Cigarettes and Valentines, chapter 2

Maria was long gone. It had been one week and I still couldn't recall what had happened, but she was dead and it was up to me to find out exactly what had happened.
After St. Jimmy left me alone with Maria's corpse I realised that it he had also left me with the job of disposing the body. I wrapped her mangled corpse up in a few layers of sheets and a doona; I took my beat up station wagon to the creek and laid her body to rest in the murky waters.
I sat there for a while, in a trance I suppose, just thinking back on all the times we had shared and if they really meant anything... .but I realised that they meant more to me than living. I was lucky I suppose, not many people knew Maria so there would be no search parties, I doubt anyone would notice that she was missing... except for me.
After sitting there for what seemed like hours, I headed over to the 7/11, my home away from home, Where every knew my name. I felt like a king there, respected by many, feared by all and equal to none. At least that's the way I saw it, I mean I was The Jesus of Suburbia, Berkley's infamous misfit, the son of rage and love.
I stormed through the store, straight into the bathroom. I locked the door and stuck my hand behind the sink. As soon as I had a grip on the blade I took it out.
I removed my wrist band from my left arm, most people would flinch at the sight of my wrists, but I had grown accustomed to it over the years. The sight of torn skin trying to heal but being cut over and over, it was a surprising that the skin still even bothered to try and heal. I rested the blade over red and irritated skin, the sweet sensation of the cold steel gave me a chill down my spine. I started carving away, I bit my lip and closed my eyes, this was taking me to paradise.
All of a sudden I heard a knock against the door, I jumped.
"What the fuck do you want?" I yelled, I doubt they would answer me after they heard my voice.
"Jesus, open up," I heard St. Jimmy say.
I stashed my blade and wiped up the blood from the floor. I got up and slid on my wrist band.
I opened the door.
"What do you want?" I asked him flat out.
"Wow! Jesus, since when were you upfront? You usually sit back with the majority and don't dare be the minority," he said. I hated it when he spoke in rhymes, and he knew it pissed me off no end.
"Maybe I WANT to be the minority and I definitley DON'T need YOUR authority Jimmy," I said, purposely leaving out the "Saint".
"Jesus I told you its SAINT Jimmy" he said, getting slightly annoyed.
"You Jimmy are the furthest thing from a saint" I said before pushing him out of my way. I stormed out of the 7/11.

I wasn't always known as the Jesus of Suburbia. I had a great life, great family and great friends. That all changed when my dad left my mum. I haven't heard from him since. My mum began drinking, so often that soon I couldn't tell the difference from between her being drunk or sober. That's around the time I met St. Jimmy. He was about 20 when I first laid eyes on him, he hadn't changed one bit in the last 9 years. I started skipping school under St. Jimmy's influence that 'School is practise for life, practise makes perfect, nobody is perfect so why the fuck should we practise?'.
Eventually I didn't even bother to show up at school. I spent my time with Jimmy at The Lost and Found or on East 12th street. It was at East 12th street that I met Maria.
She asked for a joint. Jimmy seemed to be in endless supply of them so I gave her one and started talking to her. A year later we were getting up to all sorts of things.
Jimmy never seemed to do anything but hang around, yet he could afford alcohol and drugs by the bucket load.
Maria was the first one to call me 'the Jesus of Suburbia'. We were having another argument and she yelled "Who the hell do you think you are? Jesus nailed to the COUCH? Suffering for MY sins? Who the fuck do you think you are? The Jesus of Suburbia?" And with "Saint" Jimmy guiding me I became The Jesus of Suburbia.