*Angel's PoV*

I ducked into the locker room, keeping my head down as I made straight for the stalls, clutching my black Hello Kitty gym bag close to my chest.

I raced into the largest of the three stalls, slamming the door shut and locking it. I really, really hate having PE. I tried to switch my schedule over to Music Appreciation, but they wouldn't let me because I was already taking Art, Band, Chorus, and AP Music Theory. I guess they don't want me taking too many "artistic" classes.

I double checked the lock on the stall door before I began to take off my black skinny jeans. I winced at the sight of my thighs, covered in scars and partially healed cuts. The most recent ones were only three days old, and still covered with band-aids. I quickly slipped into a pair of black shorts, so that I wouldn't have to look at them anymore.

I raised my lacy black top over my head, frowning at my body. Gah, I was so fat. I hated the sight of myself, I was way too heavy even though I rarely ate. I pulled a plain black T-shirt down to cover my disgusting body.

I traded by black leather boots for black Converse, kneeling down to quickly lace them up. I dug my hairbrush out of my bag and ran it through my hiar, which is blonde with purple streaks. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, securing it with a hair elastic before I took a deep breath and exited the stall door.

Almost immediately, Kailey and her preppy friends glared at me. I felt a little pang in my chest. Kailey was my best friend from kindergarten up until eigth grade, when she let her older sister convince her to try out for cheerleading. By the end of the school year, Kailey had dumped me for being "too dark" and was hanging out with the other snobby chearleaders. She was now one of my worse bullies.

"Oh, is it Halloween already?" Kailey called out, her pink lips twisting into a sneer. "Angel's rocking the 'dead slut' look, isn't she girls?"

Kailey's cheerleader friends all burst into annoying little giggles. They were all wearing matching outfits: tight hot pink tank tops and slutty white shorts. I didn't see how they weren't suspended for breaking the dress code. But, then again, Kailey was a little teacher's pet who never ever got in trouble.

"Don't get to close to her, girls." Kailey said as I made my way over to my locker. "I heard that the zombie virus is contagious."

"Screw off." I muttered under my breath, shoving my gym bag into the locker.

Kailey glared at me. "What did you just say to me, bitch? A fat, ugly, little whore like you shouldn't bother people. God, just looking at you makes me depressed. Why don't you just do us all a favor and kill yourself, slut?" She turned away, bleached-blonde hair swishing over her shoulder.

"I might just try." I thought.

***

"Home again, whore?" My father's voice sounded from the kitchen, his words slurred. He was drunk again. Damn it.

I ran upstairs and was almost to the safety of my bedroom when I felt a hand close around my shoulder, squeezing tight enough to bruise my skin.

"Trying to run again, bitch?" My father yanked me back by my shoulder, slamming me into the wall. I bit back a yelp as my body thudded to the ground.

He brought his foot back, kicking me in the side. I yelped as his foot collided repeatedly with my body. He yelled as he kicked me, calling me worthless, stupid, and ungrateful.

When my father finally got tired of kicking me, he went back downstairs, leaving me curled up and whimpering softly. I dragged myself to my feet, slowly limping into my bedroom.

This was it. I was done.

***

I ran down the streets, a crumpled piece of paper in one hand and a razor blade in the other. The sky was grey and dark, promising rain. I ran until I was several streets away from my house, standing in an empty street of shops.

I ducked into the narrow mouth of an alley, stepping back into the shadows. I folded my carefully written suicide note, tucking it into my pocket. I took a deep breath, looking down at the razor, then at my wrist. I knew what I had to do.

*Trigger Warning - there is a graphic description of self harm in the next paragraph*

I dug the razor into my right wrist, gasping as I felt it cut deeper than it ever had before. I dragged it in a horizontal motion across my wrist, watching the deep slit open up, bright red blood bubbling up almost immediately. I repeated this until there were twelve very deep cuts on my wrist, blood dripping to the ground at a quick, urgent pace. I switched the blade into my other hand, and soon there were twelve more slits, these located on my left wrist. I watched the blood flow quickly, staining my clothes red. It wasn't enough. I went back over the cuts, yelping in pain as I deepened them one by one.

I slumped to the ground, leaning my back against the alley's wall. I deserved to die like this - alone in a strange alley, like the worthless trash that I was. I looked down, my head beginning to feel light and dizzy. I watched my blood spill onto the cement ground.

"Oh my god!"

I looked up in the direction from which the deep voice had come. I found myself looking at a tall boy, with long, jet black hair that framed his face. He was pale, his intensely blue eyes wide with shock. He wore all black, and held a lit cigarette in one hand. Even with my mind slipping quickly towards unconsiousness, I couldn't help but notice how attractive he was.

"Oh my god." He said again, dropping to his knees next to me. He stared at me, blue eyes locking with mine. "Can you hear me? What happened?"

I simply looked down, my eyes flickering to the razor blade in my hand. I heard the boy gasp.

"Y-you did this to yourself?" He whispered, shock written across his face.

I nodded, feeling tears spring to my eyes. The strange boy pulled a phone out of his pocket, quickly dialling 911. No, no, I don't want help. I want to die. Just let me die. I reached up and tried to slap the phone out of his hand.

"It's okay, I'm getting help!" He said, pulling the phone out of my reach.

"Don't... want it." I murmured. He stared at me, a deep sorrow shining in his eyes.

"I'm not going to let you die." He said simply. He talked to the 911 person, describing the situation. My eyelids felt heavy, and I felt sleep calling to me.

"Whoa. Hey." The boy hung up and pulled me into his lap, cupping my face with one hand. "Stay with me, okay? Help is on the way."

"Just... want to... die." I whispered, pushing the words out with effort.

"Why?" He asked sadly. "Why would a beautiful girl like you want to die?"

"Just... wanted.... it all.... to... be... over." I muttered, feeling my eyes start to close.

"Hey! Hold on! Stay with me." The boy shook me gently. "I promise, things will get better, okay? But this is not the way to deal with your problems. Don't take that wonderful person away from the world, okay?" He wrapped his arms around me and held me close, ignoring the blood smearing all over his clothes.

"I'm Andy, by the way." He whispered into my ear, his breath sending chills through me. "What's your name?"

"Angel." I managed to gasp out.

"I like it. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl." Andy murmured. "Hold on, Angel. Help is almost here." He gently kissed my forehead as my eyes slowly closed.

The darkness took me, and I knew no more.

Notes

Just to be clear, in this chapter, I picture Andy looking like he did around the time We Stitch These Wounds came out.

I'm not trying to encourage self harm, or suicide. If you struggle with either, you can talk to me, okay?