Lamao(1)

Chapter 1

Lamao

Lamao, please call me back, Im really worried about you, we never talk anymore, why can't you just tell me your problems? Just remember that I will see you at the festival today, you can't hide from me forever I love you.

With a slight sigh I saved the voicemail. Yolo always seemed to know how to make me feel better, or in this case, much worse. But she was wrong, I couldn't stand to tell her what was wrong, sure she knew that I was depressed, but if she knew that I was suicidal or that I cut myself regularly she'd never forgive me! How was I supposed to go on if she broke up with me? I loved her to much to let her go. I wouldn't be able to hide this from her forever, she'd find out sooner or later, but then she would be even more upset if somebody other then me told her. So it was settled, I would tell her when I saw her today, that is, if I could bring myself to tell her.

I stiffly rose to my full height of 6 Foot, 2 imches, and then slowly stretched out before striding over to my desk. After I sat down I couldn't help but admire how much the simple piece of furniture had been though. The rough surface had lived through years of wear and tear, including the constant stroke of my now freshly sharpened hunting knife. I still couldn't believe the dark brown desk was still standing in my black hole of a bedroom. After a slight grin at the memories the desk had brought back, I swiftly opened the bottom right drawer, grabbing my pocket knife from the top of my pile of sharp and pointy things. I couldn't help but twirl it a few times between my fingers, slicing my heavily scarred hands in a few different places, although I ignored the sharp pain that came with each stroke of the blade, since it quickly dissipated anyway.

I knew all to well that my parents would kill me if they saw any blood, so I made my way to the bathroom down the hall from my room, amd washed my hands thoroughly. The strong scent of our normal lavender soap made my nose twitch; I was growing so tired of the scent it felt as if I was allergic to it

After my hands finally stopped bleeding, I ran swiftly down the stairs, the silver chains that hung loosely from my black jeans chiming softly with each step I took. Thankfully my parents had already left for the festival, so I slipped out unnoticed. As I stepped outside the overly warm air caressed my face, making my slightly curly brown hair blow in front of the cold icy blue pair of eyes I had dawned since birth. It was a warm summer day in the small town of Typoe, and I was thankful that I had worn the dark blue muscle shirt that formed around my slim, yet overly muscular body. Yes, today was a seemingly perfect day for the annual holiday known to in our town as Libertarian Day, that is, until I met up with Ikra.