Chapter 3

It was Jon.

Who had caught me and Joshua together on the couch.

It was Jon.

Who had dropped a bowl of cereal, causing the bowl to shatter.

It was Jon.

Who had startled Joshua and caused him to run out of the house.

It was Jon.

Who was horrified and disgusted by me.

It was Jon.

Who I chased up the steps.

It was Jon.

Who slammed the door in my face.

It was Jon.

Crying on the other side of the door.

It was Jon.

I would have to get to unlock the door.

"Jon please open the door?" I asked calmly as I tapped on the door. I could hear his sobs through the thin wooden entrance. "Why are you crying. No one did anything to you. I should be the one crying. You saw me doing something I didn't want anyone to see, you now know something I wanted no one to know!"

"Go away, queer!" Jon managed to say between sobs, "You don't understand."

"I don't understand! You little dickhead, you just called me a queer and you say I don't understand. You don't understand." I had became very angry, my own brother had called me a queer, this was going great now I was facing rejection at home and in public. "Why don't you grow a set and open this door. So I can kick your little disrespecting ass!"

"Go away, go the hell away! I want nothing to do with you!" It had taken longer for Jon to reply this time. His loud sobs had grown to quiet whimpers. I listened to his 'advice' and stormed off down the hall to my own room. It was dark in my room, the curtains were closed securely to protect my eyes from the bright morning sun. A pile of dirty clothes laid in a courner, my bed in another. A large black dresser was pushed against a wall right across the room from an almost closed closet door.

Clothing. Clothing sounded great at the present moment. I quickly worked my small frame across the room to the closet. A pair of baggy trip pants hung from the courner of the closet door, perfect. I gripped the soft fabric in my boney fingers and pulled them down onto the floor. They landed with a cling of chains, studs, and a pair of handcuffs. I swiftly pulled the warm article up past my knobby knees and my 'danger zone' and buckled the pre-attached belt to keep them from falling.

I pushed the closet door closed all the way. A reflection. Not just 'a' reflection, but the reflection of a confused adolescent looked back at me. I was the confused adolescent. What was I confused about? Everything. Why didn't I just deny my sexuality and pretend to be straight, normal. Why didn't I just stay in bed and not answer the door. Why didn't anyone accept me. Why did Jon not accept me. Then the voice answered all my questions with one word, fagget. The word that was burned into the back of my head. I looked around, who had said that. No one. I hadn't said it either, it was a voice inside my head. Was I going mad? I then began to cry. Just like Jon had done, and was most likely still doing. I was a fagget, a dirty little faggetty freak. No one was supposed to accept, and the voice was making sure I knew.

I then heard the jingle of metal on metal as I reached my hand into my pocket and pulled out an orange plastic object, about seven inches long a black push button was noticeable along the shaft of the object. It was a razor, the kind found in storage rooms used for opening cardboard boxes. Using my index finger I pushed the black button up the side of the orange tube a sharp razor emerged from the end of the plastic.

Cutter, I had used to be one a long time ago. It was about time again for a walk down memory lane. I looked at my wrist, small silver scars reached from the palm of my hand up to my inside elbow. Nothing matched silver better then red. The shiny razor slowly began to reach towards my soft delicate skin. It craved the taste of blood, to help relieve the emotional pain. To do this I had to feel sensation on the outside. When I say sensation you think pleasure, one could get pleasure from self stimulation of there own genitals, masturbation. I was seeking another sensation, a sensation only the sharp sting of a razor could give me.

"Stop!" I heard someone say quietly before I was embraced in a hug from behind, "I'm sorry." I turned my head to the side and was able to see Jon now crying into my back. "You just don't understand. I still love you, your my brother, I always will love you. Your my hero when I saw you kissing another boy I couldn't believe it. I've always wanted to be just like you, but your gay! How... Why?" I turned my head back to the mirror. I hadn't expected Jon to react like this. I was his hero. Why was I his hero.

I heard someone clear there voice in the courner of the room. Jon and I both turned our heads to see our father looking in the doorway.

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Sorry for the wait everyone. I've been busy. Please R&R