Music of the Night [01] [PG13, Romance/Drama/Supernatural]

Music of the Night
Chapter One

The first time I saw him was when I entered my music appreciation class for third period. I only noticed him because he was sitting at the table where I normally sat alone. He was new to Westbrook High, this much I could tell by the way he stuck to himself, glancing haphazardly around the classroom. Normally I would find another place to sit, but there was only one chair left and it was right next to this new guy.

I made my way slowly towards the table. I let myself take in the picture of the guy in front of me. He had looks that I haven't ever seen before. He had platinum blonde hair that skimmed his shoulders and from what I could see a slender frame. Because of my inability to get decent luck, he turned his face toward me almost as if he sensed me watching him, so I got a view of his eyes. He had brown eyes that seemed to just know. What it is they knew, I couldn't help but wonder.

I glanced away nonchalantly, as if I wasn't just staring, and sat down beside him. I sensed, rather than saw, how he stiffened beside me. And if I were anyone else I probably would have introduced myself. Instead I pulled out my copy of To Kill a Mockingbird that I had to finish for my English class.

Okay, technically I was pretending to read the book. But I've read the book at least a dozen times already and as far as I know the ending is always the same. The reason for my pretending was simple: it kept me from glancing at him again. The fact that I actually didn't blush when I got caught watching him before was surprising enough; I didn't want to risk it to happen if I were to get caught again.

By the time class started I was as stiff as the guy next to me. Mr. Mack, the music appreciation teacher, was as interesting as he usually is. He started the class off by playing a song on the piano that I recognized, but couldn't quite place a name to. When he stopped playing, I had relaxed back into my chair.

Music appreciation always went to quickly for my taste. So when the bell rang I took my time getting my things in order. Out of the corner of my eye I watched the guy next to me leave as quickly as he could.

"Miss LeMarte, could you please stay behind for a moment?" Mr. Mack asked me above the murmurs of my classmates as they made their way out the door.

After the classroom was totally emptied I walked to the front of the room. I already knew what he wanted to speak to me about. Tonight is one of my Piano practices, with him being my piano instructor as well as my teacher; I tend to get called to stay after class a bit.

"I'm going to be a bit late to your practice later," Mr. Mack started as he shuffled through some papers scattered about on his desk, "but I'll leave my door unlocked so you can come in here to practice. I shouldn't be too late, 10 to 15 minutes at the most."

I nodded, "Okay, then I'll see you then, sir."

With a smile he dismissed me so I could go on to my third period class. Pre-Calculus just happened to be my third period and also my most hated subjected. Obviously enough it is always the longest class of the day.

When lunch finally rolled around after my 45-minute torture fest (Pre-Cal) I was yearning to see the faces of my two best friends. I spotted Jolene first as she stood outside the cafeteria leaning against the wall. As I made my way towards her I noticed Craig standing next to her chatting away. Even from here I could see the way Craig felt about Jolene, who was as oblivious to it as ever. Smiling for the first time that day I quickened my stride.

"Chrys, there you are," Jolene exclaimed with a grin. "What took you so long?"

"Mack needed to speak to me about practice later and I forgot to get a pass. So I was late to Pre-Cal."

Craig rolled his eyes, "I told you she had to speak to Mack and forgot to get a pass...again."

Jolene pouted, "You never know, she could have been flirting with some guy."

"First off it's not like this doesn't happen at least twice a month. Secondly, look who we're talking about."

"Good Point."

"Hello, I'm right here," I snapped good-naturedly.

Jolene giggled and changed the subject, "So have you met the new guy?"

Leave it to Jolene to bring him up first thing, "Yeah, he's in Mack's class with me. In fact I ended up sitting next to him."

"Did you speak to him? What's his name?" Jolene paused for a second, when I was about to answer she added, "Is he single?"

I rolled my eyes, "First no I didn't speak to him. I don't know what his name is. And I definitely don't know whether or not he is single."

"His name's William Sullivan," Craig threw in, "I heard it when Ms. Martinez took attendance this morning."

“He seems like the quiet type. And he has this mystery about him,” dreamily Jolene glanced around, probably looking for William.

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy this conversation, but can we please go get some food now,” Craig grumbled. The jealousy in tone was easy to spot.

Jolene and I laughed as the three of us made our way into the cafeteria to get in line for lunch. As we walked through I grabbed a slice of pizza, an apple, and a bottle of water. After paying for our food we made a beeline for our usual table in the back by the window. Luckily enough it was void of anyone else so we sat down on the end like we have done every day since we started high school.

I was about to take a bit out of my apple when Jolene nudged my side with her elbow, her bony elbow.

"What?" I hissed as I rubbed my side just below my ribs. I hated it when she did that. Slanting my eyes to where Jolene was now pointing I saw William sitting down at the far end of the table we were currently sitting.

"Go say Hi, Chrys," Jolene whispered insistently.

"You're the one who likes to talk constantly, you go greet him," I whispered back before I took a bite of my apple.

Craig snickered and shook his head before scooting closer to William, "Hi, I'm Craig, and these two," he motioned us to move closer so we did, "are Jolene and Chrys."

Jolene smiled flirtatiously at him when Craig introduced her. I merely nodded my acknowledgement.

"Will," he replied simply as he kept his gaze on me.

Revealed Secrets [01] [PG13, Romance/Drama/Supernatural]

Revealed Secrets
Chapter One

“Walk much?”

Glancing up from where I had fallen I glare at the guy standing before me. I have never seen him before; normally I am the only one to get off at this bus stop. In fact, I liked it that way.

“Fuck you,” it’s mumbled and I doubt he even heard it, which is fine; I don’t need to listen to him bitch.

My luck wasn’t with me today, for he did hear me. Though all he did was chuckle and hand me my backpack. That’s when I noticed there was someone else there as well, a girl. And by the looks of them, the two must have been related. The girl, didn’t seem to notice what I had said to her…brother?

Shrugging my backpack back onto my left shoulder, I turn and begin to walk without another word to the other two.

“So what’s your name?”

Turning to look at the girl, I replied, “Raquel Sanders.”

“I’m Kyla Michael and this jerk here would be my brother, Ian.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” they both said.

“I was talking to your sister,” I had to say it… the guy deserved it for being a jerk earlier.

“I’m just so wounded,” Ian said as he put a hand over his heart, with a hurt expression on his face. If it wasn’t for the laughter I could read in his chocolate brown eyes, I would have actually believed him.

“Give it time, you’ll mend.”

“Rude to the newbies, what would your parents say?”

“The question is, do I care?”

This time Ian just outright laughed. He seemed almost surprised by my attitude. Turning away from him I look at Kyla. They were new and I had nothing to do for the day so I figured why not get to know them some more. Won’t my mom be thrilled?

“Wanna hang at my house for a bit?”

“Sure, just let me drop my books off at my house first, and tell my parents.”

“Hey what about me?”

Glancing back at Ian I couldn’t help but smirk, it isn’t very often that you see a guy pouting.

Rolling my eyes, “Fine, you can come too.”

Without waiting for a reply I asked Kyla which house was theirs.

“That one,” she said pointing to the house directly next to mine.

“So you are my new neighbors my mom was talking about last night?” ‘The ones that my mom said had a big screen,’ I added to myself. I didn’t want them to know how nosey my mother was. They’ll have to figure that one out for themselves.

“That would be us,” Kyla replied.

I walked up the driveway to their house with them. Kyla ran on inside while Ian stayed outside with me. Figuring it would pass time I decided to start asking him a bunch of questions.

“What grade are you two in?”

He looked surprised at the fact I can be some-what civil, but he answered nonetheless, “Kyla is a sophomore and I’m a junior.”

“Ages?”

“Kyla is sixteen, I’m seventeen,” came the automatic reply, “before you ask anymore questions, you have to answer these past questions and whatever else you come up with, deal?”

“Sure,” shrugging I went on to answer, “I’m a sophomore and I’m sixteen.”

“You’re sixteen?”

“I’m short, I know… but yes I am sixteen.”

“Sorry.”

“Your hobby?”

“I play the guitar, and yours?”

That spiked my interest.

“I write, anything and everything,” thinking, I added, “everything minus erotica.”

He smirked, “Boyfriend?”

Raising an eyebrow I looked at him, “Nope, single. You?”

“Nope, I don’t date guys.”

“You could have fooled me,” I couldn’t keep the grin off my face, “You know what I meant, any girlfriends?”

“None of those either,”

He had a nice smile when it wasn’t laced with complete sarcasm.

“Your sister takes a long time to drop off a backpack,” I remarked as I glanced at my watch.

“My mom is probably drilling her,” he replied, “Music?”

“Yes.”

Blinking, Ian shook his head, “No I mean your favorites…you know… singer, band, song, etcetera.”

“I know,” I smiled, “I’ll listen to anything but rap pretty much. But my favorites would be Brian McKnight, Savage Garden, Linkin Park, and Blink-182. My favorite song would have to be any love song. The main genre I listen to, no matter how sad it is, would be pop and rock.”

“Don’t tell me, you still listen to the Backstreet Boys?”

“Yeah, got a problem with that?”

“No, no problem, I was just wondering.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to answer your own question? What are your music interests?”

Ian thought for a moment, “Like you, almost anything but rap. Though I’m more partial to the older rock, like Journey, Led Zeppelin, and Pink Floyd.”

“Sorry it took me so long,” Kyla as she walked out the door, slamming it.

“It’s alright, we kept busy,” I replied.

“Ian didn’t bother you too much, did he?” Kyla asked with a knowing look.

“No… if anything I annoyed him with all my questions.”

“She is a nosey one,” Ian said to his sister.

“Runs in my family,” Does it ever, “just wait until you meet my mother… she’s worse than I am.”

We walked the short distance across the lawns silent. I led the way in through the front door and into my home.

“Oh, honey you’re home,” my mother said as she came down the stairs, “And you brought guests?” She looked between Ian, Kyla, and me.

“Mom, let me introduce you two Kyla and Ian Michael, they just moved into the house next door.”

“It’s nice to meet you two,” my mother said as she came to stand before us.

“We’re going up to my room, alright?”

I ushered them out of the room and up the stairs before my mom had the chance to start asking her questions.

“Wow,” Kyla said, “Raquel, you have a great room.”

“Thanks,” I said as I walked into my room and into my closet to grab my beanbag chairs I had, “Will these be comfortable enough?” I said as I brought them out and sat them on my hard wood floors.

“Perfect,” Kyla said sitting down.

Ian, I watched, walked over to my CD rack and looked through them.

“You can play a CD if you want,” I said pointing to my stereo system.

“Anything in particular,” Ian asked looking at me.

I looked at Kyla, I knew what Ian liked, but not her, “Anything you like?”

“Don’t know, what do you have?”

Smirking, “How about this. What’s your favorite singer, group, whatever and I’ll tell you if I have it/them?”

“Britney Spears.”

“Please tell me that you are joking,” I couldn’t keep the horror out of my voice.

Kyla blinked, “What’s wrong with Britney Spears?”

I didn’t even want to explain my hatred for Britney Spear’s music.

“Besides Britney, whom do you listen to?”

Kyla shrugged, “Spice Girls?”

“Ian, you choose the music.”

“What’s wrong with the Spice Girls?” Kyla was looking at me with a very dirty look now.

“I just don’t like them, that’s all,” I replied.

Peeking over at Ian I tried to see what he picked. I can see he had something in his hand, but I couldn’t see the title.

Before I could ask the sound of Vertical Horizon came on.

“Good choice.”

Ian took the beanbag next to me and sat down, “Thanks.”

“Who is it?”

“Vertical Horizon, sis,” Ian said

“Who?”

“Not a huge music fan, are you?” I asked, stunned.

I’ve never met someone who wasn’t totally into music. I just always seemed to find those who knew all music.

“Not like Ian, no,”

It got silent pretty quickly. It was weird having two people in my room, which I hardly knew. The silence was comfortable though. Plus, it made for a great time to get a good look at the two.

Ian had dark brown hair that reached his ears. His haircut reminded me a lot of Nick Carter of the Backstreet Boys from his earlier years. He had deep, dark chocolate brown eyes. I also know that he is a good three to four inches taller than my five feet self.

Kyla had light brown hair that went to her chin. Her eyes were brown, almost like her brothers, the only difference was that hers were a light color. Unlike her brother, she was closer to my height, maybe an inch taller.

“Excuse me you guys, but Kyla, honey, your mom is here asking for you.” My mom said standing in my doorway.

Kyla let out a deep sigh and stood up, “Okay, thanks Mrs. Sanders.”

I watched as my mom led Kyla back downstairs, leaving me once again alone with Ian.

Looking towards Ian it didn’t take much for me to realize he had been watching me. The look in his eyes had my heart beating faster than it should have been. I blame this on the fact my mom shocked me out of my zoned state when I was watching Ian and Kyla. There is no way it has anything, what so ever to do with Ian.

Okay, so it had everything to do with him. So sue me, Ian is cute.

Deciding that he isn’t going to let up on his staring I stare at him right back. This proves to be just as bad, when I feel a jolt of something.

For some reason this felt familiar somehow. It was almost like I knew him from before. I can’t explain it… it’s almost like I have known him for years.

Suddenly I felt as if the room was spinning. Then it went black.

“Jonathon, will you listen to me?” I was in tears as I tried to get him to stop walking for just a moment to hear what I needed to say to him.

“What is it, Kaitlyn? I have to get home,” he replied coolly, yet he did stand still for me to continue talking.

“I’m sorry,” I knew the words weren’t enough, but they were all I had.

“You know what,” Jonathon’s voice lowered a bit, “I am too.”

With that he started to walk away again. I had no idea what to make of it as I stood there. I could no longer stop the tears that were now making their journey down my face. And suddenly, it hit me. I loved him.

Jonathon, I loved him.

“Raquel!”

I barely opened my eyes before I shut them again. My head was pounding, I felt as if I was having a migraine.

“Raquel, are you okay?” Ian said.

“What happened?”

One minute I was sitting in my beanbag chair, the next I was laying over it with a headache. My question seemed like a good one to me.

“I think you fainted,” he said, “you were out for a few minutes.”

Finally I opened my eyes to find Ian was close to me… right beside me now. That’s when it hit me. Normally I’d let it go, thinking it was my imagination, but the dream felt real… almost as if it did happen. But this dream I can’t shake… especially since I’ve had it twice before. The fact was that:

Ian was identical to the guy from my dream, Jonathon.

Okay, so really that shouldn’t be too much of a shocker, should it? I mean I was looking at him right before I had the dream and I can’t remember what he, Jonathon looked like in my past two dreams. Yet somehow, I just know they were identical then as well.

Shaking my head I sat up slowly, my migraine passing as quickly as it came to me. I had stopped looking at Ian, but I can still feel his eyes watching me. I can easily guess what I would see in them if I were to look and it’s not something I want to see.

“Are you okay, Raquel?” Ian asked still right by my side.

“Yeah, I’m okay, I’m probably just hungry,” Which wasn’t a total lie, I had skipped lunch that day and I was hungry.

Ian wasn’t totally convinced by this, “You sure?”

Looking into his eyes now, I could tell he was actually worried about me. Me, Raquel Sanders, a girl he just met maybe an hour ago.

“Yeah I’m sure.”

And I was. That in its self was a bit weird considering that the dream had freaked me out a bit, but now I felt okay. In fact it’s almost as if I didn’t just have that dream again.

Almost.

I cannot believe I fainted! The fact that the embarrassment just hit me, I’m going to overlook, but still. I fainted in front of Ian, whom I just met today, and was out of it for a bit. Someone was not on my side today.

“Ian,” Kyla said then looked at me, “What’s wrong with you Raquel? You’re blushing.”

She looked from Ian to me than back to Ian before she started to giggle. Giggle, she actually giggled at us… me.

“Did I interrupt you two or something?”

Before anyone could say anything a pillow hit her, thanks to Ian.

“Whatever,” A look was sent to me that clearly stated she thought something had happened...well something did… just not what she was thinking, “Ian, mom wants you home now.”

Crimson Pain [02] [R, Drama/Angst]

Crimson Pain
Chatper Two

Breathing fast I sat up quickly in my bed. Running a hand over my face, I wiped away the cold sweat along my brow. I could hear him coming in late yet again. No doubt that he just came back from a bar in town. I can hear him staggering down the hall, swearing everything that crossed his intoxicated mind.

I jumped out of bed quickly and quietly. I hastily grabbed my hoody and my discarded pants. Hopping up and down I put them on my freezing form. I had to get out of here.

Had to get away... from him.

My father.

I crawled over my bed to my window. I unlatched the lock and begun to open the window. I can hear him approaching my door.

Cursing myself for not locking the door, I skillfully pulled myself out the window, narrowly missing the rose bush. Then, without closing my window, I ran.

I knew what would happen if I would have stayed there. I knew the words that would come. I knew that they were true. But that didn't mean I had to listen to them.

I ran until I couldn't run any more. Looking up I found myself standing on South Main St. Glancing around I saw my sanctuary. I made my way to it, not watching for traffic. Before I knew it, I was inside and making my way towards my guitar.

I never realized before how many people came here at night to rest. How many people that didn't have a home to go to at night. This here was the real world, where you had to fight to survive. Here's where the strong prevailed.

I sat down, gingerly, leaning against the wall behind me. I tried to close my eyes. I tried to fall asleep, but the memory of the guy before kept me from doing so.

His eyes were what separated him from the rest. They seemed to read me without restraint. Without disgust.

But, with compassion.

Letting my mind wander I find myself thinking of my mother. I can still remember the way life was before the accident that took her from me.

My mother always smiled. She always found a reason to look on the bright side of things. Everyday she made a point to tell me that I was loved. She made a point to tell me that I will succeed in life.

I could still picture my mother. She was tall and had long wavy black hair. Her eyes were a deep, crimson brown that shone with life, love, and yes... compassion.

While she was alive, we held a strong relationship. We weren't just mother and daughter. No, we were best friends. We talked about everything. She always would tell me that I was mature for my age.

But that was before.

It all ended on a Tuesday about seven years ago, when I was only ten years old.

The day was bright, with the sun shining and my mother singing a song she had heard on the radio. She had a beautiful voice. She had a soft, warm alto voice that was close to being a low baritone. I loved listening to her sing.

I was getting myself ready to leave for the local, family-oriented karaoke lounge. Going to the karaoke lounge was a habit my mom and I had for about two years. We would go every Tuesday to sing and listen to the others. It was my favorite day of the week.

When we got into the small, rustic red, 1997 Chevy pick-up my mom turned up the music. It was a country song, one my mother knew well. As we drove she sang along to the music as I watched the scenery go by.

We were coming up to an intersection when an old, beaten-up looking, Honda came out of nowhere. It hit my mom's side sending us into a tree.

I went unconscious on impact.

About a day later I awoke with a headache that just seemed to get worse by the minute. It took me a few seconds to realize that I wasn't at home in my twin size bed. The air here smelled sterile. I knew then that I was in the hospital. It took me a few minutes before the images came.

I screamed out, before I could think about anything else.

Immediately two doctors and five nurses entered my room. All of them looking at me frantically, wondering what was the matter. It took them a moment to realize everything was fine. All of them left except a small nurse with short blonde hair and green eyes. She sent me a sympathetic look as she crossed the room to stand by my bed.

"Bad dream, honey?" the nurse said as she glanced at a machine located to my left.

"Where's my mommy?" I said in a whine, as I looked around me frantically.

The nurse stopped watching the monitors and sat down on the side of my bed. She took my hand softly into hers before she spoke.

"Do you remember why you are here?" she spoke softly.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak as my mind thought the worst.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but your mommy didn't make it," she said with tears in her own eyes.

I laid there in shock. No tears were shed right away. I just stared off into space thinking, no hoping that this was all a very bad dream. Hoping that I would wake up hearing my mother singing happily in the kitchen as she made my dad and I breakfast.

The nurse left a little while later saying she'd be back with my dinner.

It was then that my tears flooded down my face. I wanted my mother right then. I missed her already. I was mad that she left me alone, like she promised me she wouldn't. But most of all I felt guilty for living while she had died.

About a week later I learned that I wasn't the only one who thought it was my fault for her death.

Yes, my father made sure he told me every day how it was entirely my fault.

And I believed him.

A small chill went down my spine as I try to take in a steady breath. The only time any emotion ever comes over me is when I think of my mother. Well any other emotion besides pain. Though in a way that isn't true, because sadness is pain.

Before I realized what had happened my hand was in my pant's pockets clutching the razor within my palm. I could feel the warmth of my blood roll down my fingers, as I pulled it out not too carefully. Looking at the razor in my palm I nearly sighed at the sight. There it sat just like it normally did. You could tell that it was cleaned before this 'accident' because you could still see the shining metal poking through the crimson life.

Moving the razor so that it was held by my reddened fingertips I put it up in front of my face before I brought it back down to my already scarred arm. The wave of pain went up my arm nearly to my shoulder. I loved the feeling.

I did this a couple times as I watched the warm liquid run down my arms.

Then with a small sigh I pulled out my bandana I had in my pocket out so I could wipe the blood off my arms and the razor. The copper scent of my blood wafted through my nose making my eyes close as I brought the rough fabric to the wounds I inflicted.

After I wiped off most of the blood I stuffed the bandana back into my pocket so I could clean it later.

Glancing up I saw that the sun was coming up over the horizon. I knew that today was in fact a school day. Figuring that I had nothing else better to do, I got up to make my way there.

Stepping outside I let a scowl appear on my face as I thought of the people that went to Adams Central. Most were stuck-up fuckers who look down on anyone who didn't wear the latest 'trend', (which the last I heard was looking like a fucking whore).

Walking slowly down the streets that I knew as well as the back of my hand, I came in front of the school. It was two stories high and had hallways labeled by letters ranging from A to J. There were only hallways A-D upstairs though. All and all it had a large student body and had an 85% graduation rate... This, in my opinion, was pretty good. I also knew that I was a part of the other 15%. Who would have guessed that?

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes as the Group of Whore's (more commonly known as the 'popular group'), pointed at me with disgusted looks. I was use to this reaction as they were use to the usual hello from me that consisted of me giving them the finger.

One thing about my reputation at school that I still don't understand is that I am the class lesbian. Not that I think it's bad to be gay or les, I'm just not that way. Well, honestly I don't know what I am, considering that the last time I ever even like someone was way back in the seventh grade. And he turned out to be a major prick. But then again aren't all guys?

Though that guy fro yesterday, I must admit, was cool enough. Hell he was probably gay, seeing as how that's how it seemed to work lately. A guy was either a prick or gay.

Okay, so that sounded just a tad bit... closed minded, but then again that's only if you didn't live here in Hell-hole City... other wise known as Bracken, New York.

Walking straight into my first class I let my eyes wander for a seat that was empty, preferably in the very back. As my eyes swept the room I listened to the other people coming in. That's when my eyes fell on a familiar pair or eyes. They were a warm dark brown and they were framed by equally dark brown hair that reached almost to his elbows.

It was the guy from yesterday. And by the look upon his face, he remembered me too.

Oh Joy, more small talk.

Glancing around the rest of the room I also noted that the only available seat in the back was right behind him. So, with a sigh of slight irritation, I made my way to the seat.

I sat down silently and let myself stare off into space, figuring that he would see that I didn't want to chat.

"So you do go to school," He said turning to look at me.

Looking at him I stopped breathing for a moment. It was the first time I ever saw him smile. Even more shocking was that it was directed right at me. Weird.

"Yeah," I said after I blinked and looked away.

"What happened?"

I looked at him now knowing what he meant. Then I followed to where his eyes were directed. My hand, I could see, was still dirtied with the now dried blood. I shrugged, not willing to say what had happened. It was none of his business anyways.

"You have to know, I mean there is a lot of dried blood there," He said as he tried to catch my eye.

I shrugged again; his questioning was really getting on my last nerve. I mean who in the hell did he think he was, giving me the fucking third degree?

I then sent him a glare that most would read and think that it just wasn't worth it and that I was just some psychopathic bitch.

"Okay, I get it. So can I just know your name then?"

I was half tempted to turn and look around to make sure that he was, in deed, talking to me.

"Sakura," I heard myself say in my usually cold tone.

"Cherry blossom?"

Cocking my right eyebrow, I was surprised. He was the first person to know what my name truly meant. Most people didn't know it since it was in face, Japanese.

"Yeah, my mom always wanted to take me and travel to Japan," I said with a small smirk.

"Cool," he said, still smiling at me, "I'm Xavier."

Xavier. Definitely seemed fitting for him.

"Quiet down class, we will begin," the teacher said as he walked into the room and then he said in a cynical tone, "Ahh, Miss Rayne, it's nice to see that you've 'graced' us with your presence."

Oh, another person who knows I'm a total Fuck up. Great.

Crimson Pain [01][R, Drama/Angst]

Crimson Pain
Chapter One

Looking into the mirror, I can't believe what I had become. My face was an off color, gaunt from no nutrition. My eyes, lifeless and dull. My hair, unkempt and mattered. Glancing down slightly, I could see the marks on my arms. The deep nasty looking marks.

Touching my arm lightly, I wince from the sudden jolts of pain. Yet I rejoice in the feeling. Besides the pain that sweeps through my body from the self-inflicted wounds, I was numb. I felt no happiness, no sadness, and no anger. The only feeling was the pain. And I rejoiced in knowing I was still alive, if only just for the pain.

I can't remember how I became this dead, walking corpse. I can barley remember a time where my life wasn't all about the pain.

Pain I caused.

I do remember the guilt I felt at one time for the pain I caused others. But that only fueled the need to add more pain to my now defenseless body.

A long time ago, I had a friend who tried to tell me to get help. A friend that tried to tell me that what I was doing was wrong. A friend that told me it wasn't my fault. A friend that cared about me.

But that was long ago. How long? I do not know, for I have lost all sense of time. I never know if it's night or day. I just sit in this prison I locked myself in. No one comes in and no one comes out.

Some would have given in to the will to die. But not me.

Do I want to die?

Yes, but I will not run from my problems. I deserved everything that has ever happened to me. The abuse I give and from the abuse my father gives. Everything.

What of my father, some may wonder.

All he has ever done was speak the truth about who I am. Who I was. He never let a day go by where he didn't say his shit. Not a day went by where he didn't drink so much that he went on a rampage.

No he never once hit me. Never once did he hurt me physically.

Just emotionally.

Day by day, he let his words seep out of his alcoholic self. Day by day I let the words he said to seep through.

Seep through my mind, destroying my hopes, my dreams, my heart, and my life.

Soon I found solace within the blade. The blade of a knife. The blade of a razor. Anything that would bring forth the pain and the site of my life’s blood.

The feeling I felt the first time I did this was relief. For I felt and saw that I was still alive.

What a fool I was though. The fool I am.

I am no more alive than the mirror before me.

My body may be functioning. But my soul is not.

But I'm okay with this prison of hell I put myself in. I know sooner or later it will all end. Everything has an ending. Some are happy. Some are sad. Some are painful.

Mine will be happy. For I know the pain will be over.

But until then, I walk this world, invisible to everyone who passes me by.

Maybe someday...

No, I will not fill my mind with false hopes of a tomorrow. I will not let myself feel the pain of losing it. Not again. I know that it is far worse than the physical pain I put myself through.

Stepping away from the mirror I picked up the clothes that lay out on my bed. Pulling the baggy black shirt over my head, I winced as the offending fabric ran across my wounds. I grabbed my equally baggy black pants and pulled them on. Picking up my brush I ran it through my long black hair, before pulling it back into a braid that went to my waist.

Walking out of my room I glance across the hall to the room adjacent from mine.

My father's room.

I could hear the news blaring from his TV. I could just make out the sounds of him snoring.

I quickly and quietly walked down the hall and into the kitchen. Pulling out the razor I held within my pants, I went to the sink to wash it. The dried blood that was semi-caked on started to slowly wash away as I held under the warm water.

It didn't take long before I carefully placed the now clean razor into my pocket again. Just in case.

Walking out of the house I made my way to school. It was a good fifteen-minute walk from my house. Not that it mattered. Half the time I skipped school anyways. Nothing there mattered to me. I had no future.

Not in the education ways anyways.

Stepping off the sidewalk and into the road I made my way across, listening to the cars that honked at me to move faster.

I walked quickly towards the building I kept my prize possession. An old run down building on South Main St. It was home for the homeless. A hang out for the outcast and druggies.

A getaway for me.

Walking inside the building the putrid smell of decay made its way to my nose, making me dizzy. It felt like home.

I made my way to the back where the hole in the floor was. The hole in the floor that I covered with a rug. Below the rug held my best friend. The other thing that makes me feel alive.

My guitar.

It was an old thing. But I kept it as nice as I could. Everyone in a while I'd have to find a way to gain the money needed to buy new strings.

Sitting down on the cold, wooden flooring, I propped the guitar on my lap.

I couldn't read music. I had no idea the difference between a B flat and an F sharp. Hell I wasn't even sure if those were apart of a guitar. All I knew was the feel of the music, as it would flow through my veins.

Closing my eyes I let my fingers dance over the strings. Almost immediately the world stopped turning. Time cease to exist. Everyone disappeared. All that was left was me, the guitar, and the music that flowed around; taking me away from the painful world.

I don't know how long I sat there playing my guitar. I don't know how many songs I went through. But when I opened my eyes I could see the crowd I had drawn with the music I played. As soon as I strummed the final cord, a loud clapping filled the building.

"That was beautiful!" A woman said as she held her young son to her side.

"You play with such intensity, with such soul," A man said with awe.

A strange feeling came to me then. Something familiar that I haven't felt in a long while. I couldn't put a name to it though. And I wasn't quite sure if I liked it, but I forced a smile to my emotionless face.

The crowd died away slowly. Soon it was just I and a lone figure standing in the shadows across from me. I could feel the figures stare on me. I ignored it as I put my guitar back in its hiding place.

I could still feel the stare as I made my way to leave. I walked slowly, still feeling the music running through my body.

As I walked outside I tried to think of where I could go. The clock on the building in front of me said it was only noon. I didn't want to go back to the hellhole of a house where I supposedly lived with my "loving" father. No. I didn't want to go there until I absolutely have to.

Making my way down the sidewalk I passed many people who worked in the city that were on their lunch break. I could feel the looks they send me that show off their pity.

Lifting my eyes off the ground I looked out to see the subway station in front of me. Shrugging I walked down the entrance. Many people pushed passed me in a hurry; not really caring if they knock you down or not. Assholes.

Shaking my head, I walked over to a lone bench and sat down. My head already pounding from the noisy sounds. I could hear a young child crying in the distance, the sound of a whistle going off, and the sound of footsteps hurrying to and fro.

I couldn't see much beyond a few feet of my vision, because of the wall that separated the waiting are from the actual place where people board the subways. What I could see though, was an older woman fast asleep on the bench in front of me. By the look of her rag-sewn clothes, she lived there.

The people that passed through my line of vision all looked to be business people. Most wearing their nice clothes and carrying briefcases.

Standing up I make my way out of the musty station. Stepping outside I try to figure out what I should do.

Making my way to the run down building again I walked inside. I walked immediately to where my guitar was but I didn't pull it out. Instead I just say there, wondering what I was going to do.

It was going on five by the time I realized I had fallen asleep where I sat. It was normal for me. I always slept while I was here. It was comfortable. It was where I could just get away.

Here was where I could be left alone to think or just sit and play my guitar.

Today was different.

Today I can feel myself being watched.

Glancing around I try to figure out who it was that was watching me so intently. Never before had I felt someone stare. People usually just pretended I wasn't there. Except while I'm playing. Many times people would listen and stare as I played.

Finally my eyes fell onto a pair of dark eyes. The person didn't look away like most did when they find themselves caught in the act of staring. No this person's gaze intensified. That's when I realized it was the same figure as before. Before I could completely think this through the figure took a step forward.

I nearly let out a gasp at what I saw. It was a young guy, probably around my age. He had long dark brown hair and equally dark brown eyes. He was slightly taller than me and skinny. Not skinny in a lanky way, but in a lean healthy way. He wasn't smiling, but I could tell by the way his dark eyes sparkled that normally he did. Looking at his clothes I could tell he normally didn't hang around here. He was to well kept. Wearing his hair back in a low ponytail, his black pants fitting him just right. He was wearing a black hoody and he held an old slightly beat-up skateboard.

The guy didn't speak as he came closer to me. Normally I would have tried to move away, but his gaze held me captive. He came to a stop right in front of my sitting form. Then he lowered himself to sit on his knees.

Cocking his head to the right he asked, "Are you okay?"

It took me a moment to realize why he was asking me this. Looking down to my hand I could see dried blood that had run down my arm from my earlier ordeal.

"Yeah."

Short and simple. I wasn't much for talking to others. I've always preferred to be silent. Silence helps me to keep a cold aurora that kept all emotions bottled up inside of me.

"Was that you playing the guitar earlier?"

Didn't this guy realize I wasn't in the mood to chit-chat?

"Yeah"

"Where did you learn to play like that?"

"Like what?"

I watched the guy sit back a little, pondering how to explain what he meant.

"Like you are the guitar."

Well that was a new one. Never had anyone said anything close to that answer. Shit who was I kidding? No one ever came so close to talking to me.

I just shrugged, how else was I supposed to answer a comment like that?

I watched the guy sit there. He seemed to be looking me over, like a kid does a toy at the toy store. His gaze drifted over my face and body, not once did he show what he was thinking on his face.

Finally he looked back into my eyes. I expected to see pity, sympathy, or even dislike in his eyes, but what I saw was something no one has shown me in years. Not since my mother at least.

They shone with compassion.