Nothing To Live For

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 8 (v.1) - On My Own-Three Days Grace

Submitted: July 29, 2007

Reads: 266

Comments: 6

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Submitted: July 29, 2007



On My Own - Three Days Grace

Standing on my own
Remembering the one I left at home
Forget about the life I used to know
Forget about the one I left at home

I need to run far away
Can't go back to that place
Like she told me
I'm just a big disgrace

Blair wiped at her eyes and lied down. Chicago, she smiled and closed her eyes. She just couldn't belived she was there.

She woke up and realized she was living in hotel rooms. She was here. Chicago. Land of hope and freedom and escape. And she was living on fast food and living in hotels. She needed to get a job. She needed to get a house. She needed to start over.

Blair got dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans, a random band t-shirt, and Jason's black hoodie. She looked outside the window and saw how cold it was. She pulled out a grey and black scarf and wrapped it around her neck. She then got out her favourite boots. They were black,thin, high-heeled,cowboy boots. She slipped them on over top of her jeans and grabbed her wallet. She decided to count how much she had left.


She spent $99.50. It was apparent now. She needed a job. She stuffed the wallet in her pocket and walked out the door, making sure she had the key card to get back in.

She walked to the elevator and pressed the down button. With in seconds, the doors opened on a boy. He was struggling with a bags and bags of groceries. Fruits, vegetables and other things covered the floor.

"Do you need some help?" She asked. He looked up at her and nodded. She smiled and picked up all of the stuff from the floor.

"Thanks." He said quietly.

"No problem. So where is your room?" She asked.

"Just follow me." He said and they walked down the hall.

From behind, Blair could see he had dark black hair that was probably dyed, and was very thin. He was also about sx inches taller than her which made him around five-nine. Blair smiled to herself as they reached his room. He opened the door and led Blair in. He placed all the things in the mini fridge and turned around to face her. She could now see that he was very pale, with light blue eyes, an eyebrow peircing on the left side, apeircing in the middle of hisfull lips and had slighlty feminine features.

"Well, thank you for everything. I really appreciate it." He smiled.

"No problem! My name is Blair by the way. I'm just down the hall if you need anymore help." She said kindly.

"Nice to meet you Blair, I'm Billy," They shook hands until Billy noticed something. "Wait, arent you that Hardrum girl? The one who was in that school shooting?" He asked suddenlyvery curious.

"Yes," She said slowly not wanting to dwell on that moment.

"Wasn't thatinChicago? This is Willmette."

"Yeah, I ran away from home. So what." Blair commented through gritted teeth. This Billy liked to pry into things that weren't his problem.

"Why? Home is where everything is safe. Why not just stay there?" Blair was just about ready to explode.

"BECAUSE!" She shouted. "MY BEST FRIEND WAS THE ONE WITH THE GUN! HE SHOT ME AND MY LOVE! I GOT TO LIVE! SO I'M RUNNING AWAY TO LIVE MY LIFE!" She finished feeling the hot tears sting her eyelids. She then ran out of Billy's room and down the hall to her room.

She slammed the door and slid down it until she was sitting with her knees hugged to her chest. Her sobs came faster and harder. She was shaking violently from the tears. Jason was her everything and he was never coming back. Blair stood up and grabbed the journal off her bed and decided to read one passage to help get all the tears out.

So today, I got to school and I realized, Blair was in my art class! The reason I never noticed her before is because she always hides away in the corner with her sketchbook. I picked mine up and went to go sit beside her. She had her headphones in and didn't even notice me. I looked at her drawing to see a person on the edge of a building looking like they were going to jump. Underneath them, she had written in the lyrics to ...But Home Is Nowhere by AFI.

This is my line, this is eternal
How did I ever end up here?
Discarnate, preternatural
My prayers to disappear
Absent of grace, marked as infernal
Ungranted in dead time left me disowned
To this nature, so unnatural
I remain alone

It was amazing. I lightly tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped out of her skin. She covered up her sketchbook and screamed at me for not having any morals and rights to privacy or something like that. I laughed and she looked at me strangley. She then started lauging too. Sitting back down, she started talking to my about her drawing. I still remember each word she said and I won't forget them until the day I die.

"They say that your house is the safest place for someone who is suicidal to stay. But my home isn't a home at all. It's an empty house."

"You mean you have no furniture?" I asked trying to make her laugh.She didn't.

"My Mom is almost never home. When she is, she's drunk half the time. My Dad, he hates me."

"He doesn't hate you. No parents hate you. They just get upset sometimes." She looked up at me with tears already in her eyes.

"He doesn't get upset sometimes. He's always upset. However, Mom's not usually home so he takes it out on me. He gives me these." She pulled up her pant leg to reveal bruises and cuts all over them. So that's why she wouldn't change for gym.

" Do they hurt?" I asked in shock.

"Not all the time," She rolled her pant leg down and looked up me again. "I've gotten pretty used to it. It's like I'm numb now," She laughed to herself. "When I was younger, I used to believe that it was my super power. That I was super-human and could withstand any amount of pain. It was pretty cool back then." She sighed looking down at her shoes.

"And now? Do you still feel invincible?" I asked softly.She shook her head and i saw a few tears splash onto her artwork.

"No, I just want to feel like a normal person. I can't feel anything. Not happiness, not sadness, not even anger. All these feelings that I should feel! I should be happy on my birthday but I don't. I should feel sad that my house is filled with a bunch of ghosts instead of realy people. I dont. I should feel angry that my Dad hates me and my Mom doesnt care but i don't. It's not that I don't want to feel anything, I can't." She said quietly. I knew I shouldn't pry but I really felt like she was finally opening up to me. I noticed she only talked when she wanted to so this was a very special occasion.

"Do you ever feel something? Because I noticed your crying so you have to be feeling something right now, right?" I asked. She looked up at me and I wiped a tear away for her.

"I'm crying?" She asked. I looked at her weirdly and she felt the tears herself. "I didn't even feel them!" She stared at the tears on her fingertips in shock.

"So you don't feel anything then, huh?"

"Well, sometimes I do."


She then rolled up the left sleeve of her black hoodie. Her arm was covered in scars, scabs, and blood.

"I've had to keep digging deeper everytime."

"What?" I asked in shock.

"How deep must we cut to reach sensation?" She said softly, quoting Bitter For Sweet by Blaqk Audio.

"You are constantley getting more numb? So you have to cut deeper?" I asked almost in a whisper. She nodded. These cuts weren't your usuall 'cry-for-attention' cuts in one simple direction, across or down. These cuts had no patteren. They were criss-crossed, straight, diagonal, horizantal, and overlapping. I knew Blair wasn't faking any of this deppression crap that half the darker side of the population were.

"So, do you cut?" She asked me. I shook my head."Then what do you do to deal with it?" She looked up at me with hopefull eyes. It was almost as if I held the answer for her cutting addiction. So I decided to tell my story. However, the bell rang before I could start. We each stood up and cleaned up and headed for different classes. I hope she forgets all about me telling her. I'll write my story down in here though so I can practise it and make sure it sounds okay and not weird. Well, got to go to bed. I'll write tomorrow.

I sat there shocked at what he wrote. He understood me? Everyone that I talked to about it accused me of just wanting to be loved and taken care of. Jason got it. He knew that I needed an escape. He also knew Bitter For Sweet! I pulled up the left sleeve of my hoodie and looked at them all. It was almost disgusting how many there were. I hated to cut but I had to and Jason understood.

I closed the journal and decided to leave Jason's story for tomorrow. I stood up off the bed and ran to the mirror. I was sure I looked like a mess now.

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