Cut Up

And we don't know how we got in this mess it's a gods test
someone help us because we are doing our best
Trying to make it work but man these times are hard

I didn't go to school again today.  I saw the cuts on my hands when I woke up this morning.  They made me physically sick.  I walked over to the china cabinet in my living room.  Three cups, two saucers and four plates are all that is left of the collection that my mother prized.  She won't be happy when she finds out, but probably too tired to do anything about it.

I wandered around my house. Looking for the place that I could feel the safest.   I went through nearly ever place in the house until I walked into Paul's nearly empty room. I rested the back of my head on his untouched bed.  I drew my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them.  And I listened to the scripts new album.

I saw my brothers car pull into the driveway.  No doubt my dad asked him to check on me.  His wife, Michelle, was with him.  I didn't feel like talking to either of them.  So I went to my room across the hall and went through my window to climb on the roof. 

It was cold outside today and their was a cool breeze coming off the ocean. The roof was warm, emanating heat so I stretched out on it and hoped that no one would find me.

I need a new hiding spot. I had been going on the roof for years and within a few minutes I saw Paul's hands grab onto the roof as he pulled himself up out of my window.  I ignored him. Once he was on the roof he sat next to me and just waited.  He grabbed my arm and looked at the cuts on my hands.  
"I saw mom today," he said.  "She wants to see you. But she understands why it's so hard for you to visit."
"I cut my hands because I threw her good china yesterday."
"I know. Dad called me. He is worried about you."
"I don't care."
"He didn't ask me to come here you know."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I'm worried about you."
Tears started to roll down my face. "Don't be."  Though I doubt I was convincing seeing as I was crying. "I puked when I saw the blood on my hands. It reminded me...of things."
"I don't know how you do it." His voice became very low as if trying to keep the birds from hearing.  "I probably would have given up on everything by now.  A lot of people, including me admire you."
I didn't respond to him, he always knew when not to press me for a response.  We sat on the roof for a few more minutes.  He stood up and excused himself. Just before his head disappeared from my sight, he spoke up, "Michelle is making lunch, if you want it."  He tilted his head as if deciding whether or not to say something else, then disappeared off the rooftop.