This is reposted from our joined account. I can't remember the password. Moronic me. Enjoy!

It's all your fault.

I clenched my teeth and felt my body tense up as I stepped into the shower. The water from ran down my skinny body in little rivers, and I shivered. It was funny, because while the water was hot, I was still so cold.

It's all your fault.

I know.

The locker room shower was a bit of a sanctuary for me. I had gym the last period of the day and most people hurried out of the school before they missed the buses, leaving me to be in peace. And it was certainly better than taking a shower at home. My mother was constantly watching me, worrying, hoping that I was okay, leaving me no space.

And for once, I just wanted to be alone.

But Eli, you're always alone.

I know.

I grabbed the loofa that I had brought from home and brushed the bar of soap against it, creating a light layer of white on the harsh texture. I rubbed the loofa on my shoulders and trailed it along my neck, closing my eyes and relaxing into the water, letting warmth wash over my body.

Why should you feel the warmth? The voice in my head asked. Why should you feel anything but miserable, Eli? You're a miserable soul. You don't deserve to enjoy this feeling.

My breath hitched, and I scrubbed my arms harshly, trying to get rid of the disgusting feeling that swept over my body as I realized that for a second – just for a tiny, tiny second, I had forgotten.

You're disgusting. You know that right? The voice raised its volume, filling my chest with anxiety. I rubbed harder, feeling dirty and filthy. But this dirt would never come off. This dirt was glued to me, and would always be glued to me. I was a magnet to filth. I was filth. My world was spinning and shaking, and the voice kept repeating itself, and before I knew it, I was gasping for air.

I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, and by the time I had gotten a handle on myself, I looked down to find my arms rubbed raw. I dropped the scrubber shakily onto the shower floor, my heavy breath stopping short before the world stopped turning and heavy sobs making my chest quake as I leaned against the shower wall.

Fuck. I am disgusting.

The water was turning cold against my skin as my sobs softened and eventually stopped, and I shivered before reaching to turn it off. I still felt dirty, but when the raw skin of my arm brushed the towel I had set out, I knew that once again I had hurt myself – maybe on purpose, maybe not. It didn't hurt all that bad, but still – it was the result of an anxiety attack, and it had caused me harm.

What would happen in the future? Would I consume too many pills; cut too deep? Would my shaking hand press down too hard and rip open an artery? Would I bleed out all over my bathroom floor, and would my parents have to walk through a pool of my blood to get to me? Would they find me in my bed, pale and cold and motionless, dead and gone?

Each of these possibilities played out in sequences in my mind as I dressed myself, morbid pictures subduing my shakiness and calming my still irregular breaths. In some ways, they were comforting. Was I suicidal? No, I didn't…think so. I wouldn't have intentionally tried to kill myself, not at that point in time. But sometimes I took comfort in the fact that I could, whenever I wanted to. It was just that easy. My life was just that fragile, and in the blink of an eye, I could be a tiny vanished blip in the universe, hardly seen and hardly missed. If I ever felt so inclined, I could remove myself permanently. That's what calmed me down as I leaned against the row of gym lockers, my breathing still heavy but steadier and less labored. My eyes fluttered closed, and I could see it, the bright red and pale white so easy to imagine. It made me feel almost sadistically happy – a slow, painful smile split my face in half as I sucked in a deep breath and let it out, imagining it as my last. I waited until I was in pain to let in the oxygen, and even though relief flooded my lungs, I felt nothing but disappointment.

The slam of the locker room door startled me out of my trance, and panicked when I heard the deep boom of a voice I knew very, very well.

"He has to be in here," a lighter, shaky voice said, and my eyes widened when I realized someone…a few people…were most likely looking for me.

"He fucking better be."

"He always is," another gruff voice added after Aaron spoke, and just as my shock started to melt and just before I had enough sense to dash out the back door like the coward I was, suddenly four boys rounded the corner, their eyes dark. It was like a well-oiled machine, the way they didn't even blink or hesitate as they moved in.

Push.

Shove.

"Watch it, creep."

Push.

Shove.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Push.

Shove.

"We don't allow murderers in this school."

Push.

Shove.

"You think you would have learned by now that no one wants you here."

Push.

Shove.

Stop.

I felt my back come in contact with the wall, and that was all that was running through my mind. Stop. I wanted to shout it; scream it to the world so that everyone could hear me. No one had any idea how much I wished the world would stop spinning on its axis, how badly I wanted time itself to freeze so that I might have a moment of peace.

I knew it would never come, though.

I knew, because no matter how much I wished, it only got worse.

Everything was so much worse when I asked for it to get better.

"Did you hear me, freak? Did you hear what I said?"

Aaron's face was very close to mine, stale breath spilling across my face as he spoke. I simply stared back at him, at the man whose teeth were bared, almost animal-like. The dim lighting in the locker room cast shadows across his face, his eyes black as coal. He looked…deadly. There was no other way to describe it.

"You think because you killed someone, it makes you any less vulnerable, emo boy? Well, it doesn't. It fucking doesn't. You disgust me."

I disgust myself.

"And you have no right to be here. You have no right to walk these hallways. No one wants to see your face. You're a fucking psycho."

He slammed me against the wall again, a series of muffled laughs coming from his friends that stood behind him, enjoying the show. I clenched my jaw tightly, pressing my lips into a line, refusing to speak, refusing to react. I had learned throughout the second semester that sometimes, it was best to pretend that you felt nothing, not even physical pain.

I felt his fingers dig into my shoulders and I tried not to wince.

"I have a message for you, emo boy."

His hand went to his pocket.

"I don't think you get how much everyone hates you."

He was wrong. I knew. God, I knew.

"You need to be taught a lesson."

Aaron's free hand shoved me harder into the cold, stark white wall. I braced myself for a punch, a kick, some kind of beat down. It wouldn't be the first time he had beat me up, and I was almost certain it wouldn't be the last. I knew the rules. I knew that I had to take it.

I deserved it.

"Man, what are you doing?" A voice rang out, shattering the eerie silence of the room. Aaron let out a low chuckle as he slowly withdrew his hand from his pocket.

"Showing emo boy here that we're not playing around," he said simply, and there was a click. My breathing picked up as he slowly brought up a knife to my face, blade glinting in the fluorescents of the shower room. I could feel my eyes widen, and my heart thumped harshly in my chest as a wide smile spread slowly across Aaron's thin lips. I felt the blade press gently against the side of my throat, and I clenched my eyes shut as the cold metal sent a shiver throughout my body.

Show no fear, I reminded myself, and forced my eyes open once more.

"Aaron, we can't…you can't…"

"Relax!" Aaron snapped, never tearing his gaze away from my face, experimenting by running the blade gently down my neck, applying almost no pressure. "Relax," he repeated, voice calm.

"You can't fucking kill the dude!" The same voice said, tone wary and hushed.

"Ah, but I could, though, couldn't I?" Aaron answered. "I could kill him, right here, right now, and you would all be just as guilty as me. He deserves it." The knife pressed more firmly to my skin, and I gritted my teeth as I felt a sting follow the trail of the blade. "You know you deserve it, don't you, Eli? You fucking know." I cursed myself as tears formed in the corners of my eyes, my body shaking as he removed the blade from my throat. "Tell me, emo boy. Honestly. You'd like to die, wouldn't you? You'd like nothing more than for me to slit your throat, right now. You disgust even yourself."

I felt his fist impact long and hard into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I almost doubled over, but once again I was thrown into the wall and I groaned quietly.

"Well I'm not going to let you off that easy, freak." My breathing was ragged as I forced my eyes open to look at his twisted face. "No. You're going to suffer. You're going to pay for what you did. You should be in fucking jail, and yet, here you are, walking our hallways. A murderer. It's not right. And if I can't have the satisfaction that you're locked away from the world, I at least want to make sure you won't be in this fucking town."

"Then let me go," I rasped, immediately regretting it as I got another blow to the stomach.

"Not that simple," he stated. "I'm not finished with you yet." Slowly, he turned to face his accomplices, who had backed into the opposite wall, stunned into silence. "Are you guys going to fucking help me or what?" He asked.

For a moment, just for a moment, I thought that maybe they wouldn't. That maybe a silver of guilt or pity would shine through, and that they would get their asses the hell out of there. A part of me wished to escape – I could take Aaron. I had a chance if it was just him.

But then, slowly, their unsure eyes hardened, and they moved like a pack of wolves, gruffly grabbing my limbs and pinning me against the wall, silence ringing all throughout the locker room when Aaron took the knife and drew it gently against my cheek. I hissed, now feeling the shallow cut on my neck as well. I realized at that moment that I had no idea what Aaron was going to do. What if he killed me? It's not that I was afraid of dying, but not now, not like this. Not by him. I knew there wasn't a whole lot of dignity in committing suicide, but dying in my school locker room, held down by three guys not much older than me, bled out from multiple knife wounds…I couldn't…I wouldn't go like that.

"What's the matter, Eli? This is nothing new. Everyone knows you cut yourself. I'm just doing you a favor." I glowered, my breath ragged as I struggled against several pairs of arms.

"Aaron, I think that's enough with the knife," one of them warned, though I knew it wasn't for my own benefit. "We don't want to get caught. There's only so much the kid can say when he's questioned."

Aaron seemed to take this into consideration, pausing and taking me in.

His arm was a quick flash, and before I knew it I had another slash across my right cheek. I could feel that it was deeper than the previous two, and significantly more painful, but before I could react, Aaron's fist once again hit my stomach, and I couldn't breathe. Gasping turned into coughing, and I was suffocating. The grips on my arms and legs only tightened, and the punches kept coming. I was drowing; I could barely see, barely hear, barely think.

His punches were harder and my body was bloodier. But I deserved this. This is what killers deserved. They deserved to be beaten and broken and completely fucked up. They deserved it. I deserve it.

Suddenly, the punching stopped, and I could finally breathe again.

I heard a muffled command and I was released, but in a matter of seconds I fell to my knees. Everything hurt. I could feel the blood running down my face, my muscles contracting and expanding with relief. My chest ached, my stomach was in knots.

It was then that I received one hard kick to my side, and I fell with a sharp cry of surprised pain, my whole body shaking. Aaron crouched down next to me, his knuckles bloody and bruised. His full weight came on my chest and once again, I couldn't breathe.

"You will pay for what you did to Julia," He whispered, his breath a ghost in my ear. "You're going to get what you deserve, you fucking psycho." I felt him lean off of me and walk away, his and his friend's footsteps echoing around me. The door slammed on the way out – I was alone.

I was utterly, completely alone.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, curling into a ball, my body throbbing. "I'm so sorry." A spell of dry-sobs came over me, but soon let up. I don't know how many hours I laid there before I gathered my strength, and made my way home.