[[OPEN]] give me a cigarette, smoking my cancer

[KYLE MAXWELL JOHNSTON]

Kyle wandered into the bathroom. He wasn't sure which bathroom he was supposed to go into. He wasn't sure which bathroom was the boys and which was the girls. So he'd just picked one and hoped for the best.

He glanced around and, after looking under the stall doors, was satisfied no one was there. He quietly went into the last bathroom stall--the handicapped one--and dug out the bit of metal he'd found underneath a table.

They'd taken away all his sharps, even the pencil he'd tried to keep hidden from them. He hadn't been able to cut himself for quite a while and he was getting anxious. Making yourself throw up only worked so well. After a while, you needed pain.

Kyle rolled up his shirt sleeve. Scars covered his left arm. One long one reminded him of his latest suicide attempt. He sighed and closed his eyes. Anticipation was wonderful.

He slowly moved the metal piece towards his arm and, like a surgeon, began to slice his arm. He gasped in pleasure as the sharp bite of pain reached his brain. He watched the blood drip onto the toilet seat.

[BAYLEE SKYLAR CARVER]

( JUST LIKE A TARGET)
------- OH MY DEAR, YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN. YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN, TONIGHT.

skylar had rushes into the bathroom, sliding against the door, listening. her ear to the cold material the door was made out of. footsteps took off past the restroom. that was what she'd been hoping for. all the teen had been hoping for. she'd gotten in trouble, once again, of course. really her name should have been baylee trouble-maker carver. that would suit her much more. her breath came out of her throat as she stood up, honestly she hadn't even known she was holding it in. standing up so fast, she almost found herself falling back down to the ground. yet she'd manage to save herself. moving over in long strides to the sink she through her bag on it. the strap still going around her body.

it hadn't taken the seventeen year old long to start digging through it. getting past the bottles of liquor she had hidden in it. she wanted her razor. that was all she wanted. that mother fucking razor. "shit shit shit shit shit shit shit." one cuss word right after the other. skylar couldn't go without cussing-- really, she couldn't. she'd throw one in just about every sentence, if given the chance. and she rarely ever noticed she was even doing so. it didn't matter if people didn't like it, oh no, she was just so use to cussing, that it seemed almost second nature to her.

where was the razor? where had it gone? they couldn't have gotten it out of her bag, with the rest of the goodies she'd stashed away. she'd only recently shoved them into her bag, so she could get away, you know? do everything with them all. laying her lighter, a box of matches, and three bottles on the counter, skylar found that her razor was not in her bag. "mother fucker." her hands slammed into her back-pack. knowing she had grabbed the razor, meant she had to have dropped it while running from someone, that was the only way it could have been gone. that's it. that was how it would have been. "i need that fucking razor." making a sound, something of the sort of an "urgh", she started putting everything back into her bag. before slinging it over her arm again.

until she heard a noise, which, caused her to freeze. and look around. so, the last stall had legs in it, the rest did not. so of course, that meant the noise came from there. and she swore, she saw a bit of blood. just a drop on the floor, that was it. tilting her head, she stared at the stall.

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