Slit This Mess ;; Chapter 1

Chapter 1-Aiden:


I began to feel myself slowly slipping into a window of darkness. My mind was spinning; everything was a blur. I lie there, motionless, waiting to revive. After a few moments, I came back to my senses.
I had passed out again.
         Still a bit lightheaded, I reached over to the side of my bed to get my laptop, which unsurprising wasn’t there. I yelled for my brother, who had most likely taken it again.
         “Brett!”
         “What do you need?” he said, walking into my room my laptop in hand.
         “Um, I don’t know, MY LAPTOP?” I glared at him as I yanked the black computer covered with band stickers out of his hands.
         “Awh, Aiden, I see you’re mad at me now. I feel SO bad. I mean, it’s SUCH a shock for you to be angry!” taunted Brett with faux consideration.
         Rolling my eyes, I ignored his snobby comment as sat back down on my bed and logged onto my computer. Obviously trying to aggravate me, Brett walked over and sat next to me.
         “It’s not like it matters that I take it anyways. I can’t get on without your password. And even if I did, what would it matter? It’s not like you write anything or talk to anyone worth spying on!”
         “Then what’s. The point. Of taking it!?” I spat through gritted teeth.
         “Oh, I have my reasons…” Brett stated with a sly expression.
         Knowing that the dumbass didn’t have any reason for taking it other than to annoy me, I decided to use my old trick. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I dialed the house phone number. Brett jumped off the bed and bolted out of the room yelling over his shoulder, “it’s for me!”
         As soon as he left the room, I jumped up and locked the door. I didn’t want to have to deal with him complaining to me about how it’s “immature to prank call the house phone”. It’s not my fault he assumes every ring of the phone or knock on the door is for him!
         I lowered myself back onto my bed and typed in my blog website. Seeing as there were no new comments, I began my next entry.

Sunday, January 18th
         I passed out again today. It was the fourth time in one week. Somehow my mom found out that I have been fainting, and she questioned me about it. I told her I was because I wasn’t eating that much. (Stupid idea, now she’s force feeding me, thinking I’m turning anorexic.) I hate lying to her, but I can’t possibly tell her the truth! What am I supposed to say?
         “Oh yeah mom, just so you know, I slit my wrists daily. Yes, I know if I slip it could kill me, but I don’t mind!”
         Not gonna happen.
         And even if she didn’t freak out, she’d still want to know why I did it. But I couldn’t tell her; she wouldn’t get it.
         She doesn’t realize how much I miss my father. She always says, “Oh, well I miss him too,” but she’s doing just fine without him. She’s been dating the whole five years that he’s been dead.  I’m not okay. Even though I was only ten when he died, I still remember him perfectly. He was always there when I needed someone to talk to. He’d never yell at me. If I did something wrong, he’d just tell me what I should’ve done. He was the perfect dad, and he definitely didn’t deserve to die. Without him I honestly feel lost, which is why I cut. Cutting is my way to escape the hell we live in. The moment the blade punctures my skin I feel like all pressure is being taken off me. As I drift off into the sweet subconscious state of being passed out, I feel a small surge of happiness flow throughout my body. That one short moment of joy and freedom makes the pain worthwhile. Cutting is what keeps me going; it gives me strength.
Until next time----
-_aid3n_-

         Right as I finished up, I heard my mom call for up the stairs for me to set the table. I quickly slipped my computer back under my bed. I sprinted down the flight of stairs, slowing down right at the bottom. I couldn’t let my mom see me running-she’d know something was up. I never seemed to have energy anymore.
         I silently stepped into our large kitchen. I immediately smelled the sweet tomato-ish smell of lasagna. Oh God.
         My mom only makes lasagna when she has “big news”.
         And usually it’s great news. For her. And her only.
         Trying to forget the fact that I was probably going to find out something I wouldn’t like tonight, I began to se t the table. As I watched my mother begin cutting the lasagna, I began thinking about how odd of a family I had.
         My mom, Corrine Harris-Newton was the assistant manager of Bella Wear, a high-end clothing store in town. For a 48 year old, my mother was actually very pretty. With light brown eyes that twinkled like a shooting star, she always seemed to have a pleasant expression on her face. Her silky smooth dark brown hair reached down to the middle of her back and seemed to be able to do whatever she wanted it to do. She is usually in a pretty good mood, except when she has a bad day at work and has to break up fights between Brett and me. Her kind, soothing voice always seems to try to give advice when people need it.
         My brother, Brett, uses the last name Newton. The thing that most people don’t know about us is that we’re twins. In fact, most people don’t even know we’re related since I use the last name Harris. At school, Brett is practically the God of the 10th grade. About 80% of the girls worship his short brown hair and shining brown eyes. He’s the captain of the basketball team, therefore getting even more attention. I, on the other hand, let my hair grow out and then died it black. I got contacts that make my eyes look green, and I definitely dress a lot different than Brett. He goes for the more typical boy look-baggy jeans, either a T-shirt or a jersey, and tennis shoes, while I have a bit more original of a look. I’m almost always wearing dark skinny jeans, black Converses, a tight black or red T-shirt, some kind of studded belt, and eyeliner. At school I’m considered quite the loner. I actually don’t mind, I find life easier that way. There’s no need for me to worry about who out of my “group” likes who, who dumped who, who made out with who, etc.
         The screeching sound of a chair against our hardwood floor interrupted my train of thought. My mom had set the food down on the table and sat down.
         “Brett! Dinner!” she shouted up the stairs. He had obviously forgotten about the fake phone call I had made. When my mom turned her back to me, I mouthed “lasagna” to Brett. I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t too thrilled either.
         We sat down without a word and started shoveling food into our mouths, hoping to avoid the inevitable. My mom sighed loudly. We kept eating. She sighed again. I took a sip of my drink. She sighed again, so I finally spoke up.
         “Mom, is there something you want us to know?”
         “There actually is! How could you tell?!” she exclaimed, almost making me believe that she didn’t see how I knew.
         Brett and I rolled our eyes but continued to eat.
         “Alright boys, you can keep on eating, but I want you to listen to me. I know that you know that I’ve been dating mike for about 8 months now. We’ve been getting along really, and I love this man. Well, last night after our date—”
         Oh good God! I zoned her out. I definitely didn’t want to hear about any deeds they might’ve done. After a few bites, I decided it was safe to listen again.
         “—and then Mike told me that he loved me more than anyone he had ever been with. And I know this may be a shock to you boys, but—”
         Brett’s eyes suddenly shot open.
         “Oh, no, mom! No, no, no. How could you? Please tell me you’re not pregnant! Didn’t you pay attention when they taught you about protected sex!? Condoms!”
         “They even come in different flavors now…” I mumbled, just loud enough to cause Brett to shoot me his famous deathglare as he continued his little rant.
         “Why?! I can’t stand babies! No! What am I going to do? Oh my God, I think I’m gonna move out. Yes. That’s it. I’ll find my own place. I’m not living here if you’re having a baby. No way, no how. I will not—”
         My mom cut him off.
         “Relax, Brett! I’m not pregnant! What I was going to say is that…well…Mike and I are getting married.”