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It was the one thing better left alone, but impossible to avoid. It was a fatal attraction. Every person has one, but very few are unlucky enough to discover its true identity.
The one thing that will tear you apart piece by piece, eating you up until you're less than a shell of your true self. Making you wish, beg; cry out for death, while praying all the while to keep on living. Once you find it, you can't avoid it; can never go back. You feel the danger, the threat, the thrill of pain and raw emotion, and the more you feel, the more you crave it. All the while, you are oblivious to the fact that the very thing you are experiencing is slowly poisoning you, ebbing on your reserves and draining you of every bit of happiness you could have ever felt. Until it's too late. Then you feel the pain, the realization that you cannot survive without the very thing that is killing you. You realize that you are a slave to your emotions, and that, no matter what you do, you can never escape.
Death calls your name sweetly, almost lovingly, reaching its hand out to an old friend. Life seems too painful, too hard to continue. Standing on the edge, you close your eyes, ready to take the plunge, to end it all.
As you step out to jump, something pulls you back, something so powerful that it can make you question everything you have ever believed. Someone that makes you want to live again. But death does not worry, he knows that you will belong to him soon enough. Instead, he smiles, whispering your name quietly, and goes back to the shadows. You can never escape from what fate has set out, never run away from the inevitable.
Just as you begin to feel safe, feel human again, the world crashes down, and you realize that you are still standing on the edge, though you no longer want to jump. As you look into the eyes of the one who saved you, you see fire, hatred, an emotion so strange and ghastly it doesn't have a name. You reach for them, begging to be taken back, embraced, loved- but they refuse you. Instead, they look into your eyes with a haunted expression as they whisper goodbye. You feel yourself falling, nothing left to protect you, no one willing to reach out and save you when you need it most.
Somehow, you know that it is near; the end that you always knew to be waiting for you. Then comes a calm, a clarity so pure and simple that it seems to be a poison in itself, as well as a final gift. A sense of relief washes over you as you feel your demise, knowing that you need not suffer any longer.
Before it ends, you think back to the thing that started it all; the fatal attraction. The sweet poison that ate you alive, twisting your emotions, pulling at your heart. The worst part is knowing that everything, every last bit of suffering, was your own doing. Never being strong enough to back away, being killed by a simple attraction, an infatuation, really.
A pain, an aching so bad you never imagined it to be possible, a final blow, comes at last. It is like being smothered, being burned and frozen, torn and stabbed, pulled apart down to your very soul. Yet somehow it doesn't seem so painful, never as bad as what you have already felt. The pain ebbs away until all that remains is a dull ache, and everything goes foggy; warm and cold at the same time, comfort within the torture.
As everything fades to black, you see death looking upon you with open arms. He was always waiting for you, and somehow, you always knew that escaping him was impossible, that you should have just accepted your fate.
In your final breath, you let out a quiet whisper. "Goodbye" you say as a tear slides down your cheek. And the world fades out.
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A nurse walked into the room, clipboard in hand, wearing a deep look of worry. This was the fourth time in two months that the boy had been rushed to the hospital after a botched suicide attempt. But this time had been different- they almost lost him this time. If he had been found a single minute later, the boy would have died for real. The nurse sighed, checking for at least the tenth time that day his unchanging vitals. She said a silent prayer for his safety, despite knowing that she was not supposed to involve herself in a patient's affairs, and left the room.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
He woke up to a dull throbbing pain throughout his body. He tried to sit up but felt pain ripple through his body, instead sighing, and stopped trying to move. He didn't want to do it- didn't want to open his eyes, it seemed like too much. Why didn't it work this time? Why couldn't he just die already?
Sensing his defeat, he slowly opened his eyes, allowing them to slide in and out of focus as he observed his surroundings. Just as he thought- white walls, white ceilings, a white bed, and a white hospital gown. His arms were covered in bandages, along with his legs, his neck, and his forehead. His cheeks had plasters running across them as well. Above his elbow, four different IVs were attached to him, each leading to a bag with a different color liquid. He observed the many machines around him in annoyance, wishing that he had the strength to walk to the window and jump out. Judging by the view, he was on the fourth floor again- definitely high enough for the jump to kill him. Of course, he knew that his window would be locked. The hospital staff knew him well enough not to expose him to any unnecessary dangers.
Two days later, he had been relocated to the third floor; the psychiatric ward. He frowned when he heard a nurse laughing in the hall, speaking to some doctor or therapist, most likely. The place was so boring that he swore he might actually go insane if left in the room with nothing to do, although the staff probably saw it as some cruel form of punishment for his most recent suicide attempt.
Che. As if they had any right to decide whether or not his actions were justified. He'd been in situations that he was sure none of them had ever, or will ever have to, be put in. They didn't understand how painful it was for him to keep waking up every day, having to remember the things he'd done, the horrible things he had been responsible for. He knew for a fact that no matter what he was, he was not psychotic, and didn't deserve to be put on the same floor as people who were truly insane.
As he was thinking about this, a pink haired nurse knocked on the door. 'Well, at least she shows manners.' He thought grimly.
"Sir, I need to come in and speak with you for a moment. Is that okay? She asked in a kind voice. He wasn't tricked; he knew that it was her job to sound concerned, but that his opinions really held no authority over the situation.
"And if I were to say no?" he asked dully. The nurse blinked twice, her smile faltering. The man just let out a sigh and closed his eyes again.
"Well, I must say that what I came to tell you is rather important."
"What is it?" He opened his eyes again to give her a convicting look. The nurse flinched under his glare. "Are you going to shove pills down my throat? How about talking about how mentally unstable I am? Is it something like that?"
The nurse's face showed surprise. "No, of course not! Nobody has treated you that way, have they?" She sounded sincerely concerned. He opened an eye, regarding her lazily, as if watching a fly that just wouldn't leave him alone.
"Ah. It's unimportant, really." He decided that the nurse was tolerable. "I'm sorry for being rude to you. I know this is just your job." Sounding slightly bored again, he continued, "Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Well, Doctor Tsunade is concerned about you. The hospital records show that this is the fourth time you've been admitted here due to suicide attempts in two months. If you consent, she would like to refer you to a psychiatric therapist. She feels that it would help you recover more fully. Of course, the therapist's methods are slightly unconventional, which is why she needs your permission for referral beforehand.
"Hm." The man thought for a minute. "Will agreeing to see the therapist get me out of this place any sooner?"
"If you choose not to see him, you will be required to stay here until Dr. Tsunade deems you emotionally and physically stable enough to leave, which would be at least a few weeks, for observation's sake. If you agree to her offer, you can go home as soon as you are healed enough to take care of yourself. You seem to be a fast healer, so you'd only have to stay here for another day or two. Of cour-
"I'll do it." He said quietly, cutting her off. "Tell Dr. Tsunade that I want to see the therapist. I can't stand this place." The nurse smiled at him, before a loud beeping sound was heard from her pocket.
"Oh!" She exclaimed. "I'm sorry, I must be going. There's a trauma case in the ER. By the way, if you need anything, just press the button to the right of your bed and ask for Nurse Haruno, or Nurse Sakura, either way, I'll come if you need me. Before he had a chance to reply, she bolted out of the room. He shook his head in slight amusement before lying down again. 'Well,' he thought, 'at least I'll be out of this place soon enough now. I guess that's something to look forward to.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
He sat in Dr. Tsunade's office two days later, dressed in new jeans and an unfamiliar short sleeve light blue t-shirt. He didn't like the clothes, but the nurse had thrown out the ones he came; probably because they were torn and soaked in his own blood. The doctor had called him into her private office to discuss the terms of his release. Now that he was fully healed, all he had to do to leave was agree to see some stupid therapist. 'Ha. As if a therapist could help me now.' He thought mockingly.
"So, Sakura told me that you agreed to seeing the therapist, am I correct?"
"Yes. I'll do it. When do I have to start going to sessions, and where is the place?"
"Um… about that." He eyed the woman, feeling that she wasn't telling him something. "First…" She started leafing through a large pile of papers on her desk, before choosing one and pulling it out. "You'll have to sign this. It's a form saying that you consent to seeing him, and will continue the sessions for a course of six months- longer if he thinks it is necessary."
"Whatever. Where's a pen?" Tsunade handed a pen to him and watched as he signed the contract without even reading it. 'It's probably for the better.' The doctor thought. 'I wouldn't want him backing out before we have a chance to try this new method of treatment.'
"Wait, this means I don't have to come back, or take pills or anything, right?" She nodded to him.
"He'll be here in a few minutes to meet you, and then you're free to go. Oh, and one more thing…"
The man's eyes widened at her comment, making him look almost comical in his state of shock. "You mean… WHAT?"
Tsunade sighed at the man's reaction. "I just told you- he'll be living in your house for the next six months, at the least. Plus, he's basically in control of all of your actions for the duration of your treatment. But, other than that, you can just go back to your normal life now.
"You can't do that to me- that's a violation of my rights as a free citizen! No, I refuse; you can't make me do it." He looked slightly panicked.
Tsunade smirked at him. "Well, sir, you did agree to the contract. There's no going back now. And anyways, he's here now. "
