Part 3

"Thank you for the night." She said at the corner of her street. "But my mom really cannot see me with a guy." The steps she took seemed more like bounces.
"Wait!" I yelled, "Can we have a second date?" A grin with all her teeth showing crossed her face.
"Yeah, of course!"
"Where?"
"I know this candy shop on the corner of Washington Street and Addison Road."
"Will Saturday next week work?"
"Yes!" Running towards me, she looked like a bird that could just take off at any moment. She jumped right into my arms. Gently, timidly, she placed her lips on mine. Standing there, on the corner, at an ungodly hour, I kissed her with no regrets. She was the girl I was already planning my future with.
"Bye! See you at school." She dashed off, looking almost embarrassed that she managed to work up the nerve to kiss me. When I got home that night, my mom could tell that I had a wonderful night even if she didn't read my Facebook status that said "WONDERFUL night!!".
Monday, I sat by her at school, even though my friends begged me to sit with them. She talked with me about so many things. Those eyes of hers that I loved so much never once left my eyes. Everything she told me she was passionate about. She was passionate about painting and painted her own walls at least twice a year. Soccer was another one of her passions. Without my knowledge she was on the soccer team for our school.
"So... do you know about me any?"
"No. Well, I know you have porn under your mattress." When my jaw dropped, she continue, "Most guys our age do. That's why they're evil." She kissed me, though, as though to say sorry.

Another One

How many
Bad poems
can one love
have?

How many more
until I'm beyond
over you??

I can't get it out
of my head:
you used to love me.

I've always loved you.
Why couldn't we be?

Then I could love
myself,
and eat,
and not cut.

I think
FATE
wishes we were.

But we aren't
and won't be
because it's not fair.

Alex's note:
What is there to say anymore??

There's noo, no such thing as too young.

I make the plans, to drive to your house late at night, when my sense says that you're hurting. I'll bang on the door. If a parent answers, I'll run to your room and hold you. I'll sing to you if my voice isn't trashed from past mistakes. When you stop, I'll simply leave because the only thing I'll want to say is "I love you," and you don't love me. So what would the point be? I'll leave, wishing you still did, because I've loved you since I was five, wanted to kiss you since I was eight, and want to be yours.

Note from Alex:
Sorry that it's crummy. It was hard to write. Because I couldn't cry.

loneliness

I hate this bed,
it's too big for just me.

It's lonely
and makes me wish you were here,
to hold me.

Wince at the scars,
tell me you love me.

Only..you don't.
And that makes the room
seem larger,
emptier.

Notes from Alex:
At night, I get soo lonely. It's suffocating.

Sorry if This is Terrible. I wrote it half-asleep.

His arms wrapped around him, and honestly, he didn't care that the blood stained his shirt. They were fighting again. It was worse than any pain he had caused himself. Shaking, he slipped off the black silk on his bed and onto the minty carpet.
Spots of bright red stood out on the minty-green. Mother would kill him for sure, but that didn't even rouse him to move. Being too tired and empty of life, even, he let down the walls for a moment and began sobbing.

Note from Alex:
Half-asleepness.

Continuation of "Fun With Dialogue"

"Sorry I'm late." The girl in a beige-yellow dress with pale flowers on it was not the same girl that I sat with that day at lunch. She couldn't have been...but she was. A little bit of make-up covered her face, and instead of falling all over her face it was pulled into a loose ponytail. The look on her face was pure excitement.
"May I ask why you're," I glanced at my watch, "thirty minutes late?" Her head snapped to the ground and a blush covered her cheeks. Finally, her eyes flickered up to me, the blush faded, and a wicked grin consumed that face of hers.
"Had to wait for Mommy to fall asleep." At that moment, right there under some dirty streetlight that was trying to burst into life, I realized how much she wanted to have a nice night with me. All plans that I had went out the window. Grabbing her hand, though, made her pleasantly surprised. Leading her throughout the town, I pointed to my favorite places to go. At a bar, when I pointed to it, she stared at it, eyes wide.
"Can we go in?" She asked, excitement filling her voice. I didn't think there would be any harm in taking her in, so I led her in. Fascination filled her eyes. The gents around stared back at her, just as curious about her as she was of them.
"Who's the lovely lass?" The bartender asked.
"Hello," she put her hand out. "I'm Storm." A smile filled every inch of her.
"Well, Storm, it's a pleasure to meet you." He took her hand and shook it. A low, low snarl came out of my throat.
"She's with me, James."
"I know, I know. You always find the loveliest of ladies." A purr came out of him. Storm didn't seem to realize that everyone around her changed shape around the time of a full moon or were already part animal. She simply seemed attracted to the bar itself.
"Let's get you home, Storm." I reached an arm around her shoulders and led her out. Still, over my shoulder, I heard James purr again.

Note:
Continued.
I like James. He's a rivalll~

Something's Always Wrong

When, I look in the mirror,
the girl looks wrong,
like something is off.

She doesn't look how I feel,
so I change it,
see if it can be right.

Her nose,
eyes,
and lips are mine.

The colors, though,
see off.

And so I
change it,
over and over.

Still,
something is
wrong.

Note from Alex:
I always feel this way. No matter what I change.

Hearts and Butterflies

When I read those
three words,
the butterflies creep in.

I love you
only, you're saying it
as friends.

I say it back,
only I mean it
for real.

You give me butterflies,
better highs,
and a racing heart.

Yet, I feel like
I can tell you
everything.

And today you found out
I love you,
for real.

You don't care,
we're friends,
we're happy.

That's good.

Note from Alex:
Today's events basically wrapped into a poem. I told her. It was nice.

Fun With Dialogue

She was new and quiet, sat off by herself when lunch rolled around. I sat down next to her. Still don't know why. After long, long moments of silence, I ask, "You got a name?"
"Storm Davis, kid. Call me Stormie."
"Storm?"
"My sister is named Skye."
"Storm and Skye?"
"My parents' sense of humor is scary." She continued picking at her salad.
"I'm Daniel King. Call me Daniel."
"I'd rather not." When those blue eyes looked up, they pierced my soul. She knew everything about me. She seemed to know about the drugs I took last weekend, the scars that laced up my arms, and the porn under my bed. I liked that feeling.
"Why not?"
"Men are filthy. That's what Mommy says anyway...but the girls here are all over the men." Smiling, I told her not all men are filth.
"I'll show you." With that, we made plans to go out that Friday.

Alex's Notes:
This was really fun to write. I love it.
Also, I may add their date later.

Kiss and Tell

Word has gotten around that they were together. The one everyone loved more lied, saying it never happened. She denies that she ever kissed her ex-best friend. The kiss marks that she had left behind were meaningless to her now.
Still to anyone who asks and dares to believe her, they find out that yes, it happened, no, we didn't really go too far, yeah, it was intense, and a few other things. The fact that the other denies the month long relationship doesn't bother her. She knows the truth. The only regret that she has is that the other was the first girl she was with.

Alex's Notes:
So, J.P.'s been denying our relationship. That's what inspired this. I know, it's not too great, but I wanted to write something, so here it is.

I don't have the nerve

I love you,
But I don't have the Nerve
to even text you that.

I guess if the world ends
You won't ever know.

Unless you find
this.

Then you should know,
I loved you since we
were little.

Note from Alex:
PB is worried about the end of the world. I personally don't believe it, but it inspired this.

Security Blankets

Before it was her various razors, enough to raise her above the clouds. Knowing she had them made her feel safe. Now, after a moment of cleaning. it's the cute skull-cat hat with kitty ears attached. It felt like being partly caged. The ability to get out is there along with the ability to not let others in.
Though latching onto it gives her another reason to hate school: the no hat rule.
All day, she feels naked even if she doesn't have to change out for P.E. today. The missing hat makes her slightly depressed. Still, she tries not to think about it as the sky clears, and it heats up. A small smile play on her lips all day.
As soon as she gets into the van, though, she throws in headphones and slams the hat on. It seems to place her in her own world. She wonders if this is really better than cutting...

Alex's Note:
Hey. Kes mentioned how have her razor is like a security blanket. That got me thinkin and produced this.

Starving for More.

She lays there, covered in three different blankets and still shaking from the cold. Pain races all over her. It's origin is her empty stomach. She bites her lip at another shake of pain attacks her. She should be happy. This is what she wanted, pain. Still, knowing that her razor is laying in her purse raises her to her feet.
Her legs are tiny, little sticks that barely hold her up. They shake and wobble. She stumbles, and crawls the rest of the way to the purse. With a dainty purr, she digs through the bag.
When it is in front of her, a child-like giggle comes out of her. It's beauty to her. The way the metal glints in the half light, sending a bent reflection seems more meaningful to her than anything she could find anywhere else.
When it sinks in, man is it amazing. She bites her bottom lip as another kind of pain enters her system. Only, this makes her feel. It makes her want to run around, laughing and screaming. This pain...it's enough, for now. Soon, though, she picks up the razor, scared of the nothingness that seems to be filling her. Another cut is added to her wrists. Still, her body, finally unused to the chemicals after months, reacts to the pain by filling her full emotions. Again, she feels pure, alive.
This time, she does get up. She dances around her room to loud music on her MP3 player even though it's about three in the morning. She doesn't care. This high won't last, and she knows it.
When she's tired, she just falls onto her bed, giggling. To herself she says, "It's more amazing than coffee," and that makes her even happier than the actual act did.

Alex Here Again:
Soo... More cutting desires...and wishful thinking. I really want to cut, if you can't tell by this writing. I do not support cutting, even if I may do it. If you hurt yourself in any way, get help. I haven't noticed it being better, but many, many, many people do. And yes, I really do keep a razor blade in my purse. Which is a relapse waitin to happen, but I would rather have one than risk cutting my mouth up trying to get another one.
Also, thanks for all the comments! I do read them and they are encouraging.
Another thing, SORRY if the picture is triggering to anyone. It was the most...meaningful (to me) when I was looking for pictures.

Peaceful Night

Laying there,
staring into your eyes,
I've never felt more complete.

We kiss
and it's not needy
like the last time I was kissed.

It's relaxed,
says you're not leaving,
that I'm perfect.

With eyes half covered
by eyelids drooping from
sleepiness,

I grin.
You're here.
It's perfect.

Note:
Ick, fantasies. Shoot me now.

And now I'm not the same,

We sit up, texting back and forth until nearly eleven. The whole time I'm smiling, and part of that time you're asking about my ex-girlfriend. You ask if we kissed (yes), how far did we go (not very), and other questions I answer happily. Are you thinking about this for a reason? Butterflies fill my stomach as I remember earlier today you saying you care about me.
It doesn't matter that I have not even a shot. What matters is that you make me feel like it's okay if I eat. It doesn't matter, when I'm talking to you, smile on my face, that ex's glare hopelessly.
Laying on my bed, I try to trace back to when I first started loving you. There is no beginning that I can find, so it must have started when we met. Smiling, I realize that it makes sense. That's why I bothered you until you gave in and played with me nine years ago. I loved you even then.



From Alex:
Another love story. Can't believe how many I'm writing.
And there's one comment I wanna say something to, even though I told myself I wouldn't. Caffeine and cutting send me to cloud nine. Until I start crashing. Then I'm lower than dirt. It drives me nuts.

Love You

I stand there, texting you, smile planted firmly on my face. The more we text, the more I feel. Jealousy arises in me. You calm it, and I start pouting, wanting a text saying you care about me just as much. I want you to say you love me.
Curling up in bed nearly an hour later, tears sting at my eyes. You seem to make me second priority. I make you first. To me, it doesn't matter who, you come first. Still, you can take over ten minutes to reply. Tears sting and I want to bleed. Neither crying nor cutting happens though. I just set the phone so it rings and go to sleep.
Maybe tomorrow will be my day.

Note from AA:
Soo...thank you everyone for such nice comments! This is basically a look into my crush. I won't tell her, she's my best friend and I cannot risk losing that. But she makes me feel like a jeaous child at times.

Wake up

They say to
wake up,
smell the roses.

Why wake up
when you tell me all
my dreams are pitiful?

When I'm asleep,
you say I can do it,
I can sing, model, dance, write, everything.

When I'm sleeping,
these scars aren't here
and everyone knows me.

Then I wake,
and only the monster shadows of my room
say I can.

Being awake reminds me
I'm not even known
to anyone.

It's another reminder
that I'm reaching too
high.

Coffee On A Ride Home

Even though it's coffee, she beats her up over the creamer she used. What is that? Twenty-five calories? Wasted. Still, she grins, laughs, and acts like she's ok. Soon, the buzz will slam into her. When it does, she's on cloud nine. Her body begs for food, for substance. Panic weasels its way into her mind.
I'm gonna end up binging. That thought alone is enough to make her almost close up completely. She calms herself, even if it is hard. The pain in her stomach is almost crippling. Still, she doesn't down every last thing in the bag she got as a snack. Pouring in on the bed sends her mind into a fit of calculations...Tossing away most of the food sends a feeling of pride. Still, eating half a serving of that fattening food makes the pride diminish.
Sipping on the coffee raises her mood. It has to be the caffeine. Laying on her floor, music playing loudly in her headphones, she giggles. It feels like she owns the world.
Why doesn't everyone feel this way on caffeine? Too much else in the stomach? A giggle passes through her lips again. Her family must think she's gone crazy. On wobbly legs, she walks over to her purse, bends down all proper so her shorts still cover her bottom, and pulls out the razor. The cool metal feels good against her warm flesh...until it bites in and causes red blood to pour out. Falling from her knees to the floor, she giggles. It's bliss. That's all that it is.

Notes from Alex:
Sooo, part of this is how I felt on the way home. I did not cut, just so you know, but that's usually what I used to do when I in the middle of a caffeine buzz. I think this turned out rather entertaining and I had fun typing it.

It was your world baby and I just lived in it

Cruel words tumble out of my mouth when we're face-to-face. She supposedly called my supposed best friend a whore. I guess I'm supposed to defend her, though I think she's a bitch. The first few times they tore through me, eating at my heart. They ate too much, and I quit feeling the effects of them. If I knew years I'd miss you, I would've flipped the other off.
Sitting on my floor a year later, I'm shocked when you reply. You tell me your problems. Why? I hurt you. Please, don't trust me. That makes more sense. Still, you tell me how unfair the world is, how badly they treat you.
July of the next year, I wish I could tell you my problems because I've got a lot of them. Most of my meals are disappearing to places that aren't down my throat. My body is covered in scars. FAT, FAT, FAT, they tell me, and they're right. I know they're right. My supposed-to-be-best-friend sees them. She's not worried. She asks if they say fat or eat because it's kinda ironic that they look like both. It feels like torture, and it seems never ending. I wanna tell you all about it. Many times I pick up the phone, type out, "I need your help," and delete it. Many times while I'm pacing the room, pace, pace, pace, pace, I pass my phone and want to text you that I can't stop and it hurts. I don't, though. The feeling that I have to push through this alone consumes me.
May rolls around again. I tell you, fearlessly, that I've been cutting myself on and off for the past year. All you ask in your message is why and relief fills me. That word makes me feel loved. You want to know why. I tell you, and you don't freak out. You say how sorry you are. That loved feeling disappears. When you knew my other friend was cutting, you threw a fit and worried. My heart breaks. The same reaction seem to come from my mother. It seems that everyone worries for a moment...and then forgets to care. Feeling unstable, I pick up the razor and bring red blossoms to the surface.
In that moment, I realize one thing. I shouldn't have pushed you away.


What Alex Has To Say About This:
This was...hard to write, so I'm sorry if it's confusing. Since I've been reflecting a lot, this came up. I love PB, like you who follow my blog know, but it seems like she's cold and distant these days. I wish she cared about me like she cared about Anna.

Wrong Thing To The Right Girl

"You're a fat whore." That's all the message said. I knew it, so it didn't bother me. Still, I replied.
"Look whose talkin." Now, though, she's asking for ways to lose weight. I thought I didn't matter, hun. So, why are you ninety-seven pounds and askin for tips to lose weight after I say you're fat?
My friend reads your status on facebook, saying you're sick of being called fat. Thoughts of how I would kill to have your weight or even BMI fill me. Worry follows soon after. See? I ain't so bad these days.
The next day, I see you. You don't look ninety-seven pounds, or even like you've lost weight. You're not fat, just not skinny. Whatever, though, I think, she's not my concern. Still, I feel proud when I don't eat lunch because I know you will. The people at my table don't even ask anymore why I'm not eating. They must think my family is dirt poor.
Pacing my room that night, the number ninety-seven fills my thoughts. Ninety-seven. Each step seems to sing of the word. Ninety-seven. I could do that, I tell myself. I could do it easy.
My goals don't change, though, just because you lost weight and think you're still fat.

Alex's End Of Story Note:
So, I was listening to The Maine and remembered calling J.P. fat and then having Anna read to me a status from facebook about J.P. wanting to lose weight. Then again, she basically told me she gave up being anorexic as if it's a diet. So, I've got pretty mixed feelings about it. Maybe I shouldn't have used myself as the character thinking and doing throughout this. Maybe someone more compassionate should've been displayed...

Hunger

Seeing her "baby-face" rids her of hunger...or maybe it's the heated, dark liquid in the cup in her hair. The small appeitite makes her push up color bangs and smirk. She feels like the world is finally dancing to her beat.
"Last year," she thinks, "I was a sniffling, little brat who found please in self-pain. Now I own this mother fuckin world!" A rather large gulp slips down her throat, taking her in minutes beyond cloud nine...and oh my goth does it feel amazing.

Author's note:
Hey. This basically me on an empty stomach, having anything with caffeine.

Love

Staring at the word LOVE Sharpied onto her arm, she thinks of 10 people who love her. With each person, the urge is pushed down. She doesn't even bother to pick up the razor. By the fifth person, she's even smiling. Feeling loved...it's new to her. It's a blissful feeling.
Kissing the word on her wrist, she swears, silently, to be worthy of the love they give so easily.


Note From Alex:
Guess what this is to me? That's right, something I wrote when I wanted to hurt myself. It's fictional, though.

Poem

"You and Julie's not gotten back together yet?"
I wince, physically,
at the word choice.

But you're blind,
literally,
so you still expect an answer.

"Naw, Grandpa."
I say it all cool
and fine.

Because if she's denying we were
together,
then we weren't.

After all the things,
we won't be together,
in a relationship or as friends,
again.

She's obsessin,
though,
and it makes me laugh.

Daydreaming

Laughter bubbles out of me as I think of the next day. It comes out as I imagine yelling my ex-friend's name out and then, in my cute black short, turn around and ask, "how does my ass look today?" Giggles come out when I imagine her face. Then, I imaine yelling, "and here, this is yours!" and tossing the paper explaining everything down at her. The giggles stop. I can't imagine anymore. Maybe it's just that I don't want to.
They come out again when I remember my ex-bestie's reply to saying not eating is the only way I've lost weight. "Screw you, beyotch" was the best she could do.

Based on a true story.

I'm sorry

I'm sorry,
so sorry.

My grades slipped,
my hunger controls me.

I'm sorry,
I just wanna be perfect for you.

I'm sorry,
sorry I hurt you.

I'm sorry there's more
cuts than words.

Mommy, I'm sorry
I had to grow up like this.

Breathing

I'm breathing
simply to please.

Doing my best in every class,
but it's not good enough.

I don't drink or smoke,
though I want to.

I wanna forget how much living
hurts.

There are days where
I just wanna breathe.

Breathe just to show
life.

Breathe and forget
that when I go home,
pain will be there.

Breathe and forget that I
have to be perfect for you.

Am I just a
babysitter to you?

Do these cuts mean
nothing?

Am I just something to show off
when I do something good,
something to hide
when I don't?

If that's true, than all I need is
hipbones and razor blades.

Just A Poem

I'll deny it,
to some extent.
"Yeah, I guess I have
distorted eating."

Does it really
stop just there?
Distorted eating?

Why are you
so worried?
I'm very happy
hungry.

You can't change
that,
even if you
dare try.

Sure, I'm a mess,
but Daddy,
I'm not anorexic.

I do eat,
you just aren't up.

Something Short to start off.

"I just... I need you!" I yell at him. Truth is, he's hurt me more than anyone else. He walks over to me with an obvious strut. A hand wraps around my chin gently.
"Then sleep with me." And I begin unbuttoning my blouse, shed my skirt, and kiss him. I need him. Really need him.
He finishes what I started. All the time, the thought of how much I need him consumes me. Even when there is supposed to be pleasure, I'm unfeeling, telling myself that I need him.
It's not even a week later when I start regretting any of it. A week later, though, I get the harsh reminder that in his rush to claim me, my vamp forgot all forms of protection.



From the Author:
Hey, don't spazz about the ending of this one because I am planning on continuing this one for a little while. I just like cliffhangers. They make you wanna read, though I'm sure it's obvious what happened. AND yes, I DID make him a vampire!