Justin's POV "You can't run, you can't hide. No matter where you go, I’ll be right behind. You’re swallowed by the darkness, gasping for air. Everyone can see you drowning, but they don’t care. Bleeding from the inside, frozen by your fear. It will eventually take you over, and you’ll disappear. Watch it drip onto the carpet, blood begins to stain. They’re laughing all around you, taking pleasure in your pain. So, run to your release. Scream and cry. Enjoy your time left, before you…" The haunting voice of Chris is interrupted by the beeping of my alarm. I bolt upright in my bed, and look around wildly. Running my hands over my sweat covered face, I take a few deep breaths trying to calm myself. I’m startled when I hear knocking on my door. "Sweetie, are you okay? I heard screaming," The concerned voice of my mother asks from the other side of the door. "I’m fine mom," I tell her, sounding a lot calmer than I feel. "I accidentally hit my head." "Okay. You better hurry up if you want to get to school on time. It’s almost seven". Untangling myself from the covers, I make my way to the bathroom to take a shower. The hot water makes each mark on my body sting. Some days you think you can survive. Some days you think you’re insane. Some days you think that everyone around you knows. Like the scars have somehow begun to bleed, soaking through your clothes for the world to see. You tell yourself it's irrational thinking, and then it leads back to the conclusion that you must be insane. Sometimes you wonder…if they knew, would it change anything? Would it drive them to more ways of torment? Would it stop them? Or would it just alienate yourself even more from your peers. Maybe admittance would stop the voices that speak in your head. Hate. It is surprising, really, how deceiving hate can be. Hate is the reason you bleed. Hate is the reason you suffer. Hate is the reason you wish you’d fall asleep and never wake up. Hate is why your face aches and your heart breaks a bit more. Every time you pretend you're fine, you bleed. It consumes your life and every thought. It’s poisoning you slowly. It’s holding you under the water, drowning you. It enjoys the struggle as you fight to stay alive, as you fight for breath. And as like every other day, you continue to live. Some days you think… today is when it will end, but it never does. Yes, hate is killing you... and yet you can't seem to stop. *** Jennifer's POV I hear the shower start to run upstairs, and it takes all of my self control not to run upstairs to his bedroom, to find out what he's trying so desperately hard to hide from me. How can he think I'm easily fooled? The excuses. The baggy clothes. The way his hands pick at the sleeves of his top every time I ask how his day was. I'm not blind. I know this is not a normal, happy 17 year old living under my roof. This is a bomb, and it's waiting to explode. That is if it hasn't already. I could just pass it off as being a rebellious stage, but it has gone on too long for it to be that. The thing that frightens me the most is that there's no anger from him, nothing. He seems to be in control every minute of the day. I wish I knew what he's doing in his room. I may not know exactly what is wrong with him, but I do know that you can only keep up an act for so long before it gets to be too much. The mask will slip and the real Justin will come to the surface. Whether or not I can handle the real Justin remains to be seen. The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs returns me to reality and I force myself to smile when he enters the kitchen. "Morning," he yawns. I smile at how much he still looks just like he did when he was a baby. My baby boy. I feel saddened at that thought. He must've noticed my expression because he asks, "Mom, are you okay?" Fixing a smile back on my face, I pick up my coffee mug and place it in the sink. "I'm fine honey." Placing my hand on his cheek, I turn his head so he's looking at me. "Justin, you know if there's anything wrong you can tell me, don't you?" "Nothing's wrong," he replies, kissing me on the cheek. "You shouldn't worry so much." He grabs his school bag off the counter and waves me goodbye, heading out the back door to school. "But I am worried," I whisper to the empty house, watching Justin walk down the road and disappear around the corner. *** Justin's POV I come downstairs ready to face hell for another day, and find my dad sitting at the kitchen table. He looks up from his newspaper, and motions for me to sit. My mind tells me that maybe he found out Uncle Rory's gun is missing. But how could he? Uncle Rory would never tell them he brought a gun in the house, or would he? "Justin?" "Huh?" Coming back down to earth, I see my father looking at me with expectation. "Sorry, what did you say?" "I said, would you like to skip school today?" Thoughts are racing through my head, so many reasons for his question. Does he know about the bullying? Does he know about the gun? Maybe he knows about the cutting? "Uh... why... why are you asking me this?" Great Taylor, just great. Make yourself look even more suspicious by not being able to form a simple sentence. "I want you to come to a meeting with me today. You've got an eye for art, god knows why you... have you thought about asking your friend Chris Hobbs, about joining the football team?" "Dad! What meeting?" I ask, frustrated at how he's always trying to get me into sports instead of art. He says art is for girls, sports are for boys. If he only knew. *** So, here I am. Talking to some old guy about some dumbass campaign that I couldn't give two fucks about. That is, of course, until I see him, Brian. The Brian from the Diner. "Brian," the old guy says. "I'd like you to meet Craig Taylor's son, Justin." "I remember you. Your name's Justin?" Brian smiles. "At least you didn't bump into me this time." "Where do you know Justin from?" my dad asks. Please don't say Liberty Avenue. Please, please don't say Liberty Avenue. He must've noticed my eyes pleading at him, and simply replies, "Oh, he bumped into me in the street last week is all. Nice to meet you Justin Taylor." He shakes my hand, and gives me another smile. I think I'm drooling again. God I hope my dad doesn't notice the look I'm giving Brian. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Kinney," I say, returning his smile. "You can call me Brian." "Okay... Brian." I can call him Brian? As in... only me? I think I'm going to die, and this time it's not the hate that's killing me.