Part three: Its been that long since I posted, I forgot what part one and two were about. But this one's got self-harm, drug shit and a wank scene in it so don't read it if you're a pussy who gets offended by that sort of thing.
When I awoke to the hideous blaring noise of my alarm a few hours later, I felt better than I had expected. But I was still far from normal. It was impossible to concentrate on anything for more than a minute without my excruciating headache, blurred vision and runny, scabby nose giving me jabs to remind me of the gruelling binge I had put my body through. I felt extremely sick too because I hadn't eaten in seven days with the exception of one or two bags of crisps. I had no time to get to a shop so I'd have to manage until after work or if my boss wasn't in, grab some chips - it was a fast food place after all. A few more hours wouldn't hurt. My uniform was creased on the floor brandishing the unique stench of my home: smoke, damp and sweat. Oh well, hopefully the smell of fried chicken would mask it. A quick wash in the kitchen sink would have to suffice as a bath.
I fixed myself a huge line to hopefully take away the agony of hunger and perk my mood. My poor nose felt like it was on fire, I grimaced in pain as my face contorted and eyes streamed. I could always say I had a cold if anyone asked. Damn, no toilet paper left either so the back of my sleeve would have to do.
The fast food place, the not-so-imaginatively called Chicken Cottage, I worked in was only a few streets away but every step was a battle. When I finally got there it took nearly all my energy and concentration simply to walk without swaying. Must look normal... my twat of a boss would look for any excuse to belittle me. They all knew I liked to dabble now and then but just how much and how I was living was for nobody to know but me.
I stood by the door with my hood up and sparked up a well-deserved ciggie before going in. One of my co-workers, Rita, was outside too and spotted me. Of all the horrid stuck up twats I had to put up with in that shithole, she was the worst. She was only eighteen and had only been working there a few months but that was enough to make my life a misery.
She was the type of loud mouth personality everybody liked and if she decided something was 'cool' everybody followed like sad little sheep, particularly the shallow crowd that worked with us. If she weren't so attractive, she would not have had half the influence. She loved nothing more than pointing out my flaws and belittling me. She was like a predator, waiting for me to slip up and do something wrong. Every time I opened my mouth, she shot me down or just looked at me like I was an idiot, just like my boss. Of course, he loved her.
It chewed me up inside that I let an eighteen-year-old treat me like that, why didn't I stand up for myself? I was almost a decade older than her! Fuck her and her perfect life. She lived with her mummy and daddy in a big house and never got all fucked up on drink and drugs like me. I wished she could live in my shoes... I wanted to suck her into my world... just for a day.
"Hiya Jack," she smiled fakely at me, looking me up and down. "How come you didn't come in yesterday?"
I squinted at her with what had no become my usual rigid, contorted scowling face trying to process this. I always had Fridays off. That was all I needed; pointless questions. I took a large drag and blew the smoke in her face.
"Fucking day off," I said through gritted teeth. Something came running out of my nose right down to my lip, just what I wanted in front of a good looking girl who was constantly looking for ammunition. I sniffed hard pulling my face into all sorts of demonic faces that no sober person could ever do. My infamous way with words came snarling out at her too, "Cunting, fucking bastard nose." More sniffing. "Fucking snotty nose. All nasally. Had this cold see," I wiped my nose with the back of my sleeve hoping no coke came out with all the snot. Any white powder in there and I'd be eating it, and I didn't care who was watching.
Rita stared at me speechless in horror and fascination. I probably looked and sounded like something out of the Exorcist. My teeth were ground together as tight as was physically possible and all out on display. The look on her face was almost funny. Bitch probably hadn't seen anyone on drugs before so was wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Her staring stopped being funny after about a second though when the coke took hold, my shoulders flew back and I uncontrollably lurched at her, "Stop fucking staring. Fuck."
I started to panic. The more I tried to behave like a normal human being, the more my limbs took a life of their own, twitching and tightening. And as for my jaw... it had developed its own personality long ago. I couldn't even stop the vulgar words spewing out of my mouth.
"Sorry..." she said nervously. “Jack are you OK? Why are you standing like that?"
Do I fucking look OK I wanted to scream in her face. Will you be OK when I fucking plant your tarty face into the wall for bugging the fuck out of me you fat fucking whore?!
Thank god that statement stayed in my head but she did get a sample of my own unique slurred language. Rita took a step back, looking increasingly nervous and stammered, "Well I was just wondering if you were still OK to cover my shifts next week? My parents are going on holiday so I've got the whole house to myself."
She smiled, trying to lighten the conversation. What the fuck did this have to do with me? I had no idea what the fuck she was going on about or why she was even speaking to me. Extra shifts? Was she taking the piss? I couldn't remember agreeing to anything. Well done on reducing me to a gurning twitching wreck. Brain frazzled. Was it too late to scurry back home and call in sick?
Too late, I'd been spotted. My manager stood before me seething with rage. He may have been short and fat and not the least bit scary looking but he could rip me apart with his filthy looks and vicious words. No going back now... I focussed hard, don't gurn, don't talk or make any other kind of weird beastly sounds, don't sniff, don't retch, keep fingers away from nose, walk in a straight line, don't shit yourself, don't piss yourself, definitely no crying.
All this effort just to behave normally. Already I could feel my eyes welling up. Everybody turned and stared as I walked past with my head down and I heard whispers of 'shit himself' 'drugs,' 'puking' 'funny video' and 'Facebook'. I feared the worst had happened. I knew those dickheads were taking pictures of me as I embarrassingly overdosed on amphetamines and vodka. Cunts. The smell of fried chicken was making me want to gag too. Man if ever I needed the mother of all lines it was now!
In the office, I propped myself up against the wall and continued the on-going battle with my nose. My manager looked me up and down very slowly, a strange mixture of disgust and fascination on his face. I looked at the floor, shaking like a leaf swaying to and fro. For a few seconds nobody spoke so my grinding chattering teeth were amplified. Then my stomach chipped in with an almighty growl too.
"Wow. I am actually speechless."
More staring. I tried not to let it get to me; I knew perfectly well how disgusting I looked.
I didn't answer... I was terrified of what would come out.
"Are you deaf? Take your hood down, you might be able to hear me then."
"Satu..ehh.. Saturday," I snapped. Almost got it.
"Wrong. It's Sunday, you were supposed to be in yesterday but I guess you were in too much of a state judging by that video on Facebook. I've seen three-year-olds control themselves better than you. Explain yourself. I'm trying really hard to understand what's fun about being so out of it that you don't know what day it is or how to control your bowels. Have you got no self-respect?"
Yeah, yeah, I thought. Fuck it, obviously I was getting fired so I retorted with one of my childish, snarling, "Neeeuurrrrgghh."
"Wow. That's what you have devolved to is it? I didn't think your vocabulary could get much worse but you seem to have done it, so well done," he had the same stunned look as Rita. "I can't believe you had the nerve to even come to work looking like that. I can smell you from over here; you smell like an ashtray. Don't you have mirrors under the rock you crawled from under? Why are you all hunched over like that? Any particular reason why you're scowling and snarling? It's like your all wound up and tightened... I don't think I could stand like that if I tried... Wow. I bet it really hurts - It sure looks painful…"
Yes it was agony but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know. Surely he couldn't throw many more insults at me? Cheeky fat cunt. Hurry up and fire me and get it over with!
"You are a loud mouthed, crude, immature little boy with no respect for yourself. But I can see it’s all an act you put on. Or maybe it’s the drugs making you act like that because I'm not an idiot - I can see when you're on something and I've turned a blind eye because the customers seem to like you and you are good at your job. You could be a very nice young man," his voice changed and he looked at me with great pity. Huh? I preferred the insults... Don’t give me compliments; I’m not used to it! Why did this fucker always get under my skin? Just when I got used to his insults, he changed tactics! Now he was starting to get to me. He carried on being nice, which was totally alien and scary to me, "I'll keep your job open for a few months if you are willing to try rehab. The company will pay for you to go. We care about our employees and we wouldn’t do it for just anyone, but you are a good worker and I want you to get better. Have you ever tried speaking to a counsellor? I know you had a hard time growing up and you hurt yourself but drugs won't work. Talking to a professional could really help. Drugs won’t make it go away and neither will self-harm. You're starting to look really ill too. I know we haven't always got on but I don't want to see you die. You're not happy living this way are you?"
"Fuck you, you fucking asshole!" I immediately screeched at him. I shook violently as I succumbed. Anyone who mentioned my self-made wounds automatically got the brunt of my rage. I covered them up in work so what did it have to do with him? And as for my past, I had never spoken to him about it so what right did he have to mention it. "Don't you fucking patronise me! You don't know a thing about me! And don't even mention cutting because it’s got fuck all to do with you! Stick your job up your ass you cunt! Don’t take the piss out of me! GRRRRR!"
I wanted to punch him square in his condescending face but thought it best to make a quick exit as he shook his head in despair. I slammed the door as hard as I could on my way out to the point where the entire building shook. Nobody had ever offered to help me before so how could I take him seriously? How dare that little prick try to make a fool of me like that! And bringing up my past... forcing me to think about all those sick people with their hands all over me in between taking beatings off my mum. What gave him the right to put that in my head?! Twat! Fucking hell, I wanted to kill someone!
But instead I went back home and pummelled my fists into my walls. I didn't need his fake sympathy (or my plasterboard for that matter). Just a family member or friend to love me would do. But I had neither. I cried like the pathetic creature I was as I ran my penknife across my upper arms. Finally I had lost my job. It was a long time coming. Juggling my relentless habit with shifts was like walking a tightrope. It was inevitable I was going to fall. It was amazing that I had managed to keep it for so long. My immediate concern was how I was going to fund my addiction. It was everything that mattered to me. Send me to rehab? I didn't even want to quit because without drugs, what would I have in my life? Nothing.
I'd already accepted that I was too damaged to ever be happy around normal people. They made me so mad and jealous; what did they do to deserve their perfect lives? Surely it should be me that was happy after I had spent every night of my childhood crying myself to sleep on a concrete floor, cold, hungry and hurting? Not one single person had ever given me a kiss or cuddle growing up. Why should I be the only one suffering? I wanted to rip apart someone's life so I would have the smug satisfaction of not being alone in my suffering. A classic case of the abused becoming the abuser. I knew that I would be as bad as the people that hurt me but I didn't care. I was bitter and twisted beyond comprehension.
Well, at least I didn’t have to worry about work anymore. The more I watched the blood dribble down my arm, the more relieved I felt. Fuck work, I didn't need a shit job like that.
I admired the fresh gashes on my arms as the angry red wounds turned to crust. I felt invigorated. Sure it looked unattractive but with every drop of blood I spilled, I took away some of the angst, self-hate and worry. Like I was literally cutting it out of me. I felt detached. Losing my job seemed like a distant memory. In fact, it didn't even seem like it had happened to me. It wasn't important.
I chilled in my room that night catching up on some well earned sleep and scoffing takeout pizza. With every mouthful, I regained my strength, ready to go on a rampage when I was completely back to my old self. I wanted to hurt someone bad... After a good cry, some cutting and venting my rage out on my walls I felt much better. My pizza was delicious too; food had never tasted so great. I mused at all the holes I'd made in the walls, giggling to myself. I felt like I'd qualified as a genuine psychopath now!
A strange euphoria washed over me. A quick tidy of the room, which consisted of quickly bunging my favourite clothes (jeans and neon Cyberdog T-shirt) in the washing machine then piling the rest in one corner and I could relax on the bed like a starfish in my underwear and 'amuse' myself.
Hell yeah. I was always too coked up to give myself any sexual pleasure and it was a long time overdue. With one hand down my pants and the other maintaining my overactive nostrils, I could do whatever I wanted without having to try to keep my scarred body hidden. My mind was racing. I imagined myself on top of that mouthy bitch Rita with my hands around her neck as her terrified wide eyes looked up at me and pleading for me to let her go. No chance, I thought. If only I could get her for real.
In my head was good enough for now. I closed my eyes, squirmed and moaned loudly. All the windows were open for my dickhead neighbours in the flat above. They were always hoovering or stomping around when I was nursing the mother of all comedowns. Their TV was on so they were at home and could definitely hear me. Every squirm seemed to iron out my poor rigid contorted muscles that had been ravaged by drugs. I felt like a new person! My clammy hand was Rita's mouth and she was going just the speed I liked.
"Rita you fucking slag," I moaned ravaging my neglected body. The volume on the TV upstairs shot up considerably. "I am going to fuck you 'til you scream. I am going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to feel your fucking legs... Arhhh!"
I knew I couldn't contain myself for long. My toes curled, a shudder ran right up my spine and I squealed and panted uncontrollably as I unleashed creamy hell everywhere.
"Oh my fucking god! Grr!" I cried triumphantly at the top of my voice. It felt truly amazing.
I heard some repulsed voices above me and the window slam firmly shut. Rita was having it very soon, whether she liked it or not. It was decided and I could not wait. She wouldn't know what had hit her. She probably fancied me anyway as I seemed to dominate her world. Asking stupid questions when I was off my face... I was going to hunt her down like an animal and break her!
The cool breeze coming from the window ran across my face and chest like a soft, soothing hand. I spent the remaining hour or so I was awake listening to my favourite music and singing to myself.
I was open to all kinds of music but metal was my favourite, in particular bands like Otep and Type O Negative. Like self-harming and cocaine, singing was one of my releases, although I only ever did it when I was alone. The fear of embarrassment was too great. However the very few people I had sung in front of had said that I had a spectacular voice. Vinnie had once said it was hard to believe that my beautiful singing voice could talk the same bumbling vulgar trash that I did. Huh, I didn't take compliments well and had put it down to 'drug talk'. I kept my only talent hidden behind closed doors.
After belting out a few songs and for the first time in as long as I could remember I slipped into a contented natural sleep as opposed to pushing myself until I flaked out wherever I was. I had a good feeling that something beyond awesome was going to happen soon.
dededos
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
jbbartram-illu
yousharknotpass
areudirty
