FOX RATHBONE ( B I T C H ) .2.

Holy fuck you never understand how much you can bleed until you're bleeding.

Sounds fucking stupid I know.

I maybe had five dollars in my pocket though and that correlates somehow, like it makes cosmic sense. Of course, some piece of shit drug addict is gonna stab me for the five bucks in my pocket. I mean, he took the cocaine from my backpack too but that's beside the point.

Could have had the decency to at least leave me five bucks to get a bottle of painkillers with or something I dunno.

I hit a wall. Physically.

My shoulder slams into brick and I clutch at my side, groaning. I'm gonna find that piece of shit drug addict one day and stab him right in his fucking side.

Just curious: How many times can you die before you're dead?

Because honestly, I may have carved a permanent, shit-eating grin on my carcass just because the muscles don't work anymore.

Sounds emo as shit, sort of like something Brohm would say. Let's strike it from the record. It's struck.

Alright, moving on.

I press my hand against my side, staggering back towards home, kind of half-hoping my big sister is there so she can sew me up and half-hoping she isn't so that she can't finish the job as punishment for losing the cocaine. I'm not sure what to expect sometimes. I never knew proving yourself could be so damn hard until now.

Layton told me I'm a pussy ass bitch and I'd never make it. Well, wish she could see me now in all of my holy glory because I'm only crying a little bit actually and if that's not impressive, then what, may I ask, is?

I groan and clutch at my side harder, bloody fingers slipping on the gate.

Blood isn't even thicker than water.

Fuck.