X a v i e r A l e x a n d e r R e y e s

Everyone one has a secret....
But this one is deadly.

The screaming of a blistering headache awoke Xavier moments before his alarm clock was set to go off, he sat up and stretched. Six o’clock, what an ungodly hour to start school. He sighed and stood slowly before heading to his dresser drawer to grab some clothing. Xavier carried the clothes to the bathroom and sat them on top of a hamper which sat right in front of the door. The shower knob was turned into its on position and burning water ran from the shower head to the bathroom floor below. He pulled himself away from the tub and stripped down, his reflection caught in a shoulder length mirror and he flashed a killer smile. Xavier climbed in the shower and sighed as the hot water fell down his back.

Xavier emerged from the shower and began to dry off, once dry he wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped up to the sink. He pulled a bottle of gel from the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. The gel was cool against his hand; he lightly rubbed his hands together and then ran his hands vigorously through his hair, spiking it up. Once done with his hair he slid his shirt on careful of the spikes. Xavier finished getting dressed, all black to match his mood. He appeared in the hallway and made his way down the stairs toward the kitchen to find breakfast. He entered the kitchen; his eyes automatically fell to a knife that was lying on the counter. The real reason it had caught his attention was because the sunlight has reflected off of the blade and back into his eyes. But now, Xavier saw, the edge had a new gleam.

He walked across the kitchen and slowly picked up the knife. He pressed the blade lightly against his flesh, felling the chill of its sharpened edge. Xavier pressed the blade deeper and pulled it across his skin, deep red blood dropped to the floor with at low noise. He sunk down to the floor and sat with his back to the wall. Xavier thought for a moment before going to work cutting a design into his arm, each cut he made, even the first became an important line in his art work. He worked on the design for around four hours; the cuts were all shallow so he’d yet to pass out. When Xavier finished there was a strand of ivy wrapping down his forearm and around his wrist. He was feeling a little dizzy and his jeans were now soaked with thick crimson liquid. His left arm was completely numb so he reach up with his other arm and pulled himself to a standing position beside the counter. Xavier picked up and towel and wrapped it around his arm in a weak attempt to stop the blow flow.

He walked through the dinning room and into the bathroom, about falling into several walls. The towel fell to the ground and Xavier held his arm over the sink, with his other hand he picked up a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, he then sat the bottle on the sink. Cold water rushed out into the sink filling it up about one fourth of the way. Xavier picked up the towel and ripped it in half. He dipper the towel in the water and wiped the blood away from the cuts, he tossed his home made rag in the trash. Xavier struggled with the lid on the bottle for a moment before it opened. He poured the water looking liquid over his master piece. Xavier’s scream pierced the morning silence, he hadn’t expected the burning. The peroxide dripped off his fingertips after running over the cuts and burning out the infection. He wiped his arm off and waited a moment to make sure the bleeding had stopped. Xavier walked from the bathroom and up the stairs to his room. He then changed from the short sleeve shirt to a longer sleeved one.

When his mother returned from work around five, she found Xavier lounging calmly on the stairs. Blink182 blasted from his CD player so loud that he couldn’t hear his mom standing at the bottom of the stairs yelling at him. Finally when she had no luck with the screaming she ascended the stairs and gently tapped on his shoulder. The music faded suddenly and he looked up to his mother. “How was your first day at the new place?” New place, oh she means the school. Uh…well… Xavier just nodded in response. His mother smiled and headed up the stairs past him and to her bed room. He stood and followed her, stopping outside her door momentarily before he continues down the hallway to the black door which marked his room. Xavier pulled a key, which had been spray painted red, from his pocket. He slid the key into the lock and turned it to the left, a satisfying click resounded off his ear drums. He pulled the key from the lock and slipped it back into his pocket, he then slid the door back out of the way. Xavier entered the room which was dimly lit with the light from the hallway. Turning around he shout the door behind him.

The room was now pitch black, though he had no trouble crossing it to get to a crimson lava lamp, which he clicked on. Xavier walked to the wall where there was a group of light switched, he flipped all of them at once and three things happened. First his stereo, which sat beside the light switched, lit up with power, next a set of strobe lights flashed on and began to flicker. Last a set of smoke machines, lost somewhere in the ceiling pumping out gallons of smoke. Xavier picked up the black remote off the top of the stereo. He sprawled out on his bed with a yawn, he knew he had better sleep well for he had school tomorrow.. Punk music flooded the room as Xavier slipped soundly into sleep.
He picked up the razor blade from the table in front of him and contemplated it for a moment. His mind drifted back to the past, where he’d thought drugs were the only way to help with his problems. He’d been dependent on every kind of drug to take him to… “a better place.” They’d done just as he hoped with the slight exception that he had not been expecting all of the “wonderful” health problems that came along with the happiness. He shook his head pulling himself from the horrible past he now had to live with, or did he? He once again let his deep sky blue eyes drift to the razor blade he now held gently between two fingers. He loaded the blade back into the plastic, with the same careful actions he’d used to remove it. Sitting the case back on the table, he glared at the tiny puddle of thick crimson blood that had formed before when he’d sliced his finger open trying to remove the blade from the casing which held it.

He flipped off the deep maroon colored lava lamp, which gave off the only light in the room, and threw himself back onto his bed. He looked up at the ceiling which had been painted midnight black a few months before. That’s when this had all started. He disliked color of any kind now except crimson, dark gray, and black. Never was there a smile upon his pale face again. He’d sunk into a constant depressed state, always thinking down, his mind stayed in a pessimistic setting all the time now. All he really wanted to do was die, or so he thought. He actually treasured life, but he needed pain. So he cut himself with a knife that wasn’t exceptionally sharp. It hurt like Hell as he let cinnamon oil fall slowly one drop at a time into the shallow cuts he’d made on his forearm. He felt as though he deserved the pain though he wasn’t quite sure why.

Yet tonight was different, he’d just lost someone he’d loved so much, and still did, he just wanted to end his miserable life. What was the point of going on, was there one? The entire thing had been his fault, as most things were. He stood up and preceded to the lava lamp, he clicked it on. He walked to the table and sat down; he glared once more at the puddle of blood that had now dried. He pulled a small hammer from the toolbox beside the table and hit the plastic case with it. A loud snap was heard as the plastic broke, and the clatter of metal resounded through the room as the steel razor blades fell to the table. He picked up one of the blades and tested its sharpness with his finger only to receive a small incision on his thumb. He sighed and turned his hand over reveling the veins that pumped blood through his wrist, the veins that were easily seen through his paper thin skin.

He held the razor between the thumb and index finger on his right hand as he stared at the blood running just under the flour white skin on his left wrist. He looked to the razor blade he held in his hand and then back to his wrist. He looked back and forth between the two for quite sometime before he decided what he wanted to do. He gently pressed the blade to the skin of his forearm, and a thin line of blood encircled the blade. He pushed a bit harder until a drop of blood ran down his arm and dripped to the ebony wood of the table below. He allowed the hand that held the razor to jerk back splitting the skin on his forearm, allowing the dark crimson blood to flow freely. He then pressed the blade to the thin skin of his right wrist. Once more a thin line of blood appeared around the edge of the blade. He closed his eyes tightly, pushed on the blade and then pulled his hand back, making sure to keep the pressure on the blade. The skin split open, along with one of the veins that had run underneath it. The crimson liquid poured from his wrist and arm falling swiftly onto the table below.

He moved from the chair to the floor where he sat with his back against the locked door. He could stop it, all of it, well all of it except the murderous heartbreak he felt everyday, every time he talked to her. She’d be happy now with him gone, if she even noticed. She would no longer have to put up with his silly attempts at friendship, she could be completely happy now. He sighed looking to where the blood poured out onto the carpet. He was beginning to get the dizziness that came along with the blood loss; he leaned his head back against the door and slowly closed his eyes. He felt his pulse begin to slow, and it was becoming harder and harder for him to take a breath. He was breathing deeply and getting a very small amount of air to flow into his lungs. He could feel the life flowing out of the wounds he himself had made. He was suddenly very tired, he yawned before sinking into the ebony darkness of a blissful unconscious state.

He awoke, only to find himself strapped to a hospital bed… Was this what hell was like? He wondered silently. He saw none of the fire that the preachers had always promised him. He began an examination of the room, an IV ran from a pouch of deep red liquid which flowed down the tube and into his arm. Wires of all colors and shapes ran around the bed and connected to the various machines, monitors, and computers that surrounded the hospital bed he’d been so cruelly strapped to. His wrist was bandaged along with his arm and… throat? He didn’t remember having any trouble with his throat before. He felt light headed and despite the fact it may happen to call Satan himself to his beside, he reach for the nurse call button, yet he didn’t quite get the button hit before he slipped under once more.