Life Long Papercut

by 9Purgatory9

Yoko is a new student at Cross Academy who rapidly makes friends with Zero and Yuki. As the days progress, Yoko's 'life long papercut' is only affected by her memories, but when will her negatvity erase? Rated M for some inappropriate content.

1. Day1

I don't own Vampire Knight.

Day 1

That's all on the paper, day1. I clutch the miniature slate my mom gave me years ago and furrow my brows. Stupidtest,CrossAcademyissupposedlydifficult,yetthisissoimpossible!I kick the upper right table leg and snap my pen in half, spraying ink all over myself. Everything…everything now happened because of my decisions in my life…I try not to think about them, but they just keep pushing their way back up. I stare at the sheet and huff. Day1, that's all I hear in my life. Day1 of birth, day1 of suffering, day1 of being an older sister, day1 of dating, day1 of freak hood, day1 of friendship, day1 after the day1 of no more friendship, day1 of a journal, day1 of a scrapbook, day1 for Christmas, day1 of no mom, day1 of no dad, day1 of a step mother, day1 of a step father from the step mother, day1 of not saying anything in order anymore, which begins now, and day1 of Cross Academy, a supposed day1 at least.

I'm usually well organized, but when it comes to the day1's, I mumble out things in a fury of which they come to mind. When it comes to information, I'm alphabetical. That thought grants me an idea and I scribble out the day1. I write next to it 'All About Me', since I just have to describe something I'm familiar with, and day1s' are the second most familiar thing to me. What do I know better than myself, though? I underline it and draw circles along the margin for bullet points. I yawn a bit and scribble down everything in alphabetical order. The pen manages to write the first four things, and then dies out of ink loss. I lift up the paper and stare at my handiwork.

All About Me

Artistic

Asthma

Athletic

Claustrophobic

I sigh and look at the clock, seeing it is noon. I pick up the schedule and rise from my seat, hoping nobody from the Day Class will spot me when they enter. I rest the paper on the desk and clutch the little slate (or white charred block) firmly, a tear leaking out. That day was awful, when I saw my mom die, but the past is the past, and I will always have her in my memory. I ruffle my brunette bob, sighing at the thought of school. Why was my life so unorganized these days? Clutching the rose gun I always carry at my hip, I tug the handle of the door open to walk into the noisy hall. Thankfully, no one is spotting me, so I snake between some love dazed whackos and bump into the back of someone. I try to duck out of sight, but he turns and unfortunately, spots me. I shiver and dart past; panting and feeling the halls close in. The halls are smaller to what I'm used to, so it suffocates me. I skid to a stop when something catches my attention, a young girl with a light brown bob of hair and warm brown eyes hiding behind a few stray strands. Her expression is as nice as the first and last person I befriended, which makes me choke a bit. I shake my head and resume my dash. I burst out the doors and breathe in the pleasant scent of the open air. I take out my inhaler and take a bit, trying to get the stuffy air out of my lungs. I shake my head again and clutch the rose gun.

Roses of chaos, I like to say, because it gives me contemplation that roses aren't only for beauty, but the evil of their thorns. Being in contact with one of the thorns, I understand why it's chaos. All that blood, the deep cut…it attracted a vampire of course, and my mom fended it off. I slap my forehead at the memory and cut my lower lip deeply with a fang. No, I'm not a vampire, but life gone wrong. Yeah, my dad was human, and so was my mom, but a vampire was sick enough to try it. I'm not sure if he's still alive, but I hate him, with all the energy I can carry. My teal eyes stare at the dirt and my dark brunette locks droop down. They shake and jerk as I take two steps forward. My ankle feels like it's snapping, so I tilt my head a bit so I can see the cause. My rose gun went off. I hurl it out of the holster and throw it away, angry with the cause that my dad's caput. Why I even kept it is a mystery to me, I guess I want to avenge him by killing the son of a B*TCH who ended his life with the thing that spilt his blood. As much as that is suicide, I delay.

I glance up and shake the pain off my ankle, doing what looks like trying to shake off a prying hand off my ankle. I stroll forward and trace an '8' on my forearm. I drag out one of my drawing pads and snatch out a spare pen that's near extinction. I draw a simple tilted square then get an idea in my head. I walk over to a tree and cross my legs. I pin the pad to the tree with a hair pin and draw a frame around the square. The pattern is the basic floral pattern with vines spreading across. I make sure it pops out a bit then get to work on the image concealed inside the mirror. I bend the curves around the girl's cheekbones, representing the deep inning. The hair curls inward at the jaw line, making a small bob. Three strands curve in front of her left sea green eye and her pale skin contains only one light freckle on the left corner of her porcelain colored lips. Her neck is thin and her collarbone peaks out from her black summer dress with puffy short sleeves and a white flower on the base of the stout neckline. Small, silver hoop earrings pierce through her earlobes which are just barely hidden from sight and her lips are straight with stern. She's about fourteen, a young one. A white scar stretches from under her right collarbone where it connects with the left and up to just above the point where her left collarbone meets the connecting bone. Her eyebrows are thin and bent at the 'pitiful' stage, while her nose is thin and small, slightly upturned to make the end resemble a small button. Her neck is bare and the trees behind her are dropping sickly yellowish orange leaves. They're shriveled up and swaying gently to the dry grass below. I sketch the leaves in motion and quickly add one last thing; the pencil in her hand that traces the mirror. I erase a few lines and draw the pencil where the point is, making it look like the girl in the picture was drawing the mirror. I draw the bark the mirror hangs on and add a small orange ribbon on the girl's right index finger. I stiffen and blow a kiss to the sketch, making the girl inside the mirror stiffen. I unpin the mirror, the girl inside doing the same, and the scene behind her changes from the low bark of the trees and the path to no roots and the path erased.

You see, every time I draw a self portrait and like it, I blow a kiss at it and it reflects everything I or whoever is holding it, like a mirror. Of course, if I move the mirror, the image behind the mirror changes as well. Right now, my image is captivated within, and a tear leaks down my cheeks. Sure, the lines of the pencil I used changes color to match that of my world, but it'll never smooth out into the real texture of my life. It bears a striking resemblance, but two white tick marks obscure the distribution of the edge of my right platform. I sigh, the portrait reflecting it, and I hold it up, keeping still. A boy is walking this way, except his uniform isn't black, but white. His hair is deep brown and droops down to his shoulders in croppy strands. His eyes are deep brown, but near mahogany. I shut the pad and stiffen, knowing the pale boy behind me is obviously a vampire, being half myself. I trace the white scar of the collarbone twice for luck and grip the block, nervous. Vampires are known for their rough nature, so I barely trust them, no more than myself by the way. I glance down at the cream ballet shoes I adore and the pale trim of the pitch black dress that ends at my mid-shin. I stare at the thin muscles of my legs and then the tiny waist I so own. I glance at the wavy trim of the short, miniscule-puffy sleeves that add to the fact that I'm much like an eight-year-old, the way I act. I twirl my thighs a bit to ruffle the skirt and bound forward to look for the headmaster. A large hand grips my upper right arm and I stop, my lips pressing together. I slide my irises to the right of my eyes and take in the elegant appearance of the vampire holding me in place.

"What are you doing alone in a place like this?" he asks his tone smooth and deep.

I raise my left hand to point to the big building that contains the head master, and then shuffle through my bag with the single hand for the transfer papers. I grip a dagger, which I drop back before I accidentally drag it out, a candy cane probably poisoned by my step-mom, a small pumpkin I carved a anemone into, the rose gun, which I believed to be cursed to return to me until I commit the deed of shooting my father's murderer, a human finger, which I have no idea how that got in there, the essay that my original teacher presented to the headmaster here and landed me a spot, my tiny white kitten with sparkling blue eyes, Snowy, a bow, my blood tablet case, a human pistol, which can also harm me (it's unfair I can get killed by either vampire or human exterminators), a flute (my bag is 1' in height and 6" in width, yet it bulges slightly), my lunch for the evening (probably poisoned), and finally, the folder with my papers. I drag it out, Snowy pouncing onto my arm, and I present them to him, staring at Snowy.

"Getoff,Snowy," I think.

She pounces onto my foot and digs her claws into my wounded ankle. I'm a telepathic half-breed who can make paintings come to life and Snowy is a healing, immortal kitten who seems a year old. In actuality, we're the same age, so we're both fourteen. Every twenty years, she ages one, but she'll stop when she hits the ten year point. As the tingling sensation of her healing claw spreads throughout my ankle, the boy scans the papers to identify my purpose for being here. I scratch the back of the tiny kitten's left ear and ruffle my skirt a bit, making sure my legs were covered properly. Snowy hisses at something behind me and I tighten my lips, making them snow white.

"Behave," I think in a hiss.

She continues and I shift my irises to the left of my eyes, seeing there was another white uniformed vampire a few feet behind the one examining my papers. His hair was blond and his blue eyes were joking. His skin was pale and he was tall, but not as tall as the mahogany eyed vamp behind me. I huff and move my irises to Snowy, my head never budging.

"It'sjustavampire," I sigh inside my head.

"Nothing'swrongwiththatsentence?" Snowy hisses towards me.

"Nothing is wrong with the sentence, Snowy. Why don't you go to the headmaster's office and just wait by the door, will you?"

Snowy meows and licks my ankle. She bounds off and the folder appears in my bag again. I kneel down and pick up the white bag off the ground and poke the bulge slightly, making a bullet shoot out of the end. Oops. I stand up and walk to Cross's office, the bag gently swaying by my side. I pick through the bag again, nearly blowing my head off when I gently move the rose gun to the side and the trigger latches onto some piece of rope I attached to the inside of the bag. I drag out that essay and sigh.

"Whatthehe**doestheprofessorseeinthis?" I think. It's just some story I made up!

My Miracle

It was a simple night; my head rushing with blood as I stared at the mark of a wolf sprawled all over my wrist. Head flung hard against the walk, legs torn off, I felt like dying. Nobody noticed, nobody came, and I was left here to perish all by myself, orphaned and my heart torn to miniscule shreds by the love of my life. I felt, with a shaking hand, at my throat, which was cut deep by the wolf fangs and the blood pulsing out as if I was contagious. What hope was there for me? Bleeding out, feeling the small alley close in on me, and shadows from the Underworld skip about, taunting me and waiting until my absolute sufferable death to drag me down. I prayed I'd at least be sent up, so I could see my brother again, which the thought only made me cry. I was a mess. Sprawled all over, a cripple, and my emotions never hid, they just kept on rising to the surface and making my existence a living hole. Thunder crackled above the roof tops, and lightening nearly missed me and enflamed a shattered wooden crate. I shut my eyes and felt the warm touch of the flames creep onto the puddles of blood next to my arm. I cried out in pain, sorrow, and fright, when I was picked up. I closed my eyes and tried to push off, able to accept the idea of death, when I opened my eyes to a handsome pale face. His eyes were kind, worried, and emerald green. His short, croppy raven hair was matted against his neck with sweat as he ran, and he was my age; seventeen. He was panting and dodging obstacles as he dashed for the hospital I currently reside in. I hugged his neck and sputtered out blood onto my black shirt, the crimson flowing down the cloth. He hugged me to his chest harder and pushed himself harder. I heard howling and jumped a bit, making him stumble a bit. He groaned and cursed under his breath, glaring at his feet. I opened my mouth to speak, but the louder howl shut me up. He ran faster and I heard snarling, the metallic snapping of carnivorous fangs, and the repeated beating of paws against the stone walk. I screamed, which resulted to a minor squeak, and he sped up, desperate to save a life.

"What's wrong with you?" I whispered. "Ditch me already and save yourself!"

He simply shook his head. "I can't leave somebody to die, especially alone. That's the cruelest thing a human can do."

"Yeah, well, I'd forgive you if you'd just PUT ME DOWN!"

He kept his grip on me and I heard the snapping of fangs fall down upon his shin. He screamed in pain and I grabbed at the wolf, tearing him off. I wrestled myself off, knowing full well that I couldn't walk, and crawled to the next wolf, this one with blood stained fur.

"Want another go, mister?" I snarled. "Come and get me! I'm near death anyways!"

The wolf howled and lurched at me. I gripped a pipe wrench that was on the walk of an alley next to me and flung it down hard on the wolf's head. The blood from the shattered skull launched out and stained my snow skin. My platinum locks wear stained with yet more crimson as I kept up the fatal assault. The boy wretched the wrench out of my grip and threw it away. The wolf was long dead, the blood flooding the street around its cold and limp body. Surprisingly, he picked me up once again and ran inside the hospital building. I stared at him as he panted; sweat dripping down his brow bone. I tilted my head and he looked down at my face.

"What?" he snapped.

"I just slaughtered a wolf, and you're still keeping this up," I muttered.

"Yeah, if it was a human, I'd still do it," he stated. "Not everyone deserves to die, not even some criminals."

That sentence gave me some hope. I looked at the ceiling; knowing full well he was following my gaze. I smirked and nestled my head into his chest. My brother was up there, and he apparently heard my prayer. He sent me a friend; my own miracle.

Come on; is that Academy worthy to you? Mister Cross seems to think that it is. I bump into something and refuse to look up at the face looking down at me. I simply sidestep and someone grips the back of my neckline, keeping me in place. I jerk my body forward but the person repeats the step again. I blankly look up to the path in front of me; I swing my arm around and backslap the person holding me. I stiffen to see a brown haired boy with the Day Class uniform of black and white trim, glass pushed up to the brim of the nose. I turn around and begin walking again, wiping off dust on my sleeves and sliding my irises down to my ankle. It's healed perfectly, but there's a little cross etched into the skin; a side effect of the healing. I huff, knowing it'd be at least a week before it completely disappeared and kept moving on, my irises centering and my mind fading from Earth and into the world I like to call 'La La Land'.

My mind skips from the subject of death to flowers, to summer to winter, to cold to fire, to act to magic, to games to work, and finally to school to blood, that warm, sticky blood. I stop dead in my tracks and slide my irises up to scan the building in front of me. The door is pulled open from the other side and a blonde, grown man with glasses and a green poncho, scarf thing wrapped around his shoulders and neck. He gestures me in and I stroll in, the same blank look on my face ever since I made that portrait. My mood swings make even myself curious, but it's not like I control them that much. Sure, I could get angry if I want to, but sticking my tongue down someone's throat? That's completely the mood swings. The pale block is still firm in my grasp and the headmaster leads me to his office. A boy, maybe seventeen or sixteen, is sitting in the left chair in front of the desk and he glances at us. Unlike me, he moves his head. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, scowling at the headmaster.

"How old is she?" he inquires.

"She's fourteen, Zero," the headmaster replies. "Anything else you'd like to know?"

"Yeah," Zero snaps, "why I have to do this!"

"Because Yuki is busy," the headmaster calmly replies. "Give her a chance; she's not a big troublemaker."

That's only what the teacher told him. I never spoke to a human since…two years ago. I only speak to Snowy once in a while, and I just read minds, not really pay attention. The day I talk to a human again is day1 of a second friendship. Two years ago was day1 of no more friendship and day1 of freak hood. I grip the block tighter with the force that could snap a human neck and glue myself to the spot I stand on and the headmaster walks behind his desk, folding his hands, resting his elbows on the desk, and laying his chin flat on the hands.

"Are you going to sit down?" the headmaster asks.

I remain standing. "He asked you a question," Zero snarls.

"Now, Zero…" the headmaster sighs.

Zero relaxes and turns to the floor, his expression annoyed. "Just saying she should learn some respect…"

The headmaster sighs and faces me, smiling. "So, let's get to know you better. Why don't we start with your specialties?"

I blankly stare at him and toss the bag to him. He peeks in and draws out the two pistols and raises a brow. "Not really safe, now is it?" he faces me.

I keep my position, almost a statue if I wasn't breathing. He sighs and sets them down. He shuffles through and nods his head in approval. He zips it up and rests the guns pointing away from everyone and on the surface of the desk. Zero glances at the rose gun in curiosity. The headmaster clears his throat and smiles at me. "What's your name?"

I continue to not move and he sighs, digging out my papers and flipping to my name. "Yoko, 'Positive Child'; that's a pretty name, Yoko."

"I think the parents were being sarcastic," Zero snickers.

"Now, Zero, I wouldn't be so rude to Yoko here," the headmaster advises. "She's been through a rough road."

"I doubt that," Zero snaps.

It's weird how negative this guy can be. I mean, I have my happy moments, I just choose to be stern and serious. I blankly look forward, not moving a millimeter, and remind myself of two years ago. That treacherous B*TCH still makes my heart flame with hatred. Zero wouldn't understand that, what that B*TCH did is inexcusable. Yet again, I guess my reaction was also off the radar as well…

"Yoko, it says here you have ADHD, is that correct?" the headmaster interrogates.

I blankly look ahead and he sighs. "Just give up on trying forcing her to talk, headmaster," Zero grunts. "She's obviously not talking."

The door opens and a girl runs in. I recognize her as that friendly girl I saw while I was running earlier, but she was smiling, not panting as if she just ran away from a cheetah. "Sorry…I'm…late…"

"Good, you're here!" Zero stands. "Now I don't have to look over the newbie."

The girl raises a brow and removes her hands from her knees. "What newbie?"

The headmaster directs me and she turns. She mouths 'oh' and presents a hand. "Hello! I'm Yuki Cross, but you can just call me Yuki."

I ponder about whether I should talk or not. She's nice, and the look on Zero's face would be priceless! I grip her hand with the one without the block, and Zero cocks his head. "Hello, I'm Yoko. I'm glad I get to meet you!"

Now Zero was confused. "WhattheHe**justhappened?" he thinks.

"Simple," I think in reply, connecting to his mind, "she'snice,you'regrumpy."

He stumbles back into the chair and grips his head. Yuki looks over at him and raises a brow. "A-Are you alright, Zero?" she asks, obviously worried.

"He just thinks he's crazy," I inform. "I can tell."

She smirks at me. "Can you really tell?"

"Well," I shrug, "I'm telepathic. Of course I can."

Zero and the headmaster stare at me. Yuki just smiles and giggles a bit. "That's nice, must be really useful."

I shrug and twiddle with the ribbon on my right index finger. Zero stares at me and simply blinks. I skip over to the corner of the room and pick up a vacant stool. I set it in between the two chairs and I motion Yuki to sit down in the right. She does this and I face the headmaster, who shakes his head and smiles.

"So, do you have ADHD?" he asks. I raise my hand and tilt it right and left, showing a 'maybe a little'. He smiles at the co-operation and thumbs through the papers. He stops at one point and looks back at me. "Who are your parents?"

I frown and blink. Yuki bites her lip a bit and laughs nervously. "Dad, I don't think you should ask that…"

"It's to make sure that nobody did something to claim her when they're not her real parents," he shrugs.

I twiddle my thumbs and look down at the block. "My parents died."

He frowns and sighs. "Do you have any guardians?"

I think about lying, but I guess I forgot to snap the connection between Zero and I. He looks down at me, sympathetic, and looks at the file. I hear him think the names as he reads them: Tama Ai and Makoto Ai. Yoshino, my younger sister, is also mentioned, but my real parents, Sakura Shino and Matsu Shino, are not. I grip my skirt in frustration and Zero still can read my thoughts. Tama,thatB*TCH…

"Yeah," I regretfully admit. "They're Tama and Makoto Ai."

The headmaster checks the paper and thumbs it again. He looks up, and I guess he has yet another question. "Where are you transferring from?"

"Toomey Cent," I shrug.

He checks it and raises a brow. "Are you positive?" I nod. "Must be an error…"

"What does it say?" I ask.

"Tariku School for the Troubled is what is said here."

Yuki glances at me and Zero raises a brow. I grow red in the face. Okay, just because I went their for one year does not mean that's where I came from! "They must've thought that was this year."

He raises a brow. "Why would you be sent there, may I ask?"

"Dad, that's sort of rude," Yuki sighs.

"No, actually it's just to see what sort of person I am," I mutter. "I went there because I took something a bit too far is all…"

I snap the connection before Zero can find out what I did. He blinks and looks out the window, sighing. "Are we done here? She has to be shown around you know."

"I thought you didn't want to do that?" the headmaster crosses his arms, smirking.

"I change my mind. Yuki, why don't you go do what you were before?" Zero faces her.

"I'm done," she shrugs.

I hear something shatter. Snowy did it again I guess. "I think you're list just filled up again," I giggle.

She walks out and Snowy bounds into my lap, purring and glass resting on her fur. She's lucky she didn't actually take any of them inside herself. Zero stands and faces me. "Come on, Yoko."

I jump onto my feet and pick up my bag, following him as he walked out. Day1 of Cross University, day1 of friendship, day1 of talking to humans again, and day1 of peace at last; this might turn out to be a good day.

A.N:What do you think?If you have any comments, just review and I'll update sooner or later, I have, like, a ton of ideas for fanfictions so I stop one and work on the other, so I don't know what I might do before my next update. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed Chapter1:Day1!