ZEXAL One-Shot
A Fallen Angel's Cry
Kaito Tenjo
A/Ns: I wanted to break the ZEXAL fandom even further than it already is. So here, have a depressing one-shot...drabble... whatever it's called. XD
This world will never be
What I expected
And if I don't belong
Who would have guessed it
-Never Too Late, Three Days Grace
It was only the very rare times in the middle of the night that the legendary Tenjo Kaito let his true emotions show. And show they did.
The tears were salty and wetter than usual as he drew the tip of his tongue across his upper lip, catching some of the clear liquid falling from his eyes. Bringing his knees up closer to his chest, all he wanted to do was curl up and sob until his lungs hurt and his diaphragm no longer had the strength to continue its main function. But he was just too prideful to do that... wasn't he? No... he needed to do this. Needed to let himself know how much of a failure and fucking asshole he was.
Worthless monster.
The thought struck him hard, and the pain in his chest grew. A new wave of quiet sobs came from him, and he fell against the wall, one hand covering his mouth, the other in his hair and gripping the blonde locks tightly, the pain from doing so dulling the pain in his wailing soul. He needed this pain. His wrists clearly showed the abuse he had given himself over the years, but had stopped upon Haruto's and Dr. Faker's request as soon as the Barian War was over. But did he have the strength to do it again.
Even your own brother has resentment towards you.
Damn right. Haruto was acting a little more cautiously around Kaito ever since he had caught wave of the sins his older brother had committed. Even Dr. Faker would glance oddly at the Photon Duelist whenever the young man wasn't looking. Hell, the only people who apparently weren't cautious around him were Droite and Rio (the former because of her fondness of him, the latter because their friendship was growing stronger- which Ryouga wasn't overly joyous about- and she cared about him). He didn't know who to believe anymore.
Hopeless. Exactly what he felt right now.
The knife he kept in the nightstand was perched atop its surface now, the blade gleaming in the moonlight shining in through the window. The moon was full tonight, just barely passing the night it was at its brightest, and slowly beginning to make its descent towards the horizon. Dawn would come within the next six hours- and Kaito would be back to his "normal" self, playing the part of an arrogant, stubborn, and slightly irritated young scientist and duelist and Dragon Tamer (a title he inherited from Mizael, who also had just the tiny bittest of hatred still in his once-stone heart towards his so called friendly rival).
One hell of a life he lived, eh?
Bullshit. Your mother was better than this, and she had to go and get herself killed. You're such a fucking moron.
Was that ever a lie? Kaito knew that he was sick, and fucking crazy, and fucking idiotic, and- well, hell, fuck just wasn't a strong enough word for petty shit like him. Sniffing, tears blinding his already crappy vision, he reached out, fingertips just barely brushing the hilt of the knife, and then he stopped. Frozen, he stared at the sharp object, drawing in heavy breaths through trembling, frowning lips. Was this right? Should he go against the wishes of his brother and his father, and begin to harm himself even worse than Photon Mode had once done to him?
You envy them. Pathetic bastard.
The thought had him teetering between wanting and not wanting. Yes, the physical pain would take away the mental agony he was going through, suffering through, but it would upset his brother. And father. And everyone else he knew. And yes, Droite and Rio both knew of this old habit of his, and only Rio had objected (quite strongly, he had to add). Droite had advised him not to take it too far, and then he had known that she had also done the same thing to herself; only on her legs, not her arms (hence the dark tights she wore almost all the time).
Bringing his hand down, he brought the knife with, still sobbing, still letting his tears freely flow. His soul and heart wrenched hard at the sight of the weapon, and he only cried harder, biting down on his lower lip to try and dull the noises. He succeeded in only drawing a fair amount of blood with his canines.
More physical pain. Dulled out mental pain.
Oh, yes. Go ahead- make yourself look like a beast from the depths of Hell. Damned forever.
He was already like that. No need to make it even worse than it already was. But hell, those thoughts never left him, and sometimes they even interfered in his daytime activities, causing him to excuse himself and hide himself away from any living soul so he could let out his sadness without losing his pride. He still had a reputation to protect (even if he wouldn't mind letting that go for once). He wasn't a big fan of being made fun of. It would pile on to the already bad depression he had.
Giving in, he placed one wrist, face up, on his knee, and drew the blade across the skin. Hissing and wincing, he momentarily stopped sobbing as the blood welled from the wound, but he dropped the knife to the floor and pressed his face into his knees. As the weapon made a thud as it hit the carpet, he let out a wail into his pants, hoping it was at least muffled so nobody could hear.
This was his misery. And there wasn't a good way out of this dangerous downward spiral he was falling into.
A/Ns: I may be the lady of cute and adorable pictures, but I'm the lady of pure agony and suffering as well. XD
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