I could see was red, as if my arm was a canvas covered in congealing paint.

When it got to that stage, I knew I couldn't do any more. I knew I had to stop and I did. It was another one of those pesky reaction things. Once I start feeling light-headed, I know I’ve gone too far. That’s something I have to control. At least this is something I can choose to do myself.

‘Stupid freak; think you’re smart trying to bleed to death in the school bathroom? Think someone would care if they walked in and found you dead on the floor? Think again, fatty.’

Grimacing, I set about covering them; wrapping lengths of stained bandage I had in my bag around my forearms and then pulled my hoodie on. I’d have to wash it soon. The blood was already drying and stiffening the material.
Making sure that my tears were dry and that it didn’t appear too obvious that I had, I was, crying, I opened the door and peaked out to check the corridor. Empty.
Perfect. At least I wouldn’t have to explain to anyone why I wasn’t in class. I had history next on the other side of the building, so I had time to dawdle a little. I’d barely walked five steps away from the toilets before I saw Mikey pinned against some kid’s locker.
“Where’s your fucking money, Way? Give it to your brother and hope we’d leave you alone?”
I couldn’t just let this happen, could I?
‘Why don’t you do the decent thing and act like you care about him for once?’
I swallowed. It would only get worse if I got involved.
“I-I don’t have any!” He sounded terrified.
I could hear the jocks laughing.
“Sure you don’t. Well, I guess that means another day in my locker, doesn’t it?”
The tallest member of the gang opened the door and snorted. Mikey was crying by now, begging them to take his bag and leave him alone.
“Why would we want this junk? Take it with you!”
With a final chuckle, both the bag and my brother were bundled into the tiny space. As he tried to lash out at them, he caught sight of me in the corner of his eye. Pure betrayal, that’s what I saw.
Great way to go, Gerard. Great way to go.
Before they could turn on me, I turned around and trotted down the corridor, muttering a silent apology to my brother.