I can feel my flesh tearing, ripping, searing as I watch my arm morph into a canyon of bone and vein and muscle. Although it’s not really morphing, just revealing what was there all along, lurking beneath the surface. Smooth pale skin, covering red and white guts that are anything but pristine or worth being exposed. Here I am though; bearing it all for the sake of wanting to spend my time doing something that’s impressive or expressive; slicing my arm open is a wonderful use of my time. At least in my opinion it is. It’s good to recognize what I’m really like, and at a this moment I have a clear vision of myself. And I’m absolutely beautiful. I’m so gorgeous it hurts, and don’t think I’ve overlooked the irony in that statement, because irony is what it’s all about. It’s what makes my world spin on its tiny little insignificant axis. It’s what keeps me safe from prying eyes and mental institutions. Oh irony, how you have saved me and yet you are my biggest downfall.

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“Do you want this?” is what he says to me.

“No, why would I want your half eaten heart attack burger when I don’t even eat dead animals.” He looks at me sheepishly, blushing and casting his head down. I roll my eyes.

“I’m sorry, I forgot. Again.” I’m well aware of the fact that he constantly forgets my stance as a vegetarian. However I’m not as annoyed as I seem, actually it’s quite amusing. He’s my closest friend, and yet he forgets this important tid bit about me. I smile at him; if possible he blushes even more. He should stop being so goddamn cute.

“It’s fine with me, all is forgiven.” I reach across the table and pinch his cheek. He frowns at me. He hates it, I can tell.

“You know I hate it when you do that.” He’s pouting now. My smile widens.

“I must’ve forgotten, I’m so sorry.” He sighs with an over exaggerated frustrated tone.

“You think it’s funny don’t you?” I snort, of course I think it’s funny.

“Think of it as payback, you just look so horrified when I do it. You should see yourself.” He turns his attention back to his half eaten meal. I turn my attention back to the table. I don’t eat school lunch. It goes against my ethics, ethics that pertain to never ingesting something that is less that exceptional. School food definitely falls into that category.

“I don’t see how you go the entire day without eating. I would pass out from low blood sugar. On the way down I’d probably hit a table corner and get a concussion, and then I might fall into a coma. Not to mention the scar I’d have-” I stop him mid sentence with my laughter.

“None of that has ever happened to me. You’re right though, it would happen to you. Just because you’re so unlucky and all.” His glare causes me to damper by hysterics. I grin at him, suppressing by laughter.

“I’m not unlucky.” He’s pouting again, shame on me.

“Hey, how about you come over to my place after school? We could shoot up some heroine and then go rob a local bank.” This makes him smile. It’s a smirk really, but I like it.

“That sounds good to me. A normal Thursday.” Oh he’s so funny.

Immediately after our torture session that is school ends, I drive him and myself to my house. It’s a relatively large house, three stories, five bedrooms, three and a half baths. A large kitchen and living room with all of the latest technologies and gadgets, oh how my father loves his gadgets. We sit on the floor of my room on the second floor, eating popcorn and talking.

“Why did you choose to paint your room neon green? It hurts my eyes every time I come in here.” I take a handful of the popcorn out of the overflowing bowl in front of us.

“Deep down, somewhere you know you love it.” I stuff my mouth full and chew on the popped kernels.

“Connor, when my eye sight starts to fade due to over exposure to the neon lights that are your walls, I’m blaming you.” He thinks he’s so clever. I just smile at him.

“It’s your own fault for coming in here sweetie.” I bat my eyes at him. That familiar look of repulsion crosses his face. I smirk at him.

“Well if I want to see you outside of school then I have no choice.”

“Why that’s so sweet of you to say darling.” More looks of repulsion, this is so easy. “I’m glad you would risk your eyesight just to be with me.” He sighs.

“What do you want to do?” He says between chewing.

“I thought we talked about this at lunch?” I try to sound as confused as possible.

“You know we don’t do heroin, at least I don’t, and we’d never be able to get away with robbing a bank Connor.”

“You’re right; at least you’d never be able to, considering your unlucky curse. Me though?” I smirk, “You should know by now that I can do anything.” It’s his turn to laugh silently, at my expense. I don’t mind at all. I reach for more popcorn.

He suddenly turns serious. Really, he’s always serious, at least in the presence of adults and the sniveling scumbags at our school. When he’s with me however, he’s the epitome of fun. At least in my opinion he is. Right now his expression is laced with concern and a determined edge. Maybe he’s not so fun all of the time.

“Show me your arms.” He knows. I’ve known for a while that he is aware of my small trivial habit, but he has never confronted me about it. At the moment I’m wearing a black long-sleeved shirt, and tight light blue jeans that are meant for the opposite sex. I make no move to show him anything.

“Asher, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” There, avoidance is always the best way to go. He seams slightly agitated. I look away from him, instead focusing on the popcorn.

Before I know what’s happening I’m laying flat on my back, popcorn strewn everywhere. Asher is on top of me, hands on my chest. His expression can only be described as livid. I just stare at him.

“I’ve had enough of this Connor! I know what you’re doing to yourself. It’s going to stop today. Now show me before I rip your shirt off!” I’ve never seen him this angry before. I’ve known him for five years, and until this moment in time he’s been a docile, quiet passive creature. It’s as if he’s been saving his rage, and has chosen to let it roll off of him in waves directed towards me, crushing me. I want to cry.

“Alright, I’ll show you, but you have to let me get up first.” I say this with a calm that I obviously don’t have. I’ve always been good at pretending. Pretending to be happy, pretending to laugh. I think he’s known all along, about my pretending.

He slowly takes his hands away from my chest, and stands above me. He reaches his right hand forward indicating for me to take it. I grab his hand, and he pulls me upwards. We are now standing in the midst of a popcorn battle field; the popcorn has been crushed below our feet. I’m currently fighting my own battle. I still have no desire to show him, I know he’ll be horrified. It seams as though I have no other choice, if I don’t do it now I’m certain he’ll corner me at another date and time and physically force me too. I finger the hem of my shirt. He’s still staring at me.

“Show me.” His voice is commanding. I decide to just do it; I rip my shirt over my head, and wave it around, making it my white flag of surrender. He gasps, then reaches for me, encloses his hand in mine. He pulls me towards him, he examines the arm in front of him. He silently fingers the deep cut running from the inside of my elbow to a few inches above my wrist. There are various other cuts along my arm, and on the other one too. They are shallow and simply do not compare to the huge gash on my right arm. I can understand why he’s so fixated on it. It was done in a moment of clarity, lovely clarity, but I can’t tell him this. He lifts his eyes to mine, we are locked together. He’s so goddamn concerned that it eats at me.

“Connor, I’ve only known about this for a few months, how long have you been doing this?” Yes, he’s too concerned the bastard.

“How did you find out?” I ask him a question I already know the answer to. I’m all about avoidance. I will dodge until I can dodge no more. He looks slightly annoyed.

“When we were both in your bathroom, back in September. There was a bloody towel hanging out of the dirty clothes basket. You saw me look at it.” No shit.

“Why didn’t you do anything then?” at this question he turns sympathetic, or pathetic, I can’t decide.

“I didn’t know for sure. I decided to wait until I was positive I wasn’t jumping to conclusions. I’ve been watching you, watching you be so unhappy but never showing it. Today, when we were sitting here, talking and being happy and joking, your sleeve came up a bit,” he looks down again at my arm, “and I saw the beginning of that.” I hadn’t even realized my sleeve had come up, probably when I was groping for popcorn. I’m never eating popcorn again. Goddamn it. He locks my gaze with his again. “You didn’t say how long you’ve been doing this.” He’s so determined.

“Well, I cut myself for the first time in the ninth grade.” His sharp intake of breath is depressing in a way. I’d hoped he wouldn’t drag this out. He’s going to though, he’s going to drag it through the mud, grass, dirt, sand, sea and ice until he has what he wants. “I didn’t do it that often, every few months.” He looks at me as if to say ‘so that makes it ok?’

“Connor, we’re seniors now. You’ve been hurting yourself deliberately for three and a half years? Why didn’t you talk to me? Hell why didn’t you talk to someone? I could’ve helped you! And it looks as though you’re doing it a lot more now. Possibly every goddamn day!” He’s angry again, and you know what? So am I.

“How do you know you could’ve helped me? No one could help me; no one can help me now!” I tear my hand away from his, “just leave!” Alright maybe I’m being a bit dramatic and I do feel as though I’m participating in some off-beat soap opera, but I really do want him gone right now. His eyes show me he has not given up, he is not leaving. He grabs both of my arms.

“I can help you. Please Connor just talk to me. Tell me why you do this, let me help you stop. I love you.” He loves me, but not in the way I want him to. I have never felt the differences between us, physically, as much as I do right now. I’m short, a measly 5”8, and thin, so very, very thin, and my skin pale. My hair is dark, it reaches my neck and covers my eyes until I brush it away. Asher on the other hand is tall, reaching a little over six foot, with shaggy blond hair. He’s strong; he has girth and muscles, though he never uses them. He’s not in any way large, he’s trim, but compared to me he’s the incredible hulk and I’m but a weakling begging for mercy. He has a hold of me and there is little chance of me escaping.

“Asher, I don’t want to tell you why I do this. You would think I’m stupid.” I say this in a defeated, sad tone.

“I won’t think you’re stupid. I’ll try and understand, really I will.” I know he will. He’ll try his hardest, but in the end I won’t be able to give this up; it’s just too comforting to let go.

This is my first story that I’ve posted on Fictionpress, I would appreciate any feedback you can give me