Obsessed. (A Short Story By Booklover1)

I stood near my bed, blood on my hands, a knife in my chest, and on the verge of passing out. For any 14 year old boy, this would be a great scene in some horror movie, but this is real. My door was locked, my mirror was shattered, and there was absolutely no noise except the opera playing in my head, the same several notes repeating over and over again. Some people would be thinking "Who would do this to a 14 year old boy like me?", well, it was me, but not for the reason you're thinking. I think it would make more sense if I would go back several months, back to when I was coming home from a soccer game.

"How was it?", my dad asked me with a grin on his face.

"It was O.K" I said softly. "I got an assist, but we lost 2-1".

"Well, winning isn't everything", my dad said to me, still grinning.

My dad said that same line every time my soccer team lost, which was often. Our soccer team was pretty bad, but not the worst. We would win once in a while.But my soccer woes would be forgotten very quickly when my dad took his hand off the wheel to get his Pepsi.

The car swerved on to the highway where...... where...... I can't really remember much after that. I remember the sounds of the cars horns beeping, and I also remember seeing a truck in front of us swerve, but I don't remember the crash.

I do remember, however, waking up, in front of our car, glass sticking out of my thumb, my eyelid, and my lower stomach. I could barely see, but I remember being put on the stretcher. There was something wrong, though. I was enjoying it. I don't know if it was the shock that ran up my spine, the numbness, or just the pain itself, put I was, dare I say it, enjoying myself.

I can't remember anything else until I came to in the hospital. People were crowded around me, doctors or nurses, and they were taking out the huge piece of glass from my stomach. I could feel them taking it out with this weird suction device. I could feel the blood coming out, I felt the suction device piercing my skin, and, like the crash, I was, for some reason, enjoying it. I closed my eyes, afraid that they would knock me out with laughing gas, and just enjoyed the feeling of pain.

I stayed in the hospital a few weeks, and I was out of my mind. I wanted the rush of being hurt. I wanted pain. Whenever my doctors left for the night, I punched my arm as hard as I could, sometimes even ripping out this cord the was plugged in my stomach and pretending like it was an accident. I was obsessed. Obsessed with pain. I don't know why, I don't care, I just loved it.

After I went back home, I was scheduled to stay home from school for a couple more days. I tried to take advantage of when my mother and father left for work, leaving me home alone. I wasn't injured, and even though that meant I was more active, and also meant no pain.

Whenever they left, I banged my head on my desk, I'd put my arm in the doorway and slam it shut, anything that wouldn't leave to big a mark. But it wasn't enough, so after several days, I decided I was going to torture myself to death.

Now you now about why I'm in this situation. My wrists were slit and I could see the bone from my right foot. I was in a fountain of blood.

I decided to spend my last moments enjoy myself, so I jabbed myself with a huge kitchen knife, right in the middle of my chest.

My vision was going, my body was numb, and fell on my bed, my eyes almost completely closed. I flopped on my right side and put my legs on my chest as I was losing my vision more and more as I started hearing music, glorious music, and then my vision came to, but I was somewhere else. I was in a dark room, with no doors, no windows, nothing, and just a stream of white lights continuing forever. I tried following them, but after 10 minutes, I was unsuccessful. I wanted to draw more and more pain every second, but I couldn't hurt myself. I couldn't punch myself without my fist going through me while feeling nothing and there was no objects in this room. Suddenly, the room went pitch black. I didn't know if I could see or not, but I could move. I started walking. I didn't know where, I just started walking.

I walked for who knows how long until I gave up. I got my knees and started crying. I screamed as load as I could. I screamed, and screamed, and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed....... and nothing happened. There was no way out, nothing to do, I was helpless. No way out, no way out, I needed help, and I would never get it. Never.

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