((Authors Note: 'Ello my friends, say hello to the second story I have begun on this little account. Those of you who are reading my other story as well, I'm sorry I haven't updated for a little while.. I'll be honest, I've hit a bit of writers blocked I've gone ahead and started my other one now. Also a bit depressing, but I'm good at that stuff aren't I? I am going to give a warning, this isn't exactly for the squeamish. Let's go ahead and start it then, just a little prologue to ease us into it.))

How can someone explain pain? Pain was a simple thing when you think about it fleetingly. A cut from that neighbors hostile cat, a burn from the poker in the fireplace you grabbed too far down the hilt. That was the simple way to express pain, and the way most people would choose to use. But pain is more than that. Pain inflicted on your body was quick, and faded quickly. At least, compared to the mental pain that was inflicted on a person from loss, abandonment and betrayal. It wasn't as easy to recover from that kind of pain. That pain lingers, eating away at you until someone helps to take it away. Of course, in his case.. That didn't happen.

The Briton had been in the dark, alone for years now. Even when he was able to leave his broken home, Arthur had never been able to really make friends. Even moving around, he was never able to ditch that air he always had. This.. Air that made it obvious he wasn't looking for any human connection. But it was probably partially because of that people left him alone, whether he liked it or not. And that was always a good question.. Did he want them around or not? Based on his own actions.. Probably not. He tried to be irritably, scare people away. And he had gotten pretty good at it too. He had learned exactly what to do with specific people to keep them away. Dispute his wishes to be helped, he couldn't trust people. That capability had been taken away from him a long time ago.

Arthur sat on the edge of the tub, still contemplating his future actions. A sharp razor was held in his hands, the blade glinting in the light. He had already made his decision, but acting on it was proving to be a difficulty. He never told anyone about his struggles, so he didn't actually know what they would do if they found out. Maybe they actually would care? But if they cared then why didn't they care now? Did they really hate him, or was it just.. Of course they did.. After years of being used as a younger, then disowned.. He wasn't sure if anyone would say honestly that they wanted him around. But.. There was that small chance right? There was a meeting for work tomorrow.. He could try and talk to some of them, see what they had to say about it. Just trying, that would be plenty. If it failed tomorrow, he would give up. If it failed tomorrow.. But he needed something right now..

The Briton pulled his sleeve up, exposing the smooth inside of his arm. Just so it isn't visible tomorrow under his uniform. That's all he tried to remember when the blade moved up, pressing into his forearm. Only a little pressure was needed to draw a few beads of blood, and a little more gently sent the sharp blade through his flesh, calling a more steady stream of blood. The pain brought tears to his eyes at first, before he allowed himself to be submerged into it. After the pain there was relief. It dampened the internal pain, bringing it out to the surface to be released. Dampened, but not entirely gone.
Arthur stared at the crimson liquid flowing down his arm, dripping onto the white stone on the floor, staining his shirt. He didn't actually care much, he didn't know how much of his clothing had been ruined by blood, his own or others. But it had never actually been himself who brought the blood to the surface. Not without others being involved. Well, they still sort of were, but in a far different way.

The temptation to finish the job was nearly overwhelming, but.. That small chance.. That chance was still there. He had to try it first, make sure that that was the one sure way for him to go. There was his people to think about, he couldn't just leave them when he thought life got to hard. Once he could prove no other person even liked him.. That would be what he would use to push himself over the edge. That would be more than enough to do so..

Arthur pulled the blade away from his arm, looking at the blade for a moment before dropping it on the floor to avoid the temptation to cut at his arm again. Since the decision to wait longer was a sudden choice, Arthur had to grab at a towel to slow the bleeding, not really wanting to pass out in the bathroom again. He pressed the cloth as firmly as he could, already feeling dizzy. The blood slowed down before he started seeing dark spots in his vision. Was that a good thing or not? Arthur couldn't tell anymore..

Arthur abandoned the towel for proper bandages when the blood flow slowed enough so the bandage wouldn't be soaked within minutes. He wrapped the gauze tightly around his forearm, wanting the bleeding to stop fairly quickly. He needed to shower before the meeting tomorrow.. That wouldn't be a very good idea with an open wound now would it? Be presentable, and then just get through the meeting. Prove to himself that he didn't have a reason to stop next time.

((Author's Note: what did I say? This was a little taste as to what's commin', just a warning. War one end, total depression in another. I need a happy story now.. I'll think about that.

Anyway, at the moment this is just a little filler for the break in other story right now, and hopefully I'll actually finish the next chapter and I'll get that one up.

See you guys in the next update!))