Sunlight pressing down on my eyelids pulled me out of sleep. I shifted, and groaned. My back was sore, my shoulders were cramped, and my leg was dead. Ugh, I guess that’s what you get for sleeping on a slide in a little park. Muttering obscenities, I shifted, attempting to shift my sore body off the hard metal, but only succeeded in dumping myself on the damp, freezing ground. I went from muttering to yelling the blasphemies on my lips as I rolled over and staggered to my feet, brushing bits of gravel and soil and God-knows-what from my dishevelled clothes. I glanced at the battered watch on my wrist. 7 am. Damn sun, having to rise so early. I straightened my shirt futilely, doing absolutely nothing for my appearance. Sighing, I heaved my big bag up onto my shoulder once more, and stood for a moment, staring at nothing. What now? I had no idea where to go, what to do, I was so stuck. Dammit, I’m twenty-two for crying out loud, and I’m completely lost the minute I get left alone, this is pathetic. Shrugging to myself, I began to wander the Jersey streets, just beginning to bustle with the activity of people rising to start their day. I pondered them as I walked. A man with bleary eyes and a steaming Styrofoam cup unlocking a sleek car, a woman with smeared makeup and a dead look in her eyes dumping bags of trash on the curb, a high-school girl with her blonde hair perfect and her phone glued to her ear. I began to make background stories for them in my mind. The man was clearly in a good job but the tired look on his face made me decide he was stressed and kept up at night by the difficulties of life that had nothing to do with materialistic gain, maybe he’d lost a family member or couldn’t find a stable relationship. The woman, fallen asleep late into the night and being internally tormented by the complications that had made her forget to remove her makeup before dropping into sleep, the only escape she had left. And the girl, clearly popular and living up to society’s standards, but how did that affect her? Did she feel pressured to fit in? Did she cover herself up because she was afraid of the judgement she’d receive for being herself? I shook my head, dispelling these thoughts and returning to reality. Maybe the man had just been up late working. Maybe the woman was hung-over from a party last night. And the girl was probably perfectly satisfied with life. Not everyone was as messed up as me. No, everyone else was normal; it was just me that couldn’t do a single thing right. I scowled at the ground before me, my mood dropping. What the hell was I doing? I had no idea where I was, barely anything to my name, and probably several people worried about me. Momma, Dad… Dr Lee was probably worried about his little plot to keep me brainwashed. And… Frank. I’d been ignoring thoughts of him as best I could since I charged out of his house, but I couldn’t deny that he was probably worried, too. He was nice like that, to a point that neared stupidity. He must know what a disaster zone I am, but he had been too nice to kick me out like anyone else would. Well, I’d removed that problem for him, hadn’t I? Now he could go back to his life without me as a disturbance. Because that’s all I’ve ever been, isn’t it? A disturbance, an interference to everyone who bothered to pay me any attention. A pathetic, worthless excuse for a human being. I suddenly lost the will to keep walking, the movement just seemed pointless. I sat down in a bus shelter, hugging my knees to my body and pressing my forehead against them, pressing down until a dull ache formed on my face. My hands, clasped around my legs, were suddenly tight. I clenched my right hand, nails digging against my left wrist. It caused a stinging sensation that was oddly relieving, pushing away all the inner turmoil and focusing my attention on that, that and nothing else. I felt warmth on my skin suddenly, that confused me a little. I lifted my head to examine my wrist, and was surprised to see I’d broken the skin there, causing blood to trickle down like a tiny crimson river across the pale background of my skin. It was almost mesmerising, watching the little line grow in length as the tiny wound dribbled more of my blood out to run down my forearm. Slowly, almost in trance, I reached out my index finger and ran it up my arm, wiping away the little seeping line, leaving only the source of the little stream, a small curved line in the shape of my nail. I studied it a little longer, before wrapping my arms around myself again. I wasn’t quite sure where that little episode had come from, and it was a little frightening, if I’m honest. I pulled my sleeve down over the little mark, as if I could hide it and erase it from existence. I couldn’t get the memory of the pain, and the relief it bought with it, out of my mind. It was almost intriguing, the sensations I’d got from damaging my own body, like some dark, macabre kind of satisfaction. I pulled my sleeve back again, and was so intent on studying the tiny cut, I didn’t notice when a figure blocked the sunlight falling over me. I was so lost that the voice, soft as it was, caused me to jump practically out of my skin. “Gerard?” I looked up at the source of the gentle murmur, for a moment expecting a pair of crimson eyes to be boring down on me. Instead, I was met with a pair of hazel-green ones.

Notes

I'm sure you all know who those eyes belong to :) but I thought I'd leave it there. I like ending my chapters on some form of cliffhanger or suspense. Hate me for it if you want :) On another note, it's self-harm awareness day! Who's wearing orange? Oh, and while I remember, if you guys are on Twitter, I'm co-owning an account now, devoted to MCR! It's @mychempictures, check us out!! Comment, vote, all that beautiful stuff, Paranoia Violence out xø