Post by Cornflower on May 12, 2010 5:24:41 GMT -5
With a quiet heart
Pointing a blade to my heart
In a way, Corn wasn’t quite sure how things had turned out like this, or why, he was here in the first place. Actually, he could barely remember how he had gotten here. Walking, he remembered walking, a lot, but he never remembered walking this far or in this direction. The last thing he remembered was sneaking into his dorm room, and breathing a deep sigh of relief when he saw Dustin was not there. He didn’t want to worry the boy; he already had too much on his plate to deal with. He didn’t need to see his room mate… like this. No one needed to see him like this. They’d worry.
Corn wasn’t even sure what possessed him to take his painting supplies, and only a single canvas. What in the world would he even need it for? He didn’t take anything else, only a single oversized jacket and a new pair of pants and a shirt. Needing new clothes seeing as the psychotic little girl had cut them off of his body, the knicks on his chest and stomach as proof. He remembered taking a long moment to stare at the sheet he had stolen from the girl’s bed. The one he himself had dirtied covered in flecks of his blood and bodily fluids. How long had he stood there, simply lost in his own head staring at the once white sheet. Far too long, even if it had only been minutes, or maybe, hours. The hapa boy wasn’t quite paying attention to the time.
The long finger nails on his right hand dug easily into the flesh of his palm. Oozing from the cuts and finally ending them selves on the ground, splattering beautifully on the carpet below, staining it. Corn had done his best to make sure he hadn’t gotten any blood on the ground. Once again, terrified that Dustin would see it, and worry. He couldn’t have people worrying over him. Corn shook his head, trying to clear it of any thoughts. He needed… he needed to get out of here. Before Dustin came back, before people started to wander the halls. But first, a shower. He couldn’t stand the feeling of the girls’ fingers on his skin. Her saliva though long dried, he still remembered where it trailed. Corn just felt… dirty.
With the sheet still wrapped around his body he limped to the public bathroom. Using the sheet to gather any blood that leaked from his weak body, so as not to leave a trail. Blood was bad. People followed blood. They questioned blood. No one could know what happened. No, it was a secret that he would take to his grave. As long as no one knew, they wouldn’t pity him. He could just keep smiling, and smiling, no one would notice if he faked a few smiles, yeah? He’d be back to normal in no time. He closed the curtain and turned on the water full blast, scalding hot. His body, numb to the heat slid under the water. Knees giving out, he slumped to the floor. Resting on the floor as the sheet fell away from his naked body. The scalding water poured into the scratch and bite marks that marred his body. The red tinted water flowed from his skin and swirled around the drain, washing away the sins of the night. A shudder racked his body. He understood the body and the mind were different. That, especially for males, sexual stimulation would make him react even if in his mind, he didn’t particularly want it. It was the curse of his gender. He still felt horrible though, still hated that his body enjoyed it. Why, why had it enjoyed it? Stupid thing was always betraying him. Unable to move his left hand, the right hand clung to his upper arm, digging into the skin.
It was his fault he couldn’t use his left hand. Or no, it was Siri’s fault. The sadistic bitch. But then again, he was the one stupid enough to listen to her. Lost the key? Yeah right, why had he been stupid enough to believe her? Lost it, really? Tch, at the end of it all, she left him alone. Handcuffed, a bottle of soap and a hammer next to him. How else was he supposed to get out of the damn things? The answer seemed obvious enough. It was his thumbs, his thumbs were the problem. If he could just, temporarily solve that problem, he could probably slip out of the cuffs. Of course temporarily probably meant months, but it was better then going to the hospital or somewhere else to get the metal contraption removed.
Lathering up his left hand his body shook, fully knowing what he had to do. Finding a clean part of the sheet he shoved it into his mouth, trying to muffle himself, he’d need to. High pain tolerance or not, he wasn’t… this would be beyond any pain he knew, wouldn’t it? He bit down on the cloth in anticipation, hand shaking as he managed to pick up the hammer with his right hand. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the wooden handle, eyes brimming with tears of fear. He was perfectly still for a moment, hammer raised, left hand twitching in anticipation and it lay flat on the wooden desk. In a split second he slammed down the end of the hammer on his thumb, effectively breaking the bone. With a loud, muffled sob, he curled around his hand, screaming into the sheet. For the first time that night, he cried, tears running down his cheeks. As he whimpered he forced his left hand through the cuff. Sobbing as his hand slipped though, forcing the hand to move. He laid there for a long moment, crying into the bed, coddling his hand.
He’d never, felt this sort of pain before. More then anything, it hurt. The throbbing seemed to emanate though his entire body. Spreading from his hand, to his toes. Eventually the shock from the pain kicked in, and his hand didn’t hurt as much. Sitting up, he wasn’t quite sure how he’d hold the hammer now. With his left hand broken, how would he break his right? Shaking his head he grabbed the soap bottle using his right hand to squeeze the liquid onto the sheet. Planning to rub his hand in to it after. However the bottle stopped squeezing out the liquid. Confused he placed the bottle between his thighs and opened it, pouring the rest of the soap onto the sheet. Corn nearly screamed in frustration and he stared at the contents on the cloth. The fucking key. With all the strength he could muster he threw the bottle across the room, hitting the wall with a harsh cry. He sobbed into his working hand, angered, confused, in pain. Siri was sick; she had… planned this, hadn’t she? Made him break his own hand. The tears fell uncontrolled now. He was an artist. His hands, his hands were his life. To break one even if it was his weaker hand, was a desperate last ditch attempt. He hiccuped, gritting his teeth. If only he’d been smart enough to check everything first. If only he had done… he didn’t know, something better. Looked around, hadn’t so blindly believed the girl. He was still rather naive wasn’t it? His hand gripped the slippery key, placing it in his mouth. Angling it, he slipped the key into the hole and with a quick jerk of his head opened the lock. The tight, bloody cuff fell from red, raw wrists and hit the bed with a heavy thud.
Corn was sure that by now, he was being boiled alive. His skin had turned a bright pink and the air was almost impossible to breathe. Swaying a bit he rested against the tile wall, his shortness of breath making him light headed. What, was he going to do now? He was sure that the eventual shortness of breath would knock him out for a while, or worse, so no, he couldn’t just stay. Besides, someone could find him. He only had one option, he could only hide. Like an animal. What did it matter anyway, he had already been made prey. Already been hunted and caught, like an animal, why couldn’t he hide like one?
He shook his head, as his hand roughly scrubbed at his skin trying to remove the feeling of the girls touch. He was already clean, the scalding water having taken care of that, but he still felt it. Felt everything, why wasn’t it gone yet! He bit his arm to stop himself from crying out in frustration. Why had his life, all the sudden became more complicated? Hadn’t he already gotten rid of it all? All the possessive ex lovers, the fake friends, all of those who used and confused him with their underhanded ways. And now… now he had this. Among all the other lists he could put himself on, rape victim was now one of them. It disgusted Corn.
Angrily the boy stood, his knees beyond shaky, but he didn’t care anymore. Picking up the sheet he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. With as much force as he could muster, he tossed the wet cloth into the trash can in the corner, just barely making it in. Still completely soaked he threw his clothes on. Not caring if it got wet or not. His breath caught for a moment as he looked into the mirror, he was… a mess. His eyes were blood shot, and red. Dark bruises were starting to form where the girl had slapped him. Lower lip was bloodied and split, from his own teeth as well as the girl’s. He flipped his hood up, the black and white bunny ears falling over his shoulders. He couldn’t let anyone see his face either. Fuck. Why had Siri even made hiding complicated?
He reached down into the front pocket of the simple black bag in front of him. Pulling out an orange medicine bottle as he stood. Sometimes, he had to love his family with their, druggie pack rat ways. Opening the bottle he did his best to pour it into his broken hand, some of the white ovals spilling over and bouncing off the floor. Who gave a fuck about picking them up anymore? He shifted the around for a few moments, before smiling. Bingo, thank god his grandmother was addicted to vicodin and thank god he had stolen some before he left. Even if he hadn’t know what he’d use if for, having only taken it once in his life before, it seemed handy to have around. He poured the rest of the pills back into the orange bag, and then quickly popped the vicodin into his mouth. Swallowing it with a little difficulty, but hey, it was better then nothing. He jammed the bottle into the pocket of his jacket, knowing he’d need more later.
With an angry sigh, he grabbed his bag slinging it over his shoulders. As soon as it collided with the sensitive flesh he cried out in pain. Having forgotten the carvings the girl so happily placed on his back. Fuck…. It… hurt. A lot. Gritting his teeth he did his best to wait out the pain, hoping it would reside in a few moment, possibly going into shock again. And as soon as he was able to move, he grabbed his canvas and left, limping down the deserted halls.
Corn wasn’t really sure in the direction he was going, where his feet had decided to take him. He just kept on walking. Walking… walking… walking… Finally, with a weak cry he threw his canvas down, his bag soon following it. He was god knows where, somewhere with a lot of trees and no people. And as far as the boy was concerned that was perfect to him.
Dropping to his knees, he spattered red and purple paint on the canvas. His brush strokes arching and falling. Twisting in different patterns and swirls, forming odd objects and shapes…. And who knows what else. The boy was past the point of thinking by now. No, he didn’t want to think right now. At all. He just wanted to paint, even if he wasn’t sure what exactly he was painting anymore. Before he though maybe the night sky, then a bird, then it was a person, and now, now it was back to a dis-colored blob. Still his hand kept moving, turning the paint into this or that, sometimes grabbing another color to spill onto the canvas. He kept at that for hours, sometimes falling to sleep on the grass, or even the canvas. Only to wake with a startle and continue, silent besides to slick sound of the brush moving the paint. When ever he’d begin to feel the pain in his hand, he’d simply grab his bottle of pills again, popping yet another one into his mouth. Eventually losing track of how many he had taken. But it didn’t matter. Right now, all that mattered was his paint. His brush. His hand moving swiftly creating figures with a stroke.
What, was he even doing anymore?
Notes: Never. Writing. This. Much. Again. EVER. DDDD: Hun, if you do reply to this, please do not match it. There is no way I can write this much again.
Words: 2,221. I will be surprised if anyone actually reads all of this D:
Music:Yokan-Dir En Gray or anything by HollyWood Undead
Outfit: Sorry for tiny picture D:
