Title: Plagued By My Memories
By: Toxic Memories
Summary: Memories plagued my mind in a seemingly never ending pattern of the horrible, dreadful past that is mine. But what scares me most is he is still here to create new, even more haunting memories that will slowly suffocate me until my blissful death arrives.
Chapter 1: Sanity
The pain was unbearably apparent with it's cruel, burning hands angrily and continuously taunting not only my battered and beaten body but the broken mind I escaped to in an attempt to leave it behind. The world seemed to be closing in around me as I sat on my bed. Silver moon light was cast over my huddled up form. It illuminated the bright orange clothing that I normally wore in a desperate and sad effort for someone, anyone, to see my wounds. Not the wounds that cling to my lithe body but the ones that lurk just beneath the surface of my eyes. Behind the mask I put on to protect not only my sanity, but the man who caused me to create that mask.
I want it all to stop. The hurt. The pain. I just need someone to see why I smile when all I want is to cry. My orange clad knees shook against my chest, my bleeding arms tightly wrapped around them in an attempt of self- comfort. This miserable excuse of a hug was all I was given in life, because the only comfort I get was from myself. Sometimes I feel as if maybe the reason why that is, is due to the fact that I was... am...worthless. A useless human being.
Not even a human being.
I was just some thing that existed for an unknown and unwanted reason. Tears burned in the corner of my eyes with an ache and throb that I despised yet needed all the same. Slowly fire crawled inch by inch down my cheeks. A feeling I wanted so badly and I absolutely hated myself for it. I was disgusted by how I, a thing so completely worthless, was crying when there were others that had it worse. I squeezed my eyes shut trying to block out the guilt that I felt and the ridicules thoughts I had.
"No." That sound. That single utterance. That whisper of weakened resist. That sound... was pathetic. It was a cry, a plea, for help that I have heard many times before, but I have given up on helping something that sounded that awfully degrading.
"Please, stop." That voice. That small, meek voice so soft to my ears. I hate that voice for being so entirely weak.
"Look." Calling. Beckoning. So soft. An utterance. So meek and fragile holding the illusion that it could be strong. Slowly, ever so slowly, it called to me pulling me in with such a slow manner. The small voice as slow as my tears. Both knowing I won't acknowledge them often, beckon me to accept. Listlessly, almost as if I were in a trance, I follow the essence of the voice that pulled me in a gentle fashion I was not use to. My head rested on my chest to tired to keep up after the disastrous day I had.
"Look." A whisper echoing in my head. I did as it said. I looked and saw... myself. The bathroom mirror.
"Look." I was looking though it didn't strike me odd that while I had remained silent my mirror image didn't.
"See." I saw nothing. Nothing worth seeing. I was nothing. Nothing worth.
"No!" I held no fear of my mirror image. Even as my image ceased to be an image. Even as I felt the icy grip of this other thing as it tried to escape.
"Stop!" And suddenly I realized I was the weak and powerless voice that was pleading for help. I was the image. I was everything and nothing. I was hearing memories.
My eyes snapped open at the feeling of water on my hand. I looked down to see my fallen tears and that I hadn't moved at all. Sometimes I felt worthless, like I was the lowest thing in the world. But it's not true. I know it, I feel it. It's just sometimes I forget.
"I have to be strong," I whispered. The idea of being strong was something I felt I could never have after he started to torment me in the sickest ways. I no longer felt I could just continue being me because he took everything I had. Even my love for he. I hate myself for even thinking him of the bad guy.
I lifted my head far enough to see the bathroom door across from me. It was an old, beaten up wooden door. Gingerly, I scooted to the edge of my bed, the cold floor against my feet causing goose bumps to spread over my arms and the hair on my legs to prickle. With effort I stood on my injured shaking legs. I was so tired, so weak. The closer I got to the door, looking as fragile as I know I did with its age, the more I felt an overwhelming sense of dread. It spread through my body making me feel so incredibly frighten, but I had to open the door. I reached for the metal handle, its cold and dark feel causing a shiver to travel down my spine. My heart beat pounded in my ear as I turned the knob and lightly pushed the door in, creaking all the way.
I cautiously walked up to the mirror and stood in front of it. It was covered in fog that shouldn't have been there. Trembling I placed my hand on its moist, heated surface and swiped my hand across the area the covered my face. I spun around and backed up into the sink, my heart slamming against my bruised and broken rib cage at what I thought I had seen, but the doorway was empty. I breathed a sigh of relief and turned back around to clean my aching wounds.
"Oh Naruto." I stiffened at the hot breathe that was whispered lustfully into my ear. Looking up into the mirror I saw he was there with his head rested on my should, face right next to my ear. The man who causes memories to plague my mind in a seemingly never ending pattern of the horrible, dreadful past that is mine. But what scares me most is he is here to create new, even more haunting memories that will slowly suffocate me until my blissful death arrives.
"No." I could never save myself.
Tox: Well that was dark.
Naruto: Just be glad I'm a good actor.
Tox: That's not what you mother said last night.
Sasuke: ...Losers.
Tox: Read and Review please! Especially about my grammar and what not. I'm not a very good editor. n.n