{SσηOυяgє} Mιѕєяαвℓє Aт Ɓєѕт, Lєχιє Ɠяєу [top ebook reader txt] 📗

|Ƈнαρтєя Oηє|

Author's Note: Hey, guys. I decided to write this story, because I've been feeling. . . kind of sad lately. So, enjoy. :)

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Sσηιc'ѕ Ƥ.O.Ʋ

Depression.

 

Something that all of us frequently go through. But unlike most, some go through this period of sadness every day, every week, every month, every year. Me? I just started feeling this way when I was about four years old.

 

My mother abandoned me, leaving me with my cruel, sick new foster family. My foster dad would abuse me, neglect me, tell me what to do all the time, you name it. My siblings, Sonia and Manic, were never able to help me, since they lived in other families.

 

My foster mom didn't bother to care for me. She only cared for her son. That's when I was nine, I snapped. I went insane, and started hearing voices telling me that I wasn't worth it. So, I grabbed a pair of scissors and carved these words into my bedroom wall:

 

Why leave me alone to die, when there's always a shadow following by my side?

 

It's September already, so my birthday was just a few months ago back in July. Everyone forgot about me. Everyone didn't bother to show up at my house. Everyone but one just abandoned me.

 

Again.

 

I've decided to change my personality, my attitude, my style, etc. I used to be known as the hero of Mobius. But now, I'm much different. No, I'm far from different. I've gone emo, which kind of surprised some of my friends. Wait, silly me. I have no friends, except one. The rest all just left me long ago.

 

My friendships changed, along with my interests. I used to obsess over being the fastest thing alive. I was a hypocrite when I was a kid. Now I'm just that emo, hoodie wearing, razor wielding boy, listening to bands like Scary Kids Scaring Kids, Three Days Grace, and anything that screams "FUCK YOU" right in my ears.

 

I sighed, watching the sun set from my dark and frigid bedroom window. It was very hot in my room, even if I was wearing my favorite hoodie, sweat pants and fake thick - rimmed glasses. One of my closest and best friends, Logan, is the only one there to save me. He can repair my wounded heart, and my bruised wrists.

 

Except, Peter and I got into a huge argument last week about my overdosing, my self - harming, my lack of sleep, you name it. He's really a considerate guy, it's just he takes it too far sometimes. And ever since then, he hasn't said a word to me.

 

At all.

 

Although he isn't around as much anymore, he's still in one of the remaining pieces of my heart. My heart can't take it anymore, though. I'm tired of people coming and going away from me. First, it was Amy, my ex-girlfriend, then my best friend, Tails. And now, I can guarantee that Logan will leave me one day. I sighed once again, rolling up my hoodie sleeves. Everywhere I looked, I'd see smudged Sharpie writing on my arms and legs, as well as the cuts coming from my shoulder, to my wrist, and my knees to my legs. Everyday, I count all of the cuts.

 

Although he isn't around as much anymore, he's still in one of the remaining pieces of my heart. My heart can't take it anymore, though. I'm tired of people coming and going away from me. First, it was Amy, my ex-girlfriend, then my best friend, Tails. And now, I can guarantee that Logan will leave me one day. I sighed once again, rolling up my hoodie sleeves. Everywhere I looked, I'd see smudged Sharpie writing on my arms and legs, as well as the cuts coming from my shoulder, to my wrist, and my knees to my legs. Everyday, I count all of the cuts.

 

Oh yeah, you know how people say count sheep so you can sleep? I never did that. I count my wounds. I count how many times my heart was broken. I count how many days I've survived this living hell. I count how many days until my death. "Twelve." I whispered. "Twelve days until my life will end." I remembered getting some rope from my backyard, and I already tied it to a tree. I want to say goodbye to everyone the day before I go up to Heaven, to see if God really loves me. To see if He will judge me.

 

I decided to go outside and take a walk to McDonald's, just to visit Logan. I don't eat anymore, but I know that he works there. I quickly searched for my iPod, until I remembered: I left it in the drawer with my pills. I open the drawer and rummage through the empty pill containers. I never bothered to refill them, because why bother? My doctor said I was going to die anyways.

 

Finally, I found my iPod. I also go through my hoodie pocket and take a pair of headphones out. I plug them into my iPod, and turn the volume to 100%. Like I give a flying fuck that I'll have hearing damage. My favorite song, Her Last Words by Courtney Parker, was the first song on my playlist.

 

Just before I was about to head out, I heard a knock at my door. I pause my music, and head to the door to open it. "Who is it?" I asked. "Just open the door, Blue." I recognized that calm, kuudere Australian accent. It was Scourge, my counterpart and one of my rivals. I unlocked the door, as Scourge walked over to me. "How come you haven't been out of your house?" Scourge asked, looking into my emerald green eyes. "It's nothing," I replied, faking a smile.

 

Just before I was about to head out, I heard a knock at my door. I pause my music, and head to the door to open it. "Who is it?" I asked. "Just open the door, Blue." I recognized that calm, kuudere Australian accent. It was Scourge, my counterpart and one of my rivals. I unlocked the door, as Scourge walked over to me. "How come you haven't been out of your house?" Scourge asked, looking into my emerald green eyes. "It's nothing," I replied, faking a smile.

 

"You sure? You look. . . awful, to be honest." I looked at my very thin body, my wounds and my strange clothing. "So?" Scourge rolled his eyes, "Okay, then. Wanna head to McDonald's? Peter's working there. I'll pay."

 

I shook my head, "No. I'm not hungry, plus I want to go by myself." I pushed Scourge out of my way and walk slowly down my street. My iPod was blasting music, probably loud enough for me to develop hearing problems. I don't really care. As long as I'm away from people like Scourge, I'll be perfectly fine.

 

I felt like Scourge was following, but I didn't even bother to look back. I finally walked into the McDonald's, where I could see a dark brown hedgehog boy with coal black eyes. He was wearing a baseball cap, a hoodie similar to mine and black Crocs shoes. "Hey." I mumbled. Logan looked up at me. "Hey, Sonic." He murmured, walking over to me.

 

"Um. . . I want to apologize for being an idiot to you last week," Logan began, before I could speak, "and I want to help you with your problems. Please, just tell me what's wrong, Sonic." He rested a hand on my shoulder. I shook my head. "Logan, if I told you what was going on, you wouldn't want to be my friend."

 

"Sonic," the Italian hedgehog muttered, "are you thinking about your family again?" I nodded, trying to hold back the tears. But I couldn't. They started to flood down my cheeks, dripping onto my hoodie sleeve as I try to dry my eyes.

 

I refused to cry in public, especially around Logan. Logan held my hand, "Let's go out back to talk." He said, leading me out of the restaurant and into the back. I have a bad feeling about this. . .

|Ƈнαρтєя Ƭωσ|

 

Sσηιc'ѕ Ƥ.O.Ʋ

When Logan lead me to the back of the building, he looked at me straight in the eyes. "Sonic," he whispered, "tell me what's wrong." I shook my head, trying to clear up the horrifying images of my foster family out of my head.

"I can read thoughts," said Logan, "and if you're thinking about your past, let it go. You live on your own, so you have freedoms that you didn't have when you were younger."

I nod, "Yeah, but I always have nightmares of my foster family. I remember my foster brother beating me up everyday. I remember my half-mother, discouraging me and neglecting me. And my half-father. . . " I stopped right there. I couldn't remember if I even HAD a father. Logan shook his head. "Show me your scars."

I rolled both my hoodie sleeves up, showing my best friend all the wounds on my arms. "Show me your scars." Logan said again, pointing to my legs. I sighed, rolling up my sweatpants. Some of my cuts were bleeding.

Logan dug into his pocket and handed me a Kleenex. "Wipe the blood off." He instructed calmly. I took the tissue and began wiping away the blood. I winced in pain. "It hurts. . ." I whispered. "I know how you feel." Logan said. "Everyone knows how you feel." I shook my head, "Scourge pretends to care."

"If he was pretending, I wouldn't watch him walking to your house everyday. He lives pretty far, probably in Clairton." I nodded, but sighed, "I live in a small borough around Pittsburgh, which really is a good forty to fifty minute drive. I'm not sure about walking distance."

"You never know." Logan and I both looked at my cuts once again. I wiped a bleeding cut on my arm with my Kleenex. "Let's go inside. It's getting cold out." Logan murmured, before walking through the back door of the McDonald's. I wasn't allowed back there, so I had to go through the front door, obviously.

When I walked back inside, Logan was cleaning up the counter. "It's almost midnight." He told me, "Want me to walk you home?" I nodded, "Please. . ." When Logan finished, he waved goodbye to his co-workers and walked out the door, me following behind.

It was pretty dark when Logan and I walked down the streets. The streetlights were dim, not too bright, though. "So, what did you do all day?" Logan asked, breaking the unnatural silence. "Were you sleeping again?" He asked.

"Yeah," I murmured, "I was dreaming of my foster-family again." Logan sighed, as he shook his head. "Of course you were. You never have good dreams. Always nightmares."

"You're right." I replied sarcastically, "I never have good dreams. All of my hopes, dreams and desires have been crushed by the force of depression."

"Dude, don't say that." Logan's hand rested on my shoulder