A Warm Place
By the Black Goddess
Disclaimer: The story title is taken from the Nine Inch Nails album of the same name, so doesn't belong to me. The chapter title is track ten of the same album. It has no lyrics, so I can't include them anyway, but it is quite sad when you listen to it. Digimon is also not mine.
A/N This contains issues such as self harm. If this may upset you, then please don't read it. I don't think self-harm is the best way of dealing with things, and I would advise you not to try it, as (fairly obviously) it can be a dangerous thing to do.
Ken lay on his bed, listening to his mother cry in the other room. He couldn't cry any more. The events of the last few hours in the Digital world spun round his head. His defeat at the hands of the Digidestined, Wormmon's death - and the revelation that he had been torturing living beings and not, as he had thought, playing a computer game. He felt numb and empty. The full horror of what he had done was beginning to sink in. He couldn't believe the things he had done, how low he had sunk. And Wormmon! The faithful Digimon had stuck by him, had watched in horror as his friend enslaved his people for his own amusement, had endured his cruel remarks and his beatings, believing right to the end that Ken could be saved.
"It's too late" Ken had told him. But Wormmon had refused to believe it, and then he had died. Ken knew he was responsible for Wormmon's death, and the knowledge sent a ripple of anguish through him. He clambered off his bed and quietly went into the bathroom, locking the door behind him and moving with swift steps to the cupboard holding his father's spare razor blades. He opened one and stood, holding it in his hand. He looked at his face in the mirror.
"What have I done?" he said soundlessly. His face stared back, impassive. "What have I done?" he moaned. He stared again at the razor.
'Do I dare kill myself?' he thought. 'The world will be better without me in it.' He put the razor to his wrist and began to push down. The pain felt like a bright spark, sending an adrenaline bolt through his body. He began to press harder, but suddenly Davis's voice came back to him.
"Don't run away from your problems Ken"
"I'm not running away" he answered out loud. "This is my only choice. How can I live with what I have done?"
"You're a Digidestined too Ken, just like us, and you have a responsibility to both worlds." The voice echoed in his head, answering his thoughts. Ken took the razor away from his wrist with a sigh and looked at the thin trickle of blood running down his arm. The adrenaline had gone, and suddenly he felt even more tired.
"I'll stay" he said. "I'll try not to run away again."
Ken moved over to the sink and washed away the blood. He had only made a thin cut - one which would be easy to hide. He cleaned it up and went to bed. But he hid the razor in his desk, remembering the sudden rush of clarity it had seemed to bring.
'Home' he thought quietly, his mother's sobs echoing in his mind.
'A warm place.'
Then Ken turned over and cried himself to sleep with bitter tears.
By the Black Goddess
Disclaimer: The story title is taken from the Nine Inch Nails album of the same name, so doesn't belong to me. The chapter title is track ten of the same album. It has no lyrics, so I can't include them anyway, but it is quite sad when you listen to it. Digimon is also not mine.
A/N This contains issues such as self harm. If this may upset you, then please don't read it. I don't think self-harm is the best way of dealing with things, and I would advise you not to try it, as (fairly obviously) it can be a dangerous thing to do.
Ken lay on his bed, listening to his mother cry in the other room. He couldn't cry any more. The events of the last few hours in the Digital world spun round his head. His defeat at the hands of the Digidestined, Wormmon's death - and the revelation that he had been torturing living beings and not, as he had thought, playing a computer game. He felt numb and empty. The full horror of what he had done was beginning to sink in. He couldn't believe the things he had done, how low he had sunk. And Wormmon! The faithful Digimon had stuck by him, had watched in horror as his friend enslaved his people for his own amusement, had endured his cruel remarks and his beatings, believing right to the end that Ken could be saved.
"It's too late" Ken had told him. But Wormmon had refused to believe it, and then he had died. Ken knew he was responsible for Wormmon's death, and the knowledge sent a ripple of anguish through him. He clambered off his bed and quietly went into the bathroom, locking the door behind him and moving with swift steps to the cupboard holding his father's spare razor blades. He opened one and stood, holding it in his hand. He looked at his face in the mirror.
"What have I done?" he said soundlessly. His face stared back, impassive. "What have I done?" he moaned. He stared again at the razor.
'Do I dare kill myself?' he thought. 'The world will be better without me in it.' He put the razor to his wrist and began to push down. The pain felt like a bright spark, sending an adrenaline bolt through his body. He began to press harder, but suddenly Davis's voice came back to him.
"Don't run away from your problems Ken"
"I'm not running away" he answered out loud. "This is my only choice. How can I live with what I have done?"
"You're a Digidestined too Ken, just like us, and you have a responsibility to both worlds." The voice echoed in his head, answering his thoughts. Ken took the razor away from his wrist with a sigh and looked at the thin trickle of blood running down his arm. The adrenaline had gone, and suddenly he felt even more tired.
"I'll stay" he said. "I'll try not to run away again."
Ken moved over to the sink and washed away the blood. He had only made a thin cut - one which would be easy to hide. He cleaned it up and went to bed. But he hid the razor in his desk, remembering the sudden rush of clarity it had seemed to bring.
'Home' he thought quietly, his mother's sobs echoing in his mind.
'A warm place.'
Then Ken turned over and cried himself to sleep with bitter tears.