"Did I say something stupid?
There goes one more mistake
Do I bore you with my problems?
Is that why you turn away?
Do you know how hard I tried
To become what you want me to be?"
-Allison Iraheta, "Scars"
Silver slammed the door to his room, causing a few of the posters on his wall to flutter a bit from the wind. He wound up dropping to his knees at the side of his bed, sobbing into the mattress as his suppressed emotions came flooding out.
The anxiety was unbearable. His heart was beating like a jackhammer. His tears stained his comforter. He was rocking in place, shuddering.
This was his fate, he thought. He was destined to be entertainment for sadists... a chew toy. They'd get his hopes up, have him feel great... then dash everything to pieces without any mercy or shame. If that wasn't enough, they'd vandalize, they'd harass... they wouldn't stop until they got their fun.
Silver rolled off onto the floor, curling himself into the fetal position, his sobs quieter.
"It's not your place to get involved. It's your place to stand there and take what you deserve."
If it was his place to stand there and take what he deserves... then there was only one thing to do...
Silver would have to remove himself from the equation. Permanently.
Getting to his feet, his legs shaking, Silver headed to his desk. He knew what he was looking for, and in a few seconds, he had procured it from the top drawer...
It was a small, ovalesque object, red in color with the Swiss coat of arms printed on it.
It was his uncle's Swiss Army knife.
"Mom... forgive me..." Silver uttered as he flicked the knife blade open, hovering it over his arm before moving it over to his radial artery.
He'd deny them the satisfaction of his suffering. He'd deny them the use of his body and soul for their own entertainment.
He was done.
He slowly brought the knife down, holding it to where the radial artery started.
One slice up, and it would all be over...
"Go ahead, Silvy... do it..."
The hell? Silver started looking around, trying to find out who else was here. As his eyes passed the bar mirror on his wall, he saw the source.
There, in the mirror, stood Sunset, a smug grin upon her face.
"Who'll miss you, aside from your mama? Nobody. What do you have to live for? Nothing. You got no friends... no girlfriend, like any girl in their right mind could ever love you..."
Silver's blood began to boil. His free hand began to curl into a fist.
"You'd be doing the world a favor by offing yourself. After all, what's one less loser in the world? I got plenty of other losers to torture. You're just small potatoes, Silvy."
Sunset began to laugh. Long peals of horrible cackling filled the room as Sunset slowly morphed into a balding, bearded man with Coke-bottle glasses. His teeth were yellowed from years of smoking. Silver recognized him instantly.
He was his uncle.
"What's the matter, boy?" He smugly asked. "You gonna let that girl bring you down? I thought I told you you have to toughen up. I told you, the world is a cruel place. You had to find out the hard way that I was right..."
He split into two people: himself, and the alpha bitch...
Silver flicked the knife closed.
Sunset began to laugh again.
The hand that held the knife gripped it tightly.
"Come on Silvy... do it..."
She would not win...
"You never toughened up, boy..."
He would not be right...
"Do it, you pansy!"
Silver snarled.
"TOUGHEN UP!"
The knife hand flew back. In the span of a second, Silver's arm flew forward, releasing the closed knife. The knife hit the mirror at full force.
The mirror shattered completely with a loud crash.
As the pieces of mirrored glass fell to the floor, Silver stared intently at the bare frame where the glass had once been, feeling as if his metaphorical eyes had been opened...
They WANTED him to die... they WANTED him to slit his wrists... his death would be the ultimate sign of their triumph over him.
But he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.., not Blueblood... not Sunset... not anyone...
He'd show them... no matter what they threw at him... no matter how they hurt him... no matter what torture they unleashed upon him... he'd LIVE...
In spite of them, he'd LIVE. He would NEVER show weakness. He would never cry... he would never show any sign to anyone that they had hurt him.
He would toughen up. He would win.
"How do you like THAT, you fat bastard?" Silver said under his breath to no one. "Is that toughening up enough for you?"
There was a knock on his door.
"Silver, honey, what broke?" Mrs. Screen asked.
Silver was calm. Silver was cool. Silver was tough. He spoke.
"My mirror fell off the wall, mom."
"Oh. Okay. I'll get you the broom and dustpan so you can sweep up the glass, sweetheart." Mrs. Screen replied.
"Thanks, mom." Silver said.
As the sound of footsteps faded, Silver stood there, only one thing going through his mind.
"No more..."