hold me tight {python}

I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing,
Just prayed to a god that I don't believe in
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
I'm falling to pieces, yeah
I'm falling to pieces .

It was all his fault.

It had always been his fault, since the day I had let that idea slip from my mind. It had taken years, years of his constant bullying, picking and teasing until I sent her away. It had hurt; I had felt it in my chest, as though some part of it had been torn from that beating, echoing part of my body. All my life she had stayed beside me, a shallow cut out of who I was and everything that I had once been. She had become the sapped out joy in my life, all of my sanity shoved into a hollow, make believe girl. A single flickering image of what I was, every bit of the good, and the well, the happy and the bright shoved into the skeleton of something sop unreal and fake. Something that had been the constant companion of my life – the thing that had essentially kept me going, kept me moving, kept me living. Someone that had filled a whole in a space that had been empty for so many years, a hole I never thought I’d ever fill. It had been some dug out empty space that had been there for so many years. I did not know how it had gotten there or why, it was just there. We had talked and spoken, I had shared so many secrets and truths with that girl. She was my everything. She made me whole. I knew that she did that, I knew who she was and what she was made of – twisted dreams, scattered hope and falling wishes. No one else knew, no one else saw what she did. They just said and picked and teased and told me what she was, they assumed she was nothing that she was no more than an idea.

And yet she stole everything that I was from me. She took all the good and all the sane parts of my being. It was what drove me crazy and it was her. That tiny, voice that sounded exactly like my own that forced me to do things I did not want to do. She pushed and tugged at my conscience and made me do them. And it was all his fault. Jamarion’s picking and teasing, his cruel, hurtful, painful words would lash out at me. They would bit into me like venom and poison me. They swirled like a withering mass of coiled snakes in the back of my mind, occasionally lashing out and making me stop, making my entire body freeze as they spread like some disease and took over. It was the end. Five years of that constant torture caused me to realise that maybe he had been right. That maybe Kofa, the girl that had become everything to me was nothing more than a person that was willing to destroy me. She was me. And I did, I wanted to destroy me, I just made her into something I could not resist, something I could not tell to stop and go away. She became the good version of me, the one that no one could say no to, except I was the only one that could see her. Jamarion hated that, he hated it with such a passion that he would spit and hurt me, he had hit me once. His hand was like a cold, cruel slap of reality. I think that was the little bit that pushed me over the edge. That little push that sent my body falling over the edge of the cliff where only Kofa could die.

It had been the hardest thing I would and could ever have to do. As I let her slip from my mind she fought back at me. Her talons had dug themselves deep into my soul; she did not want to leave. But I persisted, pushing with every bit of mental strength I had, I shoved and scratched and clawed with every bit of energy and strength that I possessed. I would not fail in this one fight that would mean so much to me. But of course when she finally left she took it all with her. She took the good and that bit of sanity that had kept me from becoming insane. She stole it with her like a ghost and I could never catch her again. Every time I tried she would slip through my fingers like sand and water. She was gone and with it all the good that I ever had. I’m nothing more than an empty shell now. I’m really nothing. Just a thing that does what she needs to, to keep going and I’m not even sure why I do. I’m not sure why I ran today. Why I did not just lie down and wait for them to get me and kick me. To feel my blood swell on their fists, on their shoes and their hands. It would be so easy. They could kick me to death, my ribs splintering, and cracking through my skin. The life pouring out of me. Just like it always wanted to. Yet I run. I run every time they chase me or threaten the tightly woven basket of life I have. I don’t think it is because I’m not ready to die, oh I am, and I could die right here and now and there would be nothing I would say against the idea.

No. It isn’t because I value life; it isn’t because I care for this thin, piece of lifeless being that I have become. It is because that for some reason, for some reason that I cannot fathom part of me wants to keep going. Part of me still fights against the idea of death, no matter how comforting and welcoming it will be. I don’t want it, not yet. I’ll accept it if it happens, but for as long as I can put a foot in front of me I will shun it and make it take a step back and away from me. I’ll do what Kofa did for me, but I’ll do it for myself, by my own hands and by my own rules. If I die it will be by my hand and no one else, if I scream and cry it will be because I want it. And with that thought I feel another scream bubble on the edge of my lips, trying to slid past the blood that slips past parted lips and trails down my chin. I can’t find the strength to wipe it away, so I let it fall to the ground, drip, drip, dripdrip is the sound that feels my mind. I close my eyes tight, waiting expecting the next kick, but instead I open them to the flickering and oh so familiar sounds of pain, pain that is not coming from my own lips, but rather from my attackers. My lifeless grey eyes manage to swivel upwards, as I take in the new scene before me. The unconscious body of a boy lies not too far away from me; from this distance I can already see the angry red spot on his head, where someone has hit him.

Then there was another figure, I tried to focus my eyes on the boy, the stocky, tall boy who lashed out again at another boy, sending him falling to the ground. But my sight was just as blurry as the rest of what was happening. I couldn’t comprehend it, I couldn’t understand it. ”If you or any of your boys touches my sister again, I’ll send all of you to the fucking medical center. Got it?” It was the word sister that registered with me first. It was odd, a rather odd statement. One that, within the confines of this situation I was in, I never thought I would ever, in my wildest dreams hear. But after a hesitant second of puzzling over this I finally realised that it wasn’t just that word that struck an odd cord, but it was also the familiar voice that made my eyes flicker with some deep confusion. I couldn’t understand this. For a second I hesitated, believing that maybe this was some kind of cruel sick joke, that maybe my tormentors were playing with me. Who better to add into the game then Jamarion? Who better to add into the game then a boy that had been my constant companion to every good thing that happened, the boy that would turn everything sour and bad. The boy who had gotten rid of Kofa, who had made me into something less than what I once was, but more than what I would ever be. I wasn’t much, but I was something and the brash, hurtful boy who came to kneel beside me, saying my name, my name echoing in the air, had just saved me. ”Marina,” the words were tentative, the way a person speaks to a wounded animal that could lash out at any moment.

”Are you okay?” Numbly I shook my head, but that resulted with a sharp spike of pain coursing through my body. I tried to bit back a cry of pain, but I could not. ”Do you want me to take you to the medical center?” I manage a slight nod of my head, flecks of white crossing my vision with the pain of just moving that little bit. That was it. Without knowing why or without thinking I began to cry, great sobs racking the length of my entire, beaten, broken body. With a blood stained hand I reach forwards and clutched at Jamarion, just wanting him to hold me, wanting him to hug me and to help me like he had before. Like he use to do when I was little, before I had gone insane, before I had destroyed my life. I buried my head into his shoulder, tears streaming down my face, turning red as they mixed with the blood that still trailed from my lips. After a moment the sobs turned into painful gasping, as my chest began to burn with a great pain. It was getting harder to breath, and my hands tightened on Jamarion’s shirt, my thin, pale hands clutched him with all the pathetic strength that they had. “I’m-I-I’m sorry.” I gasp, through the pain, because no matter what he had done to me all my life I was glad it was him there. I was glad it was him because he did not know, but he was the one who had saved me, not only from those kids that had hurt me, but he had taken Kofa away from me and without her I was nothing, I was empty and hollow, and sad and insane, but I was alive.

They say bad things happen for a reason
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
'Coz she's moved on while I'm still grieving
And when a heart breaks
no it don't break even, even no.

I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing,
Just prayed to a god that I don't believe in
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
I'm falling to pieces, yeah
I'm falling to pieces .

When I was little, only six years old Hopper had worked all day for two weeks, saving up every single penny he could get. At the age of seven he had already become the families main income source, father had sunk into the hallow ball that still consumed him to this day. We didn’t have much money, but Hopper, persistent, kind Hopper was determined enough to spend half of it on buying all of us an ice cream. It was a rare treat that none of us had ever had before. Hopper had told us once that it was his favourite thing, and that it was cold and it tasted sweet and icy and so yummy that mother had snuck one to him every month, before we were all born. Before she died. All of us six kids were absolutely excited for this, we all followed Hopper like dogs down the streets, on our little legs as our older brother lead us through the empty streets and around to the most expensive store in the whole of the district. None of us had ever set foot in there before. Everything in there was meant for the people in the districts with money and good jobs. But Hopper had worked so hard and no one could argue him out of what he wanted to do for all of us. He had told us to wait outside while he went in and got the ice creams. I’d watched as the shop manager had given him a cold look, not believing that the ragged, dirty boy before him could even afford a thing in that shop. Surprise, however, when Hopper drew out a lot of coins he had eagerly jumped to do what Hopper had asked.

It had made me laugh to watch the man’s face, his head nodding, his eyes wide and greedy, set on the coins. Hopper looked awed at the many types of ice cream within the store and for a moment he just stood and stared. Jamarion ever impatient tapped on the window, and that got Hopper going. Within a few minutes he was coming outside and handing all them around to each of us. Lyana had grabbed the pink one, she loved strawberry flavoured things. Hopper had passed me the vanilla one and I’d instantly licked it, surprised at the sudden cold that hit my tongue. After a few seconds I had giggled, the wonderful taste spreading through my mouth. I had never had something so sweet before. Hopper told us to move back and away from the shop, so people could see it and not see the ragged bunch of kids in front of it. As I stepped forwards, my little hands grasping the cone the ice cream slipped and it fell to the floor. Tears welled up in my eyes, but before I could even utter a single cry Jamarion came up to me, offering me his ice cream to share with him. I remember that day every time I see Jamarion; I always try to force it into my mind when that pig-headed ass hole talks to me, his words snappy and biting right into me. I try to remind myself more often than not that beneath it all there is a decent guy. There is a boy that would do a lot to help his family and care for his siblings. Sometimes it is hard to believe that and I think more on the idea that Jamarion has changed, that he was not the boy who had once helped me when I had grazed my knee, shared his ice cream with me when I dropped mine.

It is not that hard to see it now. To see it right now as I bury my shaking head into his shoulder. As his strong warm arms wrap around my thin, cold body. It was an odd thing to feel him holding me protectively rather than hitting me and shoving me away as I tried to claw him and slap him. More blood slipped past my lips, and I tried not to cough and get it all over him. A set of doors were shoved open and the blast of hospital air hit me. Jamarion walked ahead, his voice booming in the silence of a soulless world. I could feel his words rumbling from his chest, vibrating, but my head was too fuzzy to make out anything he was really saying. After what seemed like a lifetime Jamarion started walking again, until he gently placed me down on a hospital bed. I instantly tried to sit up, but was forced down by a spout of pain that caused more blood to well up at my lips. I wiped it away, smearing it over the white sheets I was on. The bed started moving and within a few short moments I was in a room, a doctor telling me to not move as he was going to take an x-ray. Normally I would have snorted, at made some stupid remark. Like hell I was going to move. I’d already tried that one; it was not going to work. The doctor came back in and a few nurses grabbed the ‘bed’ and wheeled it back to the room it had been in originally. I felt dizzy, but this time as I shoved myself upwards the pain held out long enough for me to prop myself up. I let out a small grunt, hating the idea of lying down. I felt really vulnerable here.

As the doctor began to talk to an impatient Jamarion, I felt my blood chill. I stopped what I was doing and listened. I could hear it. I could hear the surprise and the brash annoyance and I knew he was going to say something. Of course he was. Preparing my best defiant glare I look aver to him as he started to speak. His arms were crossed over his chest, in annoyance. ”Why didn’t you tell anyone, Marina?” It was a question I had asked myself over a dozen times before. I didn’t need to rely on anyone, least of all siblings that hated me, least of all Jamarion. Jamarion had been kind and nice today, but to me it was something that would end as easily as his temper. It switched within seconds. Besides I didn’t want his help. I didn’t need someone to protect me. I could protect myself. I had fought off a lot of people. ”Were you just going to let those kids beat the crap out of you over and over again and not do anything about it?” I scowled. “I’m not you Jamarion, I can’t beat off five kids. I’m a tiny little stick with half of her mind in the gutter, that can’t think for herself. And you are saying that I’m letting them beat the crap out of me.” A hint of desperation entered my voice, “I’m not, you have no idea how much I’m fighting, how much I have tried.” I bit my lip hard, forcing the tears back, because I could not cry again. I could not and would not cry in front of Jamarion.

“Why? You want to know why I never went to any of you? Why I never told any of you? Look at yourself Jamarion. Look at everything then look at me. I’m a lunatic, and most of all I don’t need anyone’s help, I’ve lived long enough without asking for anything and doing it by myself that when I have a problem or I need something the person I go to is me.” I looked away from him, not wanting to meet his angry gaze. I looked after myself. I was grateful he had helped me out this time, but I didn’t need him.

They say bad things happen for a reason
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
'Coz she's moved on while I'm still grieving
And when a heart breaks
no it don't break even, even no.