The Emo Chick
By Darthen

The Wannabe Guy

I share a first name with the scary guy who sits towards the back of the bus. Well, I guess you'd consider it the middle of the bus, I don't really know what you'd call it; I call it seat seven. He never talks, except to the one kid on the bus who is more of a loser than I am. Does that make him a loser by association? Heh. Hell no. He wears all black from his black sneakers to his denim jeans and up to his black shirt emblazoned with a flaming skull. The black contrasts his moon-pale skin sharply. His shirt rests on him in a way that almost shows off more muscle than is there, it's kind of weird. He has broad shoulders and long brown hair that he slicks back so that his bangs won't cover his eyes; it falls back to around the bottom of his neck. This kid wasn't a loser; he was scary, and that was undoubtedly cool. He even scares the terrifying druggies who sit in the back of the bus.

I sat with him once. Just once, and I don't think I want to again. He said four words to me and damn near scared me shitless. He sat next to me, and obviously I needed him to think I was cool, so I showed him my scars. I pull up my left sleeve and expose to him the cross I did on my forearm the other day. The blood was dry now, but God, it hurt like a bitch. The cross was right below the horizontal scars where I slit myself to show everyone how depressed I am. I asked him what could be cooler as I showed it off to him. I saw a flash of anger in his dark, brown eyes and he whipped out one of his hands, I don't really remember which one, and he grabbed my arm with the newly cut razor wounds, and he squeezed. Hard. The white hot inferno seared my flesh, and some of the wounds began to bleed again. He squeezed harder and I screamed. I mean, I really screamed, it felt as if he was tearing my arm off with an arm of flames. Everyone on the bus looked at me and just started to laugh. They called me a stupid cutter and my face began to redden from embarrassment while I tried to get away from the monster that was tearing my arm off. After the laughing died down, he released my arm, the blood was now flowing from it and was starting to paint parts of my arm crimson red. My blood stained his hands a muddy red color. He looked at it, and then at me. "What could be cooler?" He asked me in his rough deep voice. I could only breathe heavily, trying to catch my breath and recover from the terror. His stop came up and he walked off the bus calmly and coolly as if none of it happened. I looked down at my arm. It still hurt.

I thought I had seen the ultimate end of his coolness that day, but I had been mistaken. One day he did something I never thought anybody could do. All for some dumb ass emo chick, too. She had scars on her wrists as well, but he didn't explode at her like he did me. Why the hell does everyone have it out for me? Why can't I get the attention of all the cool kids?

My arm still hurts.

The Emo Girl

I was sitting on the school bus that day; I had had a really bad day, and all I wanted to do was go home, cry, and release my pain the only way I knew how. I knew exactly which razor I would use, too. My mom, who was too stupid to notice anything, it was no wonder why Daddy left us, bought a pack of razors for God knows what reason, and I wanted to try one out. How stupid she is to buy razors, but I shouldn't complain, she gives me the ticket away from my pain. I felt like crying right then on the bus, sitting alone in my seat number eight, but as I looked around me, staring through my pink bangs that covered one of my eyes, I knew that I would only be laughed at by the jackass boys who sat around me. Stupid druggies, they always had to pick on weaker girls to make themselves feel like hot shit.

I was wearing a t-shirt that day. That was a bad idea, because now I had to wear a wide bracelet that I might cover my scars so the druggies wouldn't make fun of me. I could almost hear them now, "Hey, Drew. Why do emo girls cut horizontally and fail to kill them selves?" The ass hole would pull his hair down to cover an eye, "No depth perception!" They would all have a hearty laugh about that one. Damn assholes. I looked down upon my thin, sickly-pale body. My anorexia caused me to be this way. My breasts were so small the boys hardly noticed, but it was better than being noticed and being fat. Then they would make fun of me more. Sometimes I wished I had bigger breasts, though; then the guys would love me. I can feel a tear come to my eyes as I thought of these things. Why doesn't anyone love me?

My cell-phone vibrated with an incoming text message. It had surprised me and I gave a quiet yelp that was lost in the loud sounds of the bus engine. Just loud enough for the druggies to notice, though. They turn on me like a pack of rabid wolves eager to feast delightedly on my insecurity. Two of them in particular regularly berated me, even though I do so much for them. I hate myself for them. I am little more than their whore. They want a blowjob or a quick fuck and I am there. I am so despicable. Why do I do this? Why am I such a whore?

The tall skinny one named Drew rips the phone from my hands causing my bracelet to brake away. I try to hide it discreetly but it's no use. They could see the scars. They dangled the phone in front of me, taunting me to grab out at it. "Come on stupid emo," is what they say holding down my clean arm so that I have to reach with my scarred and damaged one.

"Come on, guys! I'm having a really bad day; just give me my phone back." My high, whiny voice pierces the air around me as I start to tear up. Cry out again and again, but they won't give it back. Why wouldn't they just leave me alone?

"Aw, the poor emo girl is sad." They said, taunting me, "Why don't you go home and cut yourself? Really, go home and cut yourself, you stupid emo." This was pain, they were torturing me and through all of my agony I heard them the vile sound of their laughing at my depression. I buried myself in my hands as the tears start to stream. Why do I have to suffer this? Then I hear a voice coming from the seat in front of me. A deep rough voice, but somehow it seemed soothing. I am able to stop my pathetic crying for a moment as I catch my breath.

"A hero-boy, eh?" I hear the assholes talking to the voice, but I keep my head buried, I dared not look. "What do you care? You don't know her like we do. Why don't you mind your own business hero-boy?" The voice talked some more and gave a short contemptuous laugh at the end. "That's it boy, I'm going to kick your ass." I heard Drew tell the voice. The bus stops at the first stop and all three of them get off of the bus; I heard their footsteps and the mumblings of the druggies while the voice stayed silent.

The bus pulls away and continues down the road, I look up and everyone is looking back, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fight I just started. I dared not look. The druggies were really strong and I did not wish to see my "hero" get the shit pummeled out of him. I found my phone lying on the seat and I put it away in my purse, pulled out a handkerchief, and dried my tears. Then I realized something that made my heart drop. I felt like crying again. One person had actually given a fuck about my pain, was even willing to endure pain, and I didn't even see him. I had no idea who that person was, and he was the one person who cared. I felt the tears come back and stream down my eyes. I had just missed out on someone special. I knew it. Damn it. How could I be so stupid?

The school bus goes on its route; it is deathly silent as the passengers try to process what had happened. Quick glances and intrigued eyes look back at me. The eyes watched me throughout the route. I bent down trying to become invisible. At each stop the exiting kids share hushed mumbles as they talk about the incident. My stop finally came and all watched me as I slowly stood up and hunched over. I carried my elbows in my hands trying to ignore them. Still crying silently that I missed out on someone who cared, I wished I was invisible. How could I miss something like that?

I ran to my house as soon as I stepped off the bus. I pulled out my key to the house and let myself in. My stupid mom wasn't home yet. I ran up to my room and went right for my box that I hid behind some books on a shelf. Opening the box, I looked inside and saw all of my shiny, pain-relieving razors. This one is for him, I think to myself as the tears flow. I choose a spot on my clean arm. I will not forget you, I think, you cared.

I let out a gasp as the cold metal slices my flesh. The crimson red liquid drips down my arm as I hold it up to my eyelevel. It pools in the inside of my elbow and slowly drips down the crease. I let it take me away. Away from the pain, away from the regret, away from the loss. I breathe in deep, feeling the pain leave my body. Ecstasy. The pain flowed out of the wound in my wrist and I let it carry me away. I sigh.

After a while it is all over. The blood stops flowing and I am back in reality. My horrible, lonely reality. An hour passes. What a stupid whore I am. It hits me like a lightning bolt and I am horrified again. If I don't go make-up with them, they will surely come here and make me make-up. They would not enjoy getting into a fight, even if they won. They would come here and make me pay them back for what I did. Maybe if I go to Drew and let him have a quickie, he will go easier on me from now on. If I just go fuck him, he will be nicer to me. I know it.

Walking out of the door, I start off to Drew's house; it's a short walk down and around the next block. On the way I see a guy in all black walking the opposite direction as I stare through my blond and pink hair. He seems to be watching me, almost as if he knows what I am doing. He does not approve. Why does this hit me? He does not approve and I feel like there's a rock in my stomach. Why do I care about what he thinks? I don't even know him. He looks down after a while and shakes his head. Slowly. Sadly.

I am such a stupid whore.

Him

Everything is worth something. And that day was a really bad day. All I wanted to do was go home and break shit with my fists to let out my rage. It was that day I discovered that a passionate kiss is worth five days. Because five days is all it will buy you when you are trying to keep a girl you made the mistake of falling in love with. I knew she was going to so it eventually. I saw it in her eyes that week. Those sad eyes that looked at me knowing the pain they were about to cause. All I could do was buy myself five days. I couldn't win her back. It was over. It was stupid of me to fall in love. I was too young to fall in love. The pain was inevitable. I was only sixteen. Never fall in love at sixteen. It's only worth sadness.

I walked apathetically towards the school bus that was to take me home, where I had a pile of strong wood I could release my rage upon. The bus, how I hated it. Full of fools who don't know what anything is worth. On that whole bus there was but one that I actually respected. A kid everyone thinks is a loser, but in actuality he was full of honor. Honor is worthy of my respect.

I sat down in my usual seat, seat seven. I let myself feel the depression that was tugging at my soul. I let myself feel her tearing out my insides. It was a test of strength. I would refuse to cry. My willpower would not let me do it. I proved that I was worthy of strength.

What a horrible day. I had nothing left now. I had loved her with my heart and soul. I readily admit obsession. Now it was torn away from me, and I was hollow. I shouldn't have become so obsessed. I shouldn't have fallen in love. I still chastise myself for these things. I knew, right then, that she is what made me worth anything. She made me valuable. Now I no longer had her. I was worth nothing. Worthless.

Through all of my silent drowning in depression, I had not realized the bus had started moving and was already halfway to the first stop. How stupid I was. I couldn't even pay attention. My face showed none of my pain. I was straight, unmoving, and stoic. Then I hear a cry behind me. I look back and an emo girl is being picked on by druggies. Oh well, she'll get over it. Maybe she won't, I realize as I catch a look at her wrists and see the scars. I am overcome with a wave of empathy. Unlike the wannabe up front, this girl did not cut to show off; she cut to relieve herself of her anguish. She felt horrible pain, and these jackasses were only torturing her and feeding her despair. I saw her bury herself in her hands and heard one of them tell her to cut herself. That was enough. This poor girl was worthy of my empathy. And maybe, if I could take away her pain, just for a little bit, just maybe, my life would be worth something. If I could take away pain, I would be worth something.

I turn around. There are two idiots. A tall one and a shorter beefier one. Looking down at her I asked her if these two gentlemen were causing her trouble. I got only quiet sobs in response. That enraged me. The poor girl only wanted to be happy. They accuse me of being a "hero." I am no hero, I reply. This makes me smile and I let out a short laugh. Hero? No. I am worthless. I tell them to stop lest I take more serious measures. This seemed to amuse them and I knew what was coming next. It was time to prove to everyone that I was worth a damn.

I walk off of the bus at the stop, and to my expectation, they follow me off, joking about what they're going to do to me. The stop is at a local park. It was empty and only the squeak of old chains on a swing set filled the desolate place. I turn around, cracking my neck most audibly as the bus moves off to deliver its passengers. The two druggies watch me intently. One of them was going through withdrawal; I could see it in his hollow eyes. How lucky I am. It was time to see what I was worth.

They charge me; to my surprise the one going through a withdrawal was faster than his taller counterpart. This was easy. I trip him with a quick swipe at his legs. In his state, the pain from the fall onto the concrete and the pain from his condition will keep him down long enough for me to take out the other tall oneyells as he sees his comrade fallen. Charging faster he pulls out a knife and screams. A knife, ooh. I sidestep and grab his head in the crook of my elbow as I use my other hand to throw the knife into the street. This one was worthy of the pain I was about to deliver to him.

He was stuck bent over in my arm as I slammed him thrice with my free arm upwards into his stomach. I heard him cough and I released him. He fell to the cold ground grabbing his stomach. Asshole. I hear the footsteps of heavy boots behind me. I guess the short one recovered faster then I had thought. He jumps onto my back. No matter, I flip him over my back and onto his fallen friend. I hear one of them lose his lunch. Too bad it was taco day. These two were worth nothing, they didn't even scratch me, but maybe now my life was worth something. If I took away that poor emo girl's pain, it was worth it.

I go home and tend to my pile of wood, unleashing my rage upon it. Of course, I had already unleashed most of it on the two unexpecting junkies. What morons. An hour later I go for a walk trying to clear my head from my dark depression. The emo girl had kept my mind off of it for a short time, but eventually it came back to haunt me. I walk alone. Up ahead I see the emo girl walking the opposite direction; towards me. I watch her, waiting to see what she will do. To be honest, I wouldn't mind if she paid me a little attention, but that's not why I did what I did, and I really didn't want the attention that much. I watch her, waiting. Maybe even acknowledgement for what I did. Nothing. Then I realize that behind me lies the tall druggy's house. She was his whore, and I had done nothing to help her pain. In fact, I saw a new scar on her arm. I want to die as I am hit with the sudden realization. A rock drops into my stomach and my heart jumps into my throat-

I am worth nothing.