The wind hit the Doctor hard in the face, the coldness of it slicing through the thin layer of his jacket and to his skin. An involuntary shiver went through him, and though the cold was painful, he welcomed it. For right now, the coldness of his mind matched the chill in his hearts. The persistent, invading, constant chill of his soul could never be fully matched physically; it went too deep for that. But this was a start.
The stars were absent in the night and the darkness was so deep as he walked down the street that he almost couldn't see. He pulled out his sonic, illuminating a small path of light but he felt that the light was too much; he snuffed out the light of the sonic and quickly put it back in his pocket, desiring darkness to match his mood. He knew the way well enough that he could find it without the light anyway.
He could feel the deep, mournful ache inside him. It was like a hidden monster that bit him, gnawed at his insides in a desperate attempt to get out. Most of time, it was not even inspired by anything in particular; but once that demon inside him grabbed a hold of him, even for a little bit, the culmination of hundreds of years of emotional instability would come crushing down upon him. It throbbed at him like a beast trying to escape his confines; it made him hurt. And yet, he knew the pain he felt was relatively small compared to the pain he deserved.
He would try to fight it; he never gave into that dark demon without a fight. It could at least be said that he fought it; but he was weak and could never win the intense battle. That's what he was trying to attempt now but even at this moment he could feel he would lose this battle. Tonight it was too hard and the beast was too strong.
The Doctor paused across the street from the flat, close enough to see but not close enough to be seen. He would be ashamed if they saw him; then they might know some of the pain he felt. They might know how tragically lonely he was; he always was so, but when they were around, he couldn't feel it as much. But they deserved time to be alone; he didn't want to consume them the way he had consumed so many other humans. He wanted them to remain unscathed by the oncoming storm; and that meant that sometimes he had to be alone. But alone was dangerous.
The Doctor stood on the sidewalk and watched Amy and Rory through the window, feeling like a disgusting degenerate. This was their time to be alone and even that he couldn't allow them. He was still invading them, still taking more of them than he ever should. He watched as they sat down at the table, eating dinner and talking. Laughter would cross their faces often and the Doctor was at least glad for that; they seemed happy. If they knew he was standing there, if they knew he desired to join them they would not hesitate to bring him inside. Even though his need was wrong and unseemly, they would still give into it. That's exactly why he couldn't let them know he was here.
The Doctor really had intended to come here to make the monster stop; loneliness and emptiness were what fed the beast and he thought if he could see Amy and Rory it might squelch that feeling, might hold it off until they returned to him. But the longer he watched them, the deeper the ache went. They seemed so happy and he felt so completely dismal; the cold wind blowing at him stung his already vulnerable eyes and he felt tears stinging at them. Why did they get this and not him? Why could they have everything while he had nothing? With as much as he did for everyone when would it finally be his turn? When could he have that?When would the dark monster inside him ever leave? No matter how many times he gave in, no matter how much he fed the beast, he never left. His need only became more persistent and hungry.
Feeling himself losing the battle with surprising haste, he tore down the street as fast as his feet would take him. Maybe if he ran fast enough, he could outrun the monster; but even as the thought formed in his mind, it was quickly dashed as anguish inside him sprung at him with such surprising need he knew he would give in with certainty like the weak bastard he was.
The Doctor ran the short distance back to the TARDIS with surprising speed, the chill in the air seeming less and less cold as the burning need inside him caused his hearts to race. His hands shook slightly as he shoved the key into the TARDIS lock and burst through the door. The pounding inside him was like a heavy wave he was trying to hold back, crushing his insides from the pressure of it. The second that he made it through the door, the dam inside him broke. He fell to the floor of the TARDIS, his hands pressed to his face, curling inside himself as sobs began to break from him. The whimpers tore from him without any effort at all, the pitiful sound of them echoing throughout the console room. Tears flowed from his eyes and soaked his hands as he pressed them deeper into his face. He could feel distantly the press of the TARDIS at his mind; she was concerned, worried. She could sense where his actions were heading; she'd seen this destructive path many times and she desired to stop him. But she knew that nothing would stop him when he had gotten to this point.
The Doctor sobbed until his stomach ached and his head hurt; the tears eventually stopped despite the fact the he still wanted to be crying. He wanted to hear the pathetic sound of his own sorrow, the noise alone continuing to fuel the crying episode. He was pathetic, dirty, disgusting; he deserved to be alone and to think otherwise was too generous. As the tears faded, he pulled his legs to his chest, the aching and burning inside him so desperate he knew he had to relieve it. While he had originally wanted to fight the desperate monster inside him, he now wanted to give in; to give in would mean pain and suffering to him and deserved that, needed that.
The Doctor pulled himself up from the floor and stumbled down the corridor toward his bedroom. His hearts were beating so desperately that he could hear the waves of blood in his ears; blood that was pulsing and hot and determined to be spilt. The desire to cry still tugged at his eyes but without tears the need just pulled at him with no relief. He wished with desperation that someone was here to stop him, that someone cared enough to be here and stop his self destructive path. But there was no one; he was alone. He could hurt himself and no one would stop him.
When the Doctor reached his bedroom, he quickly made his way to the bed, digging around in his bedside table. His hands shook with excitement as they found the smooth, dangerous metal he had searched for. His sonic could technically do the job, and he had done it that way before but there was something more urgent and primal about using the knife and he preferred it this way. He slid his jacket off and began to pull the sleeve of his shirt up. He felt an excited tremor run through his body, warm and urgent, from his head and down southward at the nearness of the thing that he had sought so hard to fight. The flushed and shaky feeling was enough to make him aroused and shamed at the same time.
With desperation pressing at him in waves, he pressed the knife to his skin, digging it into his ivory flesh. The biting sensation of loneliness and disgust inside his heart instantly began to dissipate as the cold metal dug into him. A few seconds after he had pulled the knife away from the small incision, blood began to bubble up in the cut, crimson and mesmerizing. It remained poised on top of the cut for a minuet before it began to trickle down his arm in a wonderful stream. Pain sputtered out of him as he watched the cardinal tide, the feeling sweet as it left him. The enjoyment that he got from the pain made him feel dirty, disgusting; this should be a punishment, it should give him no pleasure. He was an awful, immoral creature that deserved to be beat into submission. He cut another deep laceration, the blood instantly coming to the surface and dripping from his arm onto the sheets of his bed in a filthy pattern. The physical pain caused the emotional pain to burst from him, the sensation causing his hearts to skip a beat and spread warmly to his loins. The pleasured sensation made him angry; he need to suffer, he needed punishment.
The Doctor continued to cut along his arm, slashes soon crossing his skin in a delicious pattern, the blood from them in various stages of dripping and coagulation. The pain was severe and he found his formerly dry eyes were able to create some new tears. As he looked down at his arm and the dangerous handiwork, the thing he felt primarily was not pain. It was a sense of relief; the heavy, pressing need inside him, the monster that was eating him from the inside out, was gone. His breath was coming in labored gusts as his body fought to cope with the physical pain. His eyes fluttered and he felt the need for sleep coming to him. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he had slept; he hadn't wanted to until now. So many nights he felt fear and trepidation at the thought of sleep and he avoided it at all costs. But now all he felt was...peace. It was not a sensation that he felt much anymore but right now he did. It was worth the pain his monstrous habit caused to feel the few moments of peace it awarded him.
Knowing he should care for himself better but having no energy to, the Doctor wrapped the sheets around his throbbing, sticky arm and fell back against the bed. For once the nightmares of the past did not come to him as he drifted into sleep. As much as he hated the monster that made him want to do terrible things to himself, he had to thank it for this; at least for tonight, he could forget the emptiness and loneliness that came with sleeping in an empty bed.