You're Beautiful, To Me

I wanted to be friends with Frank, I really did. In fact, I think I wanted it more than I wanted anything else.
Except my desire for self-destruction.
That’s what fucked it up as well, my ambitions to destroy myself got in the way of what could have been a good friendship. Of course, that only made things worse – the fact that I’d had the chance but as good as thrown it away and eventually I’d end up alone again. Only this time it’d be worse because I’d had a taste of friendship, whereas before I’d hadn’t known anything other than the misery I already had.
It wasn’t that Frank was a bad person, it was the opposite; he was too good for me.
I didn’t deserve to have friends like him, his constant upbeat attitude and positive smile made me feel guilty. This pure and innocent boy didn’t deserve to be tainted by the darkness of my mind, nor to be burdened with the task of looking out for me. I could kill myself without a second thought, and although I’d be gone he’d suffer for it. His only friend would be gone, and Frank would be left alone to take all the hate aimed towards me as well as towards himself.
No, I just couldn’t cope with the idea of having friends.
Frank was also a lot more confident and outgoing than I was, I just tended to keep myself to myself and do my best to stay out of everyone’s way; I took what I was given and kept my mouth shut. Frank on the other hand would defend himself, I felt really awkward being with him whenever that happened because whenever people stared at him because of all the fuss, I could feel them watching me too. Watching, and silently judging.
We still hung around together; I couldn’t bring myself to cut him off completely, so I just settled for being distant and not giving a shit about anything. Frank noticed that something was up though and he’d bother me about it, asking if I was alright. I gave him nonchalant answers; not wishing to get onto the subject but not having the heart to snap at him or push him away. He was only trying to help, he was just a nice person.
Too nice, in fact.
He would also stand up for me, something I’d never done for myself let alone anyone else. I hated this for a number of reasons, the main ones being that it just made the insults worse and brought him into something which he could have I would rather he’d avoided, plus it always reminded me of how on his first day here I’d watched him be hurt and done nothing about it. I didn’t deserve him, which was the main problem. I also felt bad because Frank could have been a really popular guy, but instead he’d chosen me and he could do so much better.
There was once, a few weeks after we’d met, that we’d been walking along the corridor from art when someone had kicked my shin, causing me to stumble and drop my sketch pad. It was no big deal, I just picked it up and continued walking.
“Hey! Fag!? Oi! What ya doing?!”
I ignored it, but Frank halted and turned to face the bullies, shouting back in my defence, “He’s not a fag! And just leave him alone, he didn’t do anything to you!”
Ryan, the bigger guy, replied sarcastically and in a slightly menacing tone, “Aww look, emo’s got a boyfriend for himself now, ain’t that cute?! Watch out, your suicidal special friend might just slit his wrists if he you don’t look after him, hold his hand whilst he walks and all, help him-”
I’d just walked off at that point, the tears had pricked at the corners of my eyes and I didn’t want Frank or Ryan or any of the others to see. Yes, I left Frank to stand up for me, get in a fight about something that wasn’t his responsibility, it was mine. I did it, like the coward I was.
And it was because of that that I let the tears drip down my cheeks, because I deserved everything that Ryan did to me that I let them run, because Frank was standing up for me and the biggest thank you I could offer was a sip of vodka that I didn’t wipe them, because that my way of dealing with this was to sneak away to have a drink that I only bowed my head as the tears flowed thicker, and because that when Frank arrived in the yard with a black eye to find me gulping from a bottle a few minutes later that I only shook my head and turned away.
He only looked at me with a sad smile, like he knew I was broken beyond repair, and murmured a quiet “please?”
I wiped my eyes roughly with the back of my hand and obligingly put the top back on the bottle before stowing it in my backpack.
“Sorry.” I choked once I’d turned around and he hugged me tight, fully aware that I smelt of alcohol.
“Don’t be.” He whispered and hugged me tighter.
That was the worst one, but there had been other times and every time I thought about it I just felt worse. There wasn’t much I could do.
I wanted to be a better person, but no matter how much I starved myself, cut myself, isolated myself, drunk, it made no difference. But that was because the only way to fix myself was to remove the problem, and in this case the problem was me.
I don’t know how much Frank knew, but I was pretty sure he knew I was fuck up. He knew about my drinking but I don’t know what else, but would he still accept me if he knew the truth? Maybe he already did. But I had a big secret, and if he ever found it out I don’t think he’d want to even remember knowing me.
There was no way we’d ever work.
I’d drawn a picture a while ago of a man and a women, blood spattered and staring each other in the eyes, although angry, for each other they had only love. The Demolition Lovers. Although I hadn’t thought about it at the time, I now wasn’t aware what the intention of it had been – had they been trying to cause damage to others, or were they only interested in ruining themselves? They were pure lovers of wreckage, interested in destruction, destined to join and lead the desolation row. They didn’t fit it, like me; but they had each other, unlike me. I only had my mind, and even if I did love it I could never love myself back.
I sighed as I sat on my bed and stared at the artwork that I held in my shaking hand, I rolled my eyes and uncrossed my legs before standing up and putting in back in the drawer. I was pale and shaking and I was feeling generally troubled, like I wanted something but I didn’t know what it was. Like I wanted to go home, but I didn’t know where home was anymore.
And I was having dreams.
The only thing I could remember was darkness and a voice whispering to me, I couldn’t remember anything about the voice and I couldn’t tell you what it sounded like. All I knew was that it was the mos terrifying yet beautiful thing I’d ever experienced.
‘Would you destroy something beautiful in order to make it perfect?’
I’d thought that self-destruction was a beautiful thing; the art of being sorrowful and lost, buried within your desire to tear yourself apart. Something of a poetic tragedy, something that only love could combat and no matter what anyone said there was no way someone could stop you doing whatever devastation you did. The only way to stop it was not for someone to simply love you, but for someone who loved you enough to teach you to love yourself.
“Yes.” I whispered to myself as I looked at my wrecked body in the mirror.
A psychotic smile slowly spreading across my face, getting wider and wider, “I was never beautiful, but I will be perfect.”

Notes

Sorry sorry sorry for the lack of updates, I really need to get myself my own laptop. But I do have a few more chapters written so even though I can't post them tonight I'll be able to soon hopefully.
Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, I found it quite hard to write to be honenst. Please give me feedback because it'd help me structure and edit the next few chapters. Thanks! c:
-Catherine