Goth - 3. Chapter 3: Creep

2 days later and I’m sat in the court room, explaining Sammy’s anxiety problems. The judge doesn’t look impressed with the fact it was me that boke the knife, and the case hasn’t really gone well so far. Sammy was given one of those shitty court appointed lawyers, you know, the ones that are practically paid off to make you lose. Not to mention the fact that Sammy himself hasn’t said a single word during the whole hearing.

We were now half way through the hearing, and I was still in the docks, just beginning to explain that we were planning an ordinary day out in town.

“See, all we wanted to do was go out, have dinner, go for a nice relaxing coffee, take a walk around the shops, get a few CDs and be on our way. The only reason Sammy had the knife is because he’s anxious. He’s constantly scared of what could happen, and there’s nothing he can really do to help that. If he didn’t have that knife, he wouldn’t be able to leave the house, and he’d become one of those anti-social “freaks” you hear about on the news, the ones that don’t leave their homes, the generation that sits in on their computers and their games consoles, the only exercise they’re getting is their thumbs constantly thudding away on the screens. He’d be one of the teenagers that people like you complain about. THIS is why he carries the knife. He’s scared of becoming that person. He’s scared that he’s going to be attacked. He’s scared of losing me…”

The judge took a glance at Sammy with sorry eyes. I could tell he was in deep thought, wondering if this could happen to such a shy boy. At the same time he looked pissed at me saying he’d complain about them.

“The Jury will now confer.”

Both Judge and Jury left the main court room, and I walked back to the gallery. I wandered to the rail behind where Sammy was sitting, and tapped him on the shoulder, immediately grabbing his attention.

“Baby, you need to say something”

“I can’t, where are they?”

“They’re talking about my side of it, when they come back they’ll want to know what you have to say about it.”

“I can’t do this”

“Honey, you’re going to be fine. Just tell them the truth, it might sway them into being a bit more lenient. At least then nothing too bad will happen.”

“What do you mean too bad?”

“Well if you can’t get your words out, then the Judge might think you’re stumbling with a cover story to hide the fact you were going to attack someone, and that would mean you could go down for a lot longer than would be good than your anxiety…”

“I’ll try”

Just as he said this, the Jury started to file back into their seats, before the Judge emerged from his chamber, seating himself in a large crimson leather chair.

“Would Samuel Tempest please come to the docks?”

Fuck… this is where it all goes wrong.

“Samuel, why were you carrying a knife with you on the 4^th of September?”

“I…. I….”

Come on Sammy, you can do it…

“I have anxiety problems… I mean… right now I find it difficult to talk to you. Without that knife, I’d be so scared I’d barely be able to leave my bedroom. And I’d never have met my beautiful Davy.”

I blushed at him saying this, I still wasn’t used to being called beautiful.

The court hearing droned on for about another half hour, Sammy saying the exact same thing I said almost word for word. I’d be blown if the judge didn’t think this was stage (Don’t dare take that the wrong way). The jury was sent to confer for one last time, and 10 minutes later they returned.

“We the jury find the defendant Samuel Tempest guilty of carrying a concealed weapon.”

I fell to my knees crying there and then. What was supposed to be a simple date has turned into my worst nightmare.

Then the judge started…

“Samuel Tempest, I sentence you to 4 years in youth detention”

The gavel came down. And so did my jaw. I couldn’t believe it! 4 years for carrying protection? I started to feel dizzy, and as I got to my feet, I fell straight back down again. I was checked over by paramedics but it was just a light bruise to my knee from when I had fallen to my knees.

Then I realized… Today is the 8^th of September. SHIT, I’M THE NEXT HEARING!

I tried to remember my arguments, but they were gone. I couldn’t think of anything.

“All rise for his honor Judge Carter.”

The line I didn’t want to hear. The line I hoped would never come. But the words that followed were even worse.

“Would David Jones please come to the docks?”

If only it were a real question, I’d say no in a heartbeat. I slowly made my way to the docks, before making my oath and trying to remember my story. Blank.

“I…Um….Erm…. Look, your honor. All I can say is I was angry. My boyfriend was being charged with carrying a concealed weapon. Do you expect me to stand back and accept that when he has severe anxiety issues?”

“No, but I also don’t expect you to throw a knife hallway across the room nearly hitting an officer.”

“Neither did I…”

“I can hear genuine sorrow in your voice. You really didn’t intend to damage the evidence or hurt anyone, you just blacked out in a fit of rage. I’m letting you off with an ASBO.”

I suppose it’s better than going to youth detention. I swiftly left the court room, not even bothering to say anything to the lawyer my mother had paid to take on my case without telling me. Hey, at least he wasn’t court appointed, then it might have gone a lot worse.

I got into the back of the car and slammed the door shut behind me. It was obvious that I wasn’t happy, but the question was what would my mum say about it? I’d just left court with an ASBO and now I was in a mood. I bet she thought highly of that.

“I guess I’m not to ask any questions?”

My silence said it all. The rest of the ride home was completely silent. I sat still for the entire thing, no thought about what my mum would say about my ASBO. No thought about how the school would react. I was worried sick about Sammy… Now Claire and Steve were going to have to find out about Sammy being arrested, and as soon as they did he was as good as dead… Like I said, they’re dickheads. They don’t care about his future, they just care about having a good record themselves, no matter how they did it.

We pulled into the driveway and before my mother even had the chance to turn off the engine I was out of the car and storming up the stairs. I forced my door to close with an almighty bang, bolted it shut and went to my bed. I pulled the cap off the bedpost where my left foot would reach, and pulled out a small circular container.

This small porcelain tub held my bottled up emotions, my release, and my downfall. One thing I never told you was that I am constantly called names such as ‘Goth’ or ‘Emo’. The reason for this was inside this tub. A thin piece of stainless steel, kept in a Ziploc bag to keep it from rusting, I opened the bag and pulled the razor blade out, and running each side over my computer casing to make sure it was sharp, I used my other hand to pull up my sleeve. Sure enough it left marks on the casing. Perfect. I put the corner of the blade against my wrist and applied pressure until I felt it pierce the skin, and then I slowly started to angle the rest of the blade down to my skin, still applying pressure.

When I finally withdrew the blood stained sheet of metal, there was a large cut around 3 inches long and a half inch deep on my wrist, blood pouring out of every corner. I grabbed a blood stained rag from my cupboard and wrapped it tightly around the wound, hoping to reduce the bleeding. As far as mum was concerned, the rag was just for nosebleeds, but there was a much deeper truth behind it. A truth that too many people knew for my liking…

Is this what I was raised for? To slit my wrists every time something went wrong in my life? No it couldn’t be….. But I don’t know any better. I’ve tried stopping before, but it’s no good… And there’s no point in going to a counsellor, I don’t need some fucking stranger dictating my life just so he can get a pay packet…

I tied the rag tight around the wound so I wouldn’t have to hold it to my wrist and wandered over to my bed, staggering in an attempt to reach the comfort of forgetting the events of today for at least a short while… I slipped between the duvet and the bedspread and curled up into a ball, bursting into a wreck of emotions. No amount of cutting could release this… This was pure hatred, and it had a vengeance.