The body siezed under its restraints, trying to break free from what was about to come. Smoldering skin, burns, burning, burnt. The smell perfumes my nostrils as I realized I was next.

I jolted awake and my movements caused my legs to collide with Mikey's.

"What the hell?" He mumbled, his voice raspy and dusty like it hadn't been use to its full potential in a while, waking from him comatose slumber.

I quickly recollected myself back into fetal position and ushered an apology over to Mikey.

"Are you okay?" He asked, prying himself up with his bones cracking showing that he had been in these bunks for too long.

"Just a bad dream," I said, trying not to harp on the subject.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, and it startled me, knowing this was something he didn't normally do.

"I'll be okay," I lied, looking over to him. He seemed to smile in what I could make out of the darkness swimming around the bus. I looked into his eyes, but they looked dead.

***

I cracked all of my knuckles, hoping to feel some sort of sensation. I entered the shop after trailing the streets of the city for what felt like days. I tried my best not to scowl at the smell of tobacco that entered my nose; I would be smelling that a lot in the next couple of days. Ugh.

Since my my group of therapist (if they could be called that) took away my knife, I was bound and determinded to get one to replace it.

My eyes darted around the hunting shop, looking at the propoganda that littered the walls.

"Miss, do you have an ID card with you?" The young gentleman asked. I swung my bag around to find the spot where it should've been, empty.

"I have the money," I stated. "I'm just looking for a small gift for my father," I said in the politest voice I could usher.

"This shop is for eighteen and older, unless accompanied by an adult," the man pressed.

"How much is that one?" I asked pointing to the one with the marble handle.

"That's not for sale unless you have some ID on you." He said.

"I'm twenty two, and I have the money," I spat, indicating my growing frustration.

"I need to see some ID. I need to see something." He pressed again, aggressively.

"How about the inside of an ambulance?" I sneered, leaving him dumbfounded.

I walked out of the shop, trying not to feel defeat. Maybe I could find a convienence store, and get a couple of manual pencil sharpeners, and smash them to get the blade out; something I used to do in high school. Or I could buy a box of razors if I could find a hardware store. If there was one within walking distance.

I knew neither of them were likely to happen, and made my way back to the god awful tour bus.

Behind shaded sunglasses, Mikey sat on the tailgate of the bus, a cigarette poking out between his lips, with his hands enthralled with typing something onto his phone. For a minute I swear he looked at me. Smoke exhaled his body and I felt timid as I approached him, smaller that someone who was so large in the way the world perceived him. I began to cross the street, only to have a car honk it's horn at me as I made it make an unplanned stop.

"You're claiming to be suicidal, please describe that for me,"

"I never said I was suicidal. I mean, I've been having thoughts that I'm not sure I would act upon," I said.

"Then why are there reports of suicidality on your paper work?"

"Because if a car was coming at me for example, I'm not sure I would get out of the way."

"Go fuck your self!" I yelled at the driver, running my hand through my hair, causing Mikey to snicker to himself. I was determinded, at least most of me was determinded, to stay off of that tour bus, the smell of cigarettes and filth is no smell and human should encounter. I was ready to dance around with air fresheners and spray them in every corner of those bunks.

I needed coffee.

By the time I reached the curb, I moved over to the desirable part and sat down, rubbing my eyes.

"Why did you try?" I heard Mikey's voice behind me, as he sat next to me, handing me a cigarette and allowing me to place it between my lips before he lit it.

"Same reason everyone does. And since when do you smoke? I always thought you hated the idea—at least, that's what I've read about you," I said.

"Since I've been stressed," he simply answered, placing the cigarette between his lips.

"I'll tell if you tell," I said, as if I was bribing a child.

"Family affairs," was all he huffed, causing me to roll my eyes.

"Your turn," he almost demanded.

"That's just it, there's nothing to say. I don't like talking much these days—nothing seems to come out right." I sighed.

I turned away causing him to ask where I was going.

"No where," I said.

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to, and give me my fucking knife back," I spat.

"You don't get a call from the government and strap yourself back in the chair," he said, carelessly.

"What do you think I am? Your charity case?" I spat, turning around.

"I think you're as sad girl who cuts herself on the outside, trying to match what's on the inside." By then I had turned to look at him.

"You want to walk ten miles in my shoes? You'd be wishing you were dead by the second." I plainly stated, taking the cigarette and putting it out on my arm—allowing it to burn me. I knew that would make him momentarily question what he was getting himself into.

"Christ, Lacey, you can't just do that," he said, concerned. I didn't even feel the burn honestly, my pain tolerance is so high. Burning never brought at much pleasure as cutting did, but it was a good substitute when I was in desperate need of endorphins. Sighing, hoping it would release some tension, and when it didn't, I was just left with another scar on my body.

Mikey stood up, towering over me by almost a foot, me grabbed my aching wrist to pull up my sleeve and reveal the scars that littered my body. It looked as though I had been caught in barbed wire, which I had, mentally, for the last four years.

I knew he could tell it was hurting me to try and talk about it;
his eyes just looked up and down my arm, the jagged lines had been there for years, some covered by tattoos, but most of them still plainly visible. I wanted to step away, to have him stop whatever show he was trying to put on. But secretly, I wanted him to help me. I didn't say anything though, because it was hurting more to be quiet.

Notes

Trigger warning.