If You Don't Change Your Situation . . .

Author: Juliet Bravo - PG-13 - English - Angst/Romance

***Disclaimer thingy (thank you, RainbowTerrorist!!!) : I don�t own Placebo. I don�t know Placebo. I don�t claim that this is true. I only write this because it is relevant to me not so long ago and how I was feeling. Basically I couldn�t deal with anything so I wrote it down to make it more...... deal-able, but didn�t include *me* as the main person because it�d probably trigger the mental side of me which would say "ooh, that sounds like fun, lets do that again" So yes. Thats why its Placebo. So Brian is me. Or I�m Brian (heh, Monty Python - "I�m Brian!" ) Erm . . . . yes. So this is all a lie. In a way. That way being that this didn�t happen to Placebo. Oh, and if you Placebo dahlings happen to stumble on this - Yes, I would very much like to own you, check my profile and E-mail me for more details, heh heh.***

I looked in the mirror one night after another heavy drinking session alone. I looked at myself - make up wonderfully streaked down my face, big black trails left from my hands as I tried to rub away the tears caused by yet another argument with them both. This wouldn�t have happened if I was just living on my own. But when I got really depressed, Stef suggested it�d be good for me if we all lived together for a while - maybe I�d end up feeling like I meant something. I knew I wouldn�t, I knew it wouldn�t help, but I had to say yes. If I had refused, they�d have just thought I had turned into a gigantic spoiled brat - there was no way I could explain what I was feeling to them. They just . . . didn�t take me seriously. I know they only suggested it to humour me and my �problems�.

But I guess its my own fault they didn�t pay any attention when I was miserable. I�ve always been the one to take care of the both of them when they got depressed and I have always acted like nothing ever bothered me. This meant that when something really did get to me, it wouldn�t be taken seriously, and I�d be left feeling like I had nobody to really talk to. Give, give give. I never ever had a moments peace, and whenever I did manage to find some time to myself, it�d always be interrupted - "Brian! Brian, I really need someone to speak to . . . " Me being me, I would never say �is it important?� or �Can I have five minutes to myself, please?� I�d just get up and go - more often than not I�d be dealing with their relationship problems. They just assumed I was happy. Little did they know they were asking the wrong person - was I ever in a decent relationship? God no. Yet, there I was, sitting with Stef or Steve, giving advice on their relationship issues.

I sniffed as I tried to calm down, and pulled the left sleeve of my shirt up slowly, and looked despairingly at my lower arm - my pale skin was broken by several streaks of red. It was horrible - the cuts I had made were all scabbing. I don�t like doing this to myself, but I do it anyway. Sometimes, when I feel really down. Like now.

I sighed and took the small blade from its packet and looked at it glisten in the light. So shiny . . . so beautiful . . . so sharp . . . I put out my arm, and dragged the blade over the skin, watching as the blood oozed out of the wound. I sighed again, a sigh of relief. I always felt a huge sense of release when I did this - I could get rid of the pain for a little while, take out the anger, guilt, depression and loneliness. It stopped me feeling so . . . drained. I also felt good about it because I thought that I needed to be punished for treating Steve and Stef the way I did.

I let it bleed into the sink for a while, muttering to myself.

"Stupid . . . idiot . . . they�ve never done anything to you . . . always come home and scream at them . . . fucking bitch . . . "

When it stopped bleeding, I rinsed it under the tap, covered it with my sleeve and went back downstairs into the kitchen where my friends were still sitting at the table, quietly talking to each other. When I entered, they were silent. Steve looked up.

"I thought you went to the bathroom to clean up?"

"I did . . . "

"And you didn�t, because . . . ?"

I paused as I realised that I hadn�t bothered cleaning the remains of my make-up off of my face, "I was thinking . . . I cried some more."

"What the hell for? You came in here and you started the argument and you upset yourself."

"I�m sorry, I didn�t want to fight with you two again."

"Again, notice that? Again."

"I just don�t feel that great OK?" I snapped back, I was sobering up, and it was making me feel worse. "I have had a shit day, and I am living a shit life and I can�t tolerate this anymore!"

Stef, who had remained silent and still from the moment I entered, finally spoke.

"Sit here." He ordered, pushing out the chair beside him.

"Fuck off, I�m going to bed." I turned around and cried out as I was stopped by Steve�s strong grip holding my freshly cut wrist.

"Do as he says." He growled.

"Let go first . . . it hurts." I whined.

He let go and I sat down. They both stared at me and I started crying again.

"Stop it! I hate it when you look at me like this!"

"Calm down, Brian, we just want to talk to you for a while OK? We�ll let you go to bed in a minute." Stefan attempted to �calm me down�. I know what �calm down� means, it means �shut the fuck up, you�re pissing me off and making a big deal out of nothing�. I softened my sobs, and sat there fiddling with the sleeves on my shirt, pulling them down- paranoid that they may see something.

"You haven�t been hiding the evidence very well, Brian." Stefan continued. I looked up, absolutely horrified, and dreading what was coming next. "We know you�re not eating properly. Thats why we always try and cook what you like, Brian."

"We cook for you, Brian!" Steve shouted at me, "We know you�ll be home late, so we cook for you and leave it here for you to eat when you come home. We tell you its there, we give it to you and you start eating it. Then we leave you alone because you tell us to fuck off and what do we find out? You haven �t been eating any of it at all? Jesus, you are so ungrateful!"

"Its not that, Steve, honest! I swear! I�m so so so sorry if it seems that way. I�m just . . . "

"What?"

"Not hungry."

"Well . . . " he snarled, standing up to look down at me, "why don�t you try telling us that, and then we won�t bother looking after you anymore?"

"Don�t look after me then!" I yelled, standing up to come up to his level - I was not going to be looked down on."It�s not like you take me seriously anyway!"

"Quiet!" Stefan shouted over the two of us, "Just shut. Up! Brian - sit down. Steve - calm down. You think you�ll get answers from him if you scream like that?"

We both sat down sulkily and shut up.

"Right . . . " began Stefan. "No interruptions, Steve." Steve nodded and Stefan continued. "Brian. We know you haven�t been eating properly. We go to throw away something and see everything we made for you in the bin. Maybe you�ve been eating out, " I nodded frantically, "but that doesn�t explain why you are losing so much weight."

I felt around my rib cage - it was true, I was thinner, "It could be any number of reasons." I tried arguing with him, knowing all the time that he was right.

"Rubbish. We all know you�ve practically stopped eating anything at all. No breakfast and hardly any lunch. Obviously no dinner either."

I started sobbing again, "I�m just not hungry anymore OK? Deal with that!"

They remained silent as I sat in my seat coughing and spluttering loudly.

"Look, Brian. We�re just worried about you. Although, honestly, you not eating isn�t really our biggest worry."

I looked up, absolutely horrified. Both my friends looked worried and miserable. They exchanged looks before Stefan sighed and confronted me after what was probably weeks of deliberation.

"Brian . . . we�ve been finding blades in the bathroom bin. All of these blades have had blood on and have been wrapped in tissue. Not very well, I might add."

I looked down.

"Please, please tell us you haven�t been cutting yourself."

"I haven�t been cutting myself." I repeated robotically.

Steve immediately shot up, grabbed both my arms, put them so they were lying across the table and pulled up both the sleeves.

"You . . . fucking . . . liar."

I started sobbing yet again, spluttering over the table as I spoke, "I�m so, so sorry . . . I didn�t want to hurt you . . . " I looked up at Steve, and seeing his face filled with rage, turned to Stefan. All he managed were two words -

"Oh Brian . . . "