I stared at the ceiling as I lie there on my bed. She had chosen him, I just knew it was too good to be true. Probably what hurt him the most was that he had known all along and chose to ignore it. The voice in the back of his head was doing a victory dance singing something about "I told you so" and "You were wrong, I was right." The voice wouldn't shut up. I kept trying to figure out why she had chosen him. I never gave her any reason to fear me, never yelled at her like he did. The blame must have fallen on me. I just wasn't good enough for her. I was a monster, trapped in the dark cold world. Akito had been right, no one would ever want to free me. The dark was where I was destined to be. No one wanted me, needed me. I couldn't help it. I couldn't create something that needed me. My small garden didn't need me any more. She could handle it, and in fact, she was better at taking care of it than I was. There was nothing left for me, save the darkness. The voice did a celebratory dance in his head again. That was another thing it had gotten right. The darkness was all that I deserved, all that I would ever have. I felt the despair swelling up inside of me. I had opened the lid and been rejected, now the lid couldn't be closed again. I had opened old wounds and nothing could heal them. My mind slid over the thought of old wounds. Certainly they couldn't still be there. It had been over a year since they had been opened last. I brought my hand up over my face and stared at my wrist. The scar was slight, but it was there. All I would have to do was open it again. The pain could pull me out of this. I could feel something other than bitterness and loneliness. As I reached under my mattress I found my tool. It was a small knife I had stolen from the kitchen. Shigure never kept track of what he had and Honda-san had never seen it before. It was another one of my secrets, one that I hadn't told her. I was smart enough to keep it all hidden very well, by not hiding it. It was the perfect plan, act completely normal and let people make inferences about the wounds, most just thought it a small accident. I wore short sleeves and didn't try to hide the cuts. It took a lot of effort not to stare at them, or rub them in public. That would have given me away immediately. I stared at the knife turning it around in my hand contemplating the possibilities. Once I made my decision I made my way to the bathroom, hiding the knife in my pocket. It was so late at night that no one would be awake. If they were, I was on my way to the bathroom, no one would wonder why I was up. They probably would wonder why I was still dressed, but I could say I had fallen asleep in my clothing. I made my way to the bathroom without incident. Once there I locked the door and settled near the drain. The scar on my wrist would be my guideline. Just deep enough to get a steady stream of blood. The pain was a relief. I felt myself being lost in the beauty of the blood coming out. The color was stunning and entrancing. When it began to let up I felt disappointment filling my heart and without thinking at all, I brought the knife back to my wrist, cutting a bit deeper than before so there would be more blood. I simply couldn't stop staring at the blood. If I was a poet, I'm sure this sight would have given me inspiration for a wonderful poem, but I wasn't, so it didn't. All I could feel was amazement at the sheer beauty of something, and it was coming from me. That was a new revelation. I had been doing this for years, but only just now realized it. I had managed to create something beautiful. Something of mine was worth looking at, worth seeing again. I wasn't sure I could ever stop staring at it. Once again, though, the blood flow stopped. Another voice in my head called, begged, for me to cut again, deeper. It yearned for the blood flow to start again. The crimson color beckoned to it. I stared at my wrist contemplating just one more cut, when I heard a knock at the door. Immediately I felt the panic rise in my throat, but managed to suppress it. If I didn't handle this right, then it would all be over. I waited until the person announced their presence, hoping they wouldn't grab the key, assuming someone had somehow tripped the lock. I waited, but no sound came. I thought I was finally free when I heard the knock again.
"Yuki-kun . . . are you alright? You've been in there for a long time." I heard Honda-san's voice from the other side of the door. If it had to be anyone I had been praying that it wasn't her. It seemed that God really wanted me to suffer. I wiped the blade clean, placing it in my pocket and made sure the cut was not so noticeable before I opened the door. Honda-san stood there watching me. Her eyes seemed to swirl with confusion as she took sight of my clothing. "Why are you still dressed?"
"I fell asleep before I could change out of my clothing. What are you doing up so late?" My hope was to change the subject from me. She smiled up at me and I felt my heart warm a bit, then I remembered my rejection and the coldness came back. I was alone again.
"I heard you getting up and wanted to make sure you were alright." She smiled and stepped out of the way. I managed to get past her without her noticing I was upset, or the bulge in my pocket. When I walked into my room the darkness was there to welcome me. Akito's words rang through my head. There was no escape for me. The darkness would always be waiting for me, even if I managed to get away for a little bit. It was always there to welcome me back with open arms.
