With Every Blade You Stain

The bus flew over the motorway overbridge faster than I thought possible, bouncing on its shocks rather violently. It was full, and I, being the kindly person I am, had given up my seat to an elderly woman. I didn't believe in the whole "respect your elders" thing my school tried (and failed) to drill into us. If someone deserved my respect, they would get it, regardless of their age. If, however, they were a rude little shit, I would not hesitate to make my feelings clear.
I shook my head, cleared my thoughts and looked behind me as we neared the end of the overbridge, gazing back into an apartment block opposite the motorway.
My dad used to live there, before he died, that is.
He was killed in a car crash one day, travelling down the motorway to collect me from my mothers house. Truth be told, my parents had despised each other after their rather nasty break-up when I was nine. It had been five years now, and my mother still cried about how badly it ended.
I sighed and looked away as the bus turned a corner, the driver slamming on the brakes to avoid running a red light. Honestly, you'd think he'd be used to this route by now, I thought as I righted myself, but no, it seemed not. I wondered how long it would take to get to the airport. Hopefully not long. His plane landed in an hour. Most people would assume that I was going to meet a family member or friend off their flight, but no, I was far more creepy than that. See, Gerard Way is coming, supposedly to promote his new album, although I'm not sure that's strictly true, since he doesn't appear to have been anywhere else. But I don't care in the slightest, because this is New Zealand we're talking about, and it is usually left out when bands go on world tours. Sure, pop artist come here, but I don't want to listen to that crap! And it's just been announced that Pierce the Veil AND Sleeping with Sirens are going on tour together, and what do you know, they're not coming to NZ. Australia, yes, but New Zealand? Far too hard.
I was lost in thought when I noticed a boy who looked a bit younger than me staring. I glanced down and swore under my breath, yanking the sleeve of my black leather jacket down over my wrist. The boy looked up at me with a horrified expression on his face, and I glared daggers at him before turning away. He had seen my arm. Fuck. Nobody saw my arms, not even my mum. It would break her heart. Truth be told, I did self harm, but not the mainstream horizontal cuts you'd finds on most depressed people's arms. I was creative, and carved shapes and words into my skin, spelling out the lyrics of songs, writing in the runic language of Norse so only I could understand it. Some were in English, I liked to switch things up a bit. But I'd been doing it more often lately, and that scared me. When I'd started a year ago, it had only been in times of crises, when I wanted to kill myself. But now I was doing it every week, gouging deeper and deeper into my pale Scottish skin.
And it wasn't enough.
I was released from my downward spiral of thoughts by the buss driver announcing the airport stop, and I leapt forward, anxious to get off the bus and away from staring eyes.
I sure hope this was worth it.

Notes

Heloo there.... :D This chapter is kind of a filler but I'm trying to post once a day for you guys :3
Gerard will DEFFINITLY appear in the next chapter :3
Thanks for reading!

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