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Disclaimer: The song is not mine. The song belongs to Dashboard Confessionals and is called “The Places you have Come to Fear the Most”.
A/N: Warning this story is about a cutter and the effects of cutting. It is very angsty, but it’s real. Though it does not end happy, there is a note of hope at the end. Let me know what you think.
Barely Scraping By
‘Buried deep as you can dig inside yourself,
covered with a perfect shell,
such a charming beautiful exterior’
James Carter walked silently down the street. Holding his head high and his shoulders back, no one could ever know the pain buried deep inside. He put on a façade in front of his friends at school. Burying all his emotions, hurts, down so deep that no one would ever see anything other than the perfect life he seemed to live.
‘Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes
perfect posture
but you're barely scraping by
You’re barely scraping by’
He played the good kid in school. By pasting a smile on his face and holding his head high, he could fool everyone. He could even hide the pain behind his eyes. If he showed everything was all right, no one would see beyond his exterior. No one would notice the scars on his wrists or realize the agony inside.
He could not let them see his pain. He could not let them know what happened every day after school. They could never know. If they knew there would be questions, comments and that would mean trouble for him. No, they could not know. He did not even want to imagine the consequences if someone found out. He had enough problems to deal with now. He did not need it to get worse. He was barely scraping by as it was. He could not possibly handle things getting worse.
‘This is one time
This is one time
that you can't fake it hard enough to please everyone
or anyone at all.
Or anyone at all’
“James, are you okay?”
James looked up from the paper he had been staring at. He realized quickly that he had not been staring at the paper at all. In fact, his eyes at been closed in a tight grimace. Quickly, he smiled, meeting the eyes of one of his classmates.
“I’m fine, Amanda. I just missed a stupid question on this quiz. I can’t believe I missed that.” He said with a slight chuckle at himself.
Amanda smiled, but eyed him. “Don’t worry about it. You got a B. It was a hard quiz. You did great.”
James nodded. “Yeah I suppose you are right.” He said, faking his happiness. Yet there was pain laced around his words. James knew a B was not good enough. It was not an A. It was not perfect. His father would be angry, very angry!
Dreading what was to come, he stood to head home. This was one time he did not hold his head high. He could not. He could not fake it this time, not when he was heading home to face his father.
Suddenly someone caught his arm and turned him around.
“James, I’m worried about you. Is everything all right?”
It was Amanda again. James brought his head up, barely finding the strength to hide the pain behind his eyes.
“I’m just tired Amanda. I was up until late last night.”
It was the truth. He had been been up until late last night. He just did not need to explain what he had been doing at all hours of the morning. He did not need to explain the pain he had been in.
Amanda looked at him almost believing what he said. Something in his eyes, however, told her that it was more than fatigue. He was hiding something. She continued to stare at him for a moment, but finally decided that whatever it was, was none of her concern. She loosened her grip on his arm slightly, but quickly grasped his arm again. As she had looked down, she had noticed something on his arm. James always wore long sleeved shirts. It was his style and no one ever questioned why. However, because she grabbed his arm, the fabric had been pulled up slightly. What she saw caught her eye and she quickly examined his arm. Before he could even object, she pushed his sleeve up to look at his wrists. To her horror, she saw the many scars that lined his wrists. Some looked deeper than others did, some looked recent.
James quickly yanked his arm away, pulling his sleeve down. “I um… I cut myself as I was helping my dad in the tool shed the other day.” He said quickly.
Amanda stared at him, tears in her eyes. “James those scars weren’t accidental. Those were deliberate.
James swallowed hard. She knew, but she could not possibly understand. No one could understand why he cut himself. The pain, the blood, it was a temporary release of everything he felt inside. It was the one thing in life he could control. He could control how deep and how much pain.
“It’s nothing.” He said dejectedly.
“That’s more than just nothing. That’s a cry for help.”
“What do you know about cutting, Amanda?” James yelled more bitterly than he had intened. “You don’t know anything about it. Quit trying to sound like some hero.”
Amanda was taken aback. James had never been known to yell at someone. He was always calm and collected.
“It’s none of your business, so just stay out of it.” James said, his voice lowered.
With that, he walked away. He needed to get home before his father came home from work. He would already be in trouble; he did not need to add being tardy to his list of imperfections. Quickly checking his watch, however, he realized he was already late. Perhaps if he ran, maybe, just maybe, he would make it home in just enough time. He could hope.
‘And the grave that you refuse to leave
the refuge that you've built to flee
the places you have come to fear the most.
Is the place that you have come to fear the most’
James did not want to go to school the next morning. He dreaded it. What had once been his safe house, his refuge, would now become a place to fear. What if Amanda told someone? What if they asked him questions? What if they found out about what his father did to him? What if his father found out that people were asking questions? He feared going to school. He feared it now more than anything else. Could he still keep pretending like nothing was wrong? Could his façade continue to fool people? Would Amanda be fooled or now that she knew about him cutting, would she be more observant? He feared what was to come.
'Buried deep as you can dig inside yourself,
and hidden in the public eye.
Such a stellar monument to loneliness.'
Pulling his sleeves down over his newly formed cuts on his wrists, James walked outside. He pushed all of his feeling and emotion deep down inside himself. He walked to school, passing many of his classmates along the way. Everything he was inside was hidden from the public eyes, just the way he wanted it to be. Yet, he felt so lonely. No one really knew him or who he was. He did not have any close friends, but then again, that was how it had to be. He had to be alone.
'Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes
and perfect makeup but you're barely scraping by
But you’re barely scraping by'
Keeping the smile on his face, he kept walking. A girl smiled and winked at him, thinking him to be a cute boy, not knowing that he was dying inside.
“Hello, James.”
James turned his head to see his math teacher. He smiled and nodded a hello.
“Hello, Mr. Ellis. Good to see you today.”
The teacher kept walking, silently thinking to himself.
‘What a nice boy. He’s always so cheerful and polite.’
If only the teacher knew that his student was barely scraping by. But he didn’t. James knew how to hide his pain. He knew how to hide his hurts.
‘
‘Well this is one time
This is one time
that you can't fake it hard enough to please everyone
or anyone at all.
Or anyone at all’
“Good morning, James.”
James smiled as Amanda came walking down a hallway. “Good morning, Amanda. How are you today?”
For a moment, she just stared into his eyes. “I’m fine, but I’m worried about you.”
James forced himself to laugh. “Worried about me? And why would you be worried about me?”
Amanda stared deep into his eyes, knowing the laughter was only skin-deep. She could see the pain in his eyes. The hurt that was buried deep inside his soul could no longer be hidden.
“James, I want to help you. I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t have to. I just want you to know I’m here for you.” Amanda told him.
James thanked her and began to walk away. Amanda caught his arm as her eyes filled with tears.
“Promise me you won’t cut yourself anymore. Promise me you’ll stop.”
James lowered his eyes. “I can’t promise, Amanda.”
“Please try. Try for me. You’ll only hurt yourself more by cutting.” Amanda continued to plead.
James sighed. “Fine, I promise to try.”
Amanda accepted his answer, though it did not necessarily please her. Instead of saying anything more, however, she watched him walk away.
James immediately walked to the boy’s bathroom and slammed his fist into the wall. He hated himself for appearing so weak. He wanted to appear strong and he didn’t want to appear like he needed the help from others. That was weakness. Deep down inside, however, he wanted someone to notice him and help him. He needed someone to reach out to him, but he could never admit it. The mere thought of letting someone help him, made him hate himself all the more. He had to hold on to what little dignity he had. To let someone help him would be to give that up.
He had to try to be strong. He had to fake it as hard as he knew how, even if he could no longer please anyone with his façade. It was his job; his duty.
‘And the grave that you refuse to leave
the refuge that you've built to flee
the places you have come to fear the most.
Is the place that you have come to fear the most’
James walked home as fast as he could that day. The house was empty as he walked in the door, so he quickly began cooking dinner for his father. It was almost ready when he heard his dad pull up in the driveway. He rushed to get everything ready and was just setting the hot meal on the table as his dad walked inside.
“Boy!”
James cringed at the tone. He could smell the alcohol on his father and knew he had been drinking once again.
“Why isn’t the lawn mowed today?”
“I’m sorry, father. I rushed home from school. I’ll do it after supper.” James said looking up at his father while desperately trying to keep his hands from shaking.
Hot pain suddenly stung across James’ face as the blow his father delivered made his head snap to the side. His father began cursing at him telling him he was worthless and that he could never accomplish anything. Then, he was sent to his room for the night because his father said he did not want to see the useless, insignificant boy that was his son.
James sat down in the corner of his small room. It was dark, just the way he liked it. In the darkness of his room, no one could see the tears he cried. He swallowed hard as his father’s words ringed in his mind. They cut deeply and it tore his heart. He grasped his knife tight in his hand and silently took it back to his arm. He pressed down, watching as the blood flowed down his arm. The pain and blood brought no relief, however. He decided to cut again, this time on his leg. Yet still no relief. This pain could not overcome what his heart felt. It was too much.
Suddenly a new thought entered his mind. He felt guilty for his cutting. He felt that in some way he was letting Amanda down by cutting himself. She was trying to help him to be there for him and he was letting her down by making himself weak in front of her. He had even promised her that he would try to stop. He failed her. The guilt was overwhelming. His tears began to fall to the wood floor beneath him, mixing with the blood that dripped from his cuts. His refuge of cutting himself to release his hurt, now only caused more pain. He hated himself already for cutting, now he hated himself even more.
Instead of dropping the knife, however, he cut deeper into his skin. Cutting had become his refuge that he couldn’t leave. He had though he could stop at anytime, but he no longer had the control. It had become a part of him. He hated himself for every cut and yet he continued. It was the only way he knew to ease his pain.
‘You can't fake it hard enough to please everyone
or anyone at all.
Or anyone at all
And the grave that you refuse to leave
the refuge that you've built to flee
the places you have come to fear the most.
Is the place that you have come to fear the most
is the place that you have come to fear the most’
The next morning, as James put on his clothes for school, he stared silently at his knife. He hated the cursed blade; he feared it. He knew he should stop, knew that in the long run it never helped anyone, yet at the same time the blade was the only friend he could count on. He was dependent on it. He needed it. Somehow, it kept drawing him back, keeping him captive. He refused to leave; he couldn’t leave. He was cutter. And he would forever be a cutter.
