**This story will contain explicit scenes of self mutilation more commonly known as "cutting" and also mentions of the sexual abuse of a child, but it will NOT be glorified one bit! This is NOT that type of story. This is a story about love, acceptance and healing so please, please, please know that! I'd love to know your thoughts on this story and you can send them to:
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"EXPRESSION OF SILENCE"
By Madison A. Dante
CHAPTER THREE: THE WANT
He was losing his mind, at least that's what it felt like. He sipped his beer slowly trying to ignore the itchy tingling of his fingers begging to be brought relief and comfort. No, he tried to ignore it, but as he watched Tommy and Kyle sit so close to each other at the bar, he knew he wouldn't last much longer. He wasn't crazy, he knew something was going on between them with the way Tommy was fucking smiling and fucking laughing! It was that deep chuckle that Tommy was giving Kyle that told him all he needed to know. His finger tips numbing from the urge, he knew he should just do it, get it over with, but there was no where he could go. No, the bathroom was only a few feet away, but he didn't have a blade with him. But, he did have that Swiss army knife that he kept on his key chain.
"I'll be right back." He stated and all he received was a nod from Tommy and a quick glance from Kyle who was too busy smirking at Tommy to care. He shuffled passed the large crowds of people dancing to the thumping of hideous techno music that was too loud and not in the way he liked. Most of them knew him personally already and didn't bother him, but it was the four of five random people who he didn't know him as anything other than a skate-king, had been the ones to stop him. If you give out one autograph, then that turns to ten and that turns to fifty. No, now was not the time for distractions and the pretty chubby girl with the brown hair was in his way. He flashed a false smile and thanked her for the compliments of `you're awesome' before he managed to get away.
The bathroom smelled of piss and pine cleaner, too large, but clean enough. Fuck, it could have been in the middle of the projects and he still would have used it. There were people inside, three or four, but Michael ducked into the handicap bathroom before they could see him. He reached into his jacket pocket pulling out his jingling keys. He fingered the small four inch Swiss knife key chain as his mind argued for him not to do it, but the want was in his heart and the heart`s stronger than the mind. He could hear the three guys just outside of his door laughing about something that he was sure was pointless and only funny to them. He waited a moment for the door to shut, leaving the bathroom emptied in silence with the muffled hum of the music being felt more than heard. The slow drip of the facet echoed around the room in a drip-tap pattern and Michael sighed as he gave up hope. He propped one foot up on the toilet for balance and rolled up his sleeve. His heart was thumping and sweat was falling into his eyes. He always sweated when he was excited. Looking down at his forearm which was once a fresh and clean canvas with only a few dark inked tattoos, but now dirtied with the painted lines of his pain. Some deep and some not, some light pink and fading, some still healing. This is what his life had become; endless swirls and lines edged with misery. He could feel his pulse thrashing with every unsteadied breath that exhaled from his body and he pressed down...he pressed the blade down and pulled upwards, slowly dragging upwards to prolong the feeling. The knife was dull and unlike his beloved razorblades, he had to press down harder and use more effort to get the sweet relief he needed. It was like he was on a drug and the high was instant. He understood how Charlie could get hooked on cocaine when he was seventeen, because if the rush was one tenth of what he was feeling at that moment with the dragging knife pressing into his forearm, then the sweet torture would have addicted him too.
He didn't cut too deeply. No, he only needed a few seconds to tide him over until he went home to his cold lonely bed where Susanna was waiting. Only in the cold solace of his bedroom could he fully find release, but for now the bathroom served only as a temporary outlet. He grabbed a hand full of thin, scratchy brown toilet paper and dapped at the small amount of blood that he had drawn. The bathroom door burst open temporarily flooding the bathroom with music and he could hear Tommy's voice talking a little louder than he would have been if he hadn't had those three shots of whiskey.
"So, what do you want to do after this?" Tommy asked in his deep scratch voice that only came out when he was either about to get sick or had just woken up. He wasn't completely drunk, just a little tipsy, but add that to the fatigue he was feeling from being out all night and you would have thought he was wasted.
"I think you know what I want to do!" Another voice stated that Michael instantly recognized as Kyle's and Michael froze still. Tissue dapped in blood lay paused at his wound as he struggled to listen to what Tommy and Kyle were saying to each other.
"Oh? I think I know what you wanna do!" Tommy replied and Michael cringed as he heard them laugh together again for what had to have been the hundredth time that night. There was once a time when Michael used to be the one who could make Tommy laugh a certain way, but as time was passing things weren't like that anymore. No, the small smiles Tommy used to give him were becoming far and in-between, but he would catch him giving Kyle those smiles...his smiles. Smiles that use to make him feel all warm inside at first before leaving him feeling cold again after they were gone.
"Yeah, what should we tell Michael?" Kyle asked him and Michael's heart was thumping so loudly in his chest at the thought of what his friends were about to do. It was killing him, slowly, it was. But, its hard to kill something that already feels dead inside.
"We don't have to tell him---" Tommy started to say, but stopped when the stall at the far end of the bathroom opened up and Michael came strolling out and glared at them.
"You fuckers were trying to ditch me?" He stated as he wildly threw up his hands in exaggeration. Tommy's face had that surprised look that reminded Michael of a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Kyle...well he had that look of simplicity on his face that he always had. The utter contentment with life like all he needed was a good beer and a good fuck to keep him satisfied. Sometimes Michael hated that look because he knew he could never feel that way.
"What...we were..." Tommy trailed off, but then Michael smiled and laughed.
"Haha, if you fucking pussy's wanna go then go!" Michael stated. His cheeks were hurting with the force of his false smile, but he had to keep it on. No, he couldn`t let them know his true feelings.
"How are you gonna get home?" Tommy asked and Michael hated the tone of his voice. It was heavy with concern, like he cared about him more than a normal friend should and Michael hated how false he knew it was. No, Tommy didn`t love him, that was just fates way of fucking with him once again. Teasing him with the thought of something that he couldn`t have, with something that didn`t want him.
"Go ahead. I`ll call up Charlie or something." Michael replied as he did a good job of hiding the pain in his voice.
"Cool man, Tommy you ready?" Kyle asked Tommy, but Tommy was looking at Michael in that concerned way again that made him feel both warm and cold at the same time.
"Michael, are you feeling alright man?" Tommy asked and Michael wanted to scream out that he wasn't fucking feeling alright. No, he felt the furthest thing from fucking alright! He wanted to yell out how every time he closed his eyes he could remember his cousin fucking him even while he screamed and cried for him to stop. Even still he could remember the touches...the tastes...the yelling...the harshness...the pain. The worse times were when Steve would make Michael play with the snakes. No, Steve was sick and liked to see Michael cry...snakes made him cry. He wanted to scream out how for five fucking years he felt like it was his fault and felt the shame of thinking that he was doing something that made Steve do all those disgusting things to him. The secret shame of it all was his and he felt the burden heavy on his mind and body. He wanted to yell out that when his mother Donna had walked in on Steve fucking him one fall afternoon how he swore that he saw shame in her eyes and that she blamed him for it happening. Even though she screamed at Steve to stop and went after him with a pair of scissors, in Michael's mind he thought that Donna thought that he was the sick one, the not normal one.
He hated how much she seemed to love him, but every now and then she would yell at him for something random and then would just stop and get a sad look on her face and walk away. Those looks felt like blame to him. But, it wasn't his fault. No, Steve had gotten to him while he was still too young to understand that the bad touches weren't just bad because they hurt him and left him sore afterwards. Michael wanted to yell out how when his older brother Dennis found out he started treating him like he was some fucking little kid who always had to be taken care of and how Grampa tried to pretend it never happened and they weren`t allowed to tell his Nana. She had thought Steve moved to Florida. Michael hated how his father Jonathan would let him do whatever the hell he wanted to do because he felt guilty for not knowing that it was his own God-damn cousin hurting his youngest son and that made Michael feel worse knowing of his father's guilt.
He wanted to tell Tommy that when he was thirteen and after Steve was sentenced to only a year in jail, how he went home that day and cried into his pillow because all the years that he had suffered through had meant nothing because twelve fucking people told him that by only giving the minimum instead of the God damn maximum! He cried so fucking hard that his head started to hurt as his nose bleed and he promised himself that he would never cry again. He wanted to tell Tommy that his tears stopped once he looked over on his dresser and saw the kitchen knife still resting on his dinner plate that he had left up there in his room from the night before and after a few minutes he felt better. How when he figured out that razorblades worked faster three days later he smiled for the first time in months. No, not the smiles and laughs he would have while the crew would be around filming skits in the haggard basement, but a real and pure smile. He wanted to yell out that he hated his fucking life and felt like dying every single fucking day of his awful life for the last twelve years, but couldn't find the courage to actually do it. No, instead of jumping off the twelve story building and ending his misery, he would jump of the two story house and pretend that it was all for laughs when really it was for the tempting of fate. Hoping that each jump or dive would be off just a few inches and then laughing to hide his disappointment when he wasn`t off. But, no he didn't say any of those things. No, he smiled at Tommy and Kyle and then turned to look in the mirror and fix his hair.
"I'm fine, you guys can leave, but I'm staying a little longer. Call me in the morn` n cuz there's whiskey`s and metal waiting and I`m gonna get me a little bit of both!" He stated and saluted as he walked out before either of them could stop him. Once out of the bathroom he leaned his back against the door and breathed in deeply letting his lungs fill up with the heavy smoke filled air of the bar. His head was starting to hurt again and thoughts of Steve lay just below the surface threatening to ignite the tingling of his fingers again. He sat back down at his table and sipped the two shots of whiskey that were sitting on the table-top as he wiped the sweat off his brow and ran his fingers through his short dark wavy hair. He watched Tommy and Kyle walk out of the bar smiling again...fucking smiling at each other while Michael felt like he was dying and he tried to think away the tightening of his chest. He put down the empty glasses and motioned for the bartender to get him another shot of love and two bottles of hope...
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(c) Madison Dante 2005
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