This I didn't do of my own free will. A certain someone decided it'd be best if I made something of an autobiography to illustrate my life...which I have absolutely no clue why someone would want to read this. My life is nothing special, just like everybody else's. Well...there are a few oddities here and there, but who doesn't have oddities about themselves and their lives?

That certain someone I said earlier...his name is Desmond. As his little "punishment" for reading his autobiography, he said I had to write my own. But by no means I am going to enjoy this. This is probably going to be the most mundane thing I have ever written. You know, since I technically already know the beginning, middle, and not quite the end of my life, there's no brainstorming or thinking things out for me.

With this story, I have to explain where I come into the mix with the Briefs family just like he did.

Well.

Desmond never said I couldn't copy his style.

.

To start at the beginning, an introduction is probably in order. My name is Augustine Diez. Currently I work for Kierkov industries as an assassin - well, sort of. I'm 6'2" - unfortunately - and I'm originally from Britain. I was born on August 24th with all limbs intact.

Description is something I'm required to say, so I guess just white hair - I'm not THAT old, I've always had that colour - hazel eyes, and a robotic arm for a leftie. I'm not muscular like those other beef cakes that know kung fu, but I'm not obese.

Now, that aside, we start at the REAL beginning.

The beginning I'm speaking of isn't where I was born from a caesarean section.

I was around eight years old. My brother, George, age 12, was with me. Being the typical eight-year-old, I was begging for attention from him. At the time, both of our parents were out getting groceries and whatever we needed, so we were with our babysitter, Lucille.

We were new to Japan at the time, but we had known Lucille for years. Lucille, with her red hair always up in a curly ponytail, had a light smile on her face as we argued over who's turn it was to play the next checker piece.

"Boys, let's calm down, okay? Your mum and dad wouldn't want either of you arguing," she said, her British accent incredibly light.

"But I was next!" George insisted.

"No!" I exclaimed. "I was next!"

"Oh, George, won't you let your brother go first?" Lucille gave a kind look to him, but that was all she needed for him to succumb. "And you shouldn't be playing checkers anyway. You know you should be packing."

"Packing for what?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing, August." She smiled. "George, hop to it."

He mumbled something, but Lucille just patted his head. "Your parents should be home any minute." George left to the room we shared, leaving me with Lucille.

"Will you play checkers with me?" I asked.

"No, I'm sorry, August. I have to make sure your brother can fold properly."

"I can!" George called. Lucille smiled, paying no mind. "I'll be right back, okay?"

I nodded. She nodded back, ruffling my short white hair. As she left, I heard the familiar jangle of keys and soft talking. I got up instantly, standing in front of the door.

The door opened, showing a man with a dark navy blazer and slacks and light brown hair with hazel eyes. Next to him stood a woman with platinum blonde hair twisted into a curly side ponytail over her yellow sun dress, her diamond blue eyes shining with expectation. "August!" She beamed, hugging me.

I smiled and hugged her back, hearing a thunder of footsteps and a crash behind me.

"They're home?!" I heard George say.

"George, are you alright?" I heard the man say.

"Yes, I'm fine." I heard George come forward. I pulled back from the woman.

"Mum, where is George going?" I asked, seeing a flash of surprise cross her face.

She glanced to George.

"I didn't say anything! It was Lucille!" He pointed at the babysitter who barely had time to walk into the room. The man, my father, sighed.

"Lucille..."

"I'm sorry, I just accidentally told George to pack with August around-"

"It's fine, Lucille," my mother said gently. She looked at me. "George is heading to a boarding school, that's all. I just figured it'd be hard for him to start school here when none of the schools for his grade have side classes for students to learn Japanese just yet. It's just for this year for him to learn back in England, alright?"

I nodded slowly. "Okay..."

"Cynthia, I think we should help George pack," my father said. She nodded.

"Right. Georgie, how far are you into packing?"

"I'm almost done," he replied. "Lucille was trying to get me to organize them by colour, though."

"It would help if you did."

"Why?"

"Because it keeps them organized," she replied, brushing her blonde hair over her shoulder. Still I don't know why my hair is such a bleach white compared to my parents. "Come on, I'll help you." George followed her to our room.

"How come I have to go to school here?" I asked.

"Because they have classes for you to learn Japanese," my father responded. "It'll be easy."

"But I don't want George to leave-"

"Augustine, don't be like that." He bent down to my height. "It'll be fine. You'll be able to see him over the summer and over calls."

"But I don't want to meet new kids-"

"Nonsense. You'll come to like it, Augustine. I went to school here for a year and people were very polite and sensible."

"But what if they don't like me?" I asked.

"Oh, they'll like you, August. You're a very talented child." He smiled, patting my head and standing. "Now, why don't you clean up your checkers?"

...

One year later, George attended the English school instead of the Japanese school. Now at the age of nine, I was getting into the slightly higher grade levels with some sense of Japanese. As my father promised, I did get to go see George over the summer and over calls.

My parents remained with me in Japan while Lucille remained George's guardian in England. While keeping after me, my mother had to quit her job to be a stay-at-home mother.

However, all that came to a halt in January.

My parents had come home in a new car, a logo recognizable to everyone I knew. It was the logo of Capsule Corporation on the side of the car, the number "38" imprinted on the side of the car. It was funny because that was how old both of my parents were at the time.

My mother had been wanting a new car for some time. Occasionally the car we had before overheated and left Father stuck at work. So, as a present for Mother, he had gotten her the car the day before her birthday.

But things started three months after.

The car had been 100% safety guaranteed by Capsule Corporation for their new model. In April, I was home alone - for only five minutes according to my mother - as both of my parents left to go get something for Lucille's upcoming birthday in two weeks.

They had been gone for far too long.

As I waited at the kitchen table, homework finished and my pencil on top of the papers, I waited for the familiar sound of keys being pushed into the lock for over half an hour. Usually my parents helped to check over my homework, and so they promised to come back soon. But half an hour was too long for a five minute drive, a five minute pick up, and a five minute return.

I kept telling myself that they probably ran into the traffic. This was a city after all. Maybe they had gotten a wrong turn, couldn't figure out what to get Lucille. Maybe they decided to do a bit of extra shopping, get snacks like gummies or cookies for a small treat. Though something like paranoia poked my brain, causing me to rethink all of the possibilities just to push the paranoia away. But then it'd just come back and the cycle started again.

I swung my legs back and forth, pushing my glasses up. I looked at my homework, thinking about a few of my friends from school. A lot of them were really nice - everyone at school was. Even though some people thought I was a little weird, I didn't mind. A lot of kids have other kids who think they're weird.

The paranoia came back. I pushed it off by thinking of the 100% safety guarantee. They would be fine. Even if they had happened to get close to crashing, the car would stop or swerve itself out of the way.

But then again, it came out three months ago. Only three months. There could be bugs.

I jumped when I heard the house phone suddenly go off. I slid out of the chair, heading to the phone to see the caller ID. It was Lucille.

"Hi, Lucille," I said.

"Hi, August, um..." She sounded almost frantic. "Do you know if your parents are okay by any chance?"

"Er...they went shopping," I replied, hiding the fact that it was about a present for her. "They haven't been back for a while."

"Oh, Lord, please help them..." I heard her murmur. "Augustine, I was just on the phone with your father. I..." Her voice faltered.

"What?" I was concerned now. Maybe something did happen.

"I...I don't think they're coming home, A-August," she stammered.

"What do you mean?" My heart was pounding. "Tell me how you would tell an adult, how you would tell Mum. What happened?"

She went silent.

"Lucille!" I was panicking now. Thoughts raced through my head. Why wouldn't they come home? They would be fine. All they were doing was buying a present-"

"August, when I was talking to your father, I heard something like...like a collision. A very hard collision. But then the phone cut off..."

"Then we have to get to the hospital! We have to call somebody!" I said, tears flooding my eyes.

"August, I'm in England. I can't take you anywhere-"

"Then I'll go myself!" I hung up, tears falling down my cheeks. I opened the door and closed it behind me, sprinting outside.

I was a stubborn child. I usually got ahead of myself and made rash decisions. I tended to not think about the consequences or the possibilities once I set out to do something. And that caused me to run outside, down the street, not even knowing where the hospital or my parents were. Several people gave me concerned glances as I sprinted down the sidewalk. One even stopped me, attempting to calm me, but I just bit - yes, bit - his arm and ran off as he cringed in pain.

My heart was pounding in my chest. Lucille didn't know anything - she might've just heard some other unfortunate car crash. Both of my parents were fantastic drivers. Even if my father had a little bit - emphasis on a little bit - to drink occasionally, he'd never go out into the car and drive somewhere.

Of course, at my age, I wasn't aware that he had consumed anything of the sort. Lucille had told me after.

My legs were already starting to ache. My breaths were coming more and more shorter, the burn in my lungs signaling their need for oxygen. But it all went numb after thinking what condition my parents could be in. The only thing on my mind was my parents.

Then came the ambulance and crowd. The ambulance was parked to the side, though the back doors weren't open. I looked around, my line of vision obscured by many people and their speaking of Japanese and English was making it hard to hear any officials.
I pushed through the crowd, hearing a few people say something to me. I paid no mind, tears staining my cheeks. I had stopped crying a while back.

The wreckage, even if it was mostly obscured, looked horrible.

The only part I could see was a mutilated door and the look of pressured metal.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up, seeing it was a paramedic. He spoke Japanese, but seeing my confused expression, he switched to English.

"This isn't a scene you should be at, little boy," he said gently. "Where are your parents?"

"Those ARE my parents!" I answered, my voice shaky through the tears that returned. I pointed at the crowd, more specifically at the wreckage that lay beyond them. The paramedic's eyes widened with surprise.

"Don't worry. We're getting them out. They'll be okay." When I was younger, I didn't notice the unsure tone in his voice. Looking back, there was definitely a falter.

And everything went from there. I never got to see anything else of the wreckage - no one would let me get closer - and I didn't get to see how bad my parents looked.

I had gone back home - with the paramedic as my escort - a little spot of hope that they'd be okay along with me. I didn't want to go to the hospital with them - they'd be in the ICU for sure. When my grandfather had a heart attack, my mother made sure I didn't go into the ICU with her and father. It wasn't for kids, or so she said.

So I did the only thing I could only do. I went home, a heavy heart on my shoulders. But as soon as I walked into the home, the house phone went off. It made me jump.

Being home alone, no one could really answer it. It might be the hospital. But then again, it could be Lucille. I went over to the phone, reaching up to grab the phone and answer it. "Yes?"

"August!" It was Lucille. I could hear George in the background, asking to have the phone. Lucille didn't give it to him - she kept talking. "Oh my, I'm so sorry for scaring you. Are your parents alright? Do you know?"

"...Um...they're at the hospital-" I heard a click. Someone else was on the phone, trying to call me. "Yes?"

"This is the hospital. Are any adults on the premises?" It was a gruff voice that I didn't like. He sounded mean but also too serious. Additionally, I had no clue what 'premises' meant at the time.

"What?"

"Are there any adults in the house?"

"No."

"You're home alone?"

"Yes."

"This is the child of Cynthia and Charles Diez, correct?"

"Um...yes."

From there, I had to switch between each call, answering questions until my head started to hurt.

But only four hours after the wreck, my parents had died. They hadn't gained consciousness whatsoever. Lucille and George had flown in from England that day. They came extremely late at night, but I couldn't sleep alone, so I was up.

George was an absolute mess in the aftermath. He was a sobbing mess of tears and memories. Lucille was doing her best to comfort us, but she was crying too.

She decided we wouldn't go to the funeral when I came up. She thought it would be too emotional for all of us. So instead of going, she started the work of trying to get herself registered as our guardian.

But then came along Kono-Chan.

Her real name is Konomonokera, but most people have trouble pronouncing it, so she allows people to call her Kono-Chan. She's a very sweet person, but she's extremely hesitant and timid. She has a soft voice, but she can be very forceful when need be. In fact, she's one of the strongest-willed people I know.

She's really into cosplay, for starters. She used to have a whole career of it. Her little 'hobby' got finished when she wanted to find someone to settle down with instead of dressing up. So, why is she important? Well, that's easy to answer.

She's now my adoptive mother.

Brown hair always in messy braid, she had chocolate brown eyes and gentle features. Model features. The only thing that marred her appearance was a scar on the corner of her lips from when she had gotten a fish hook stuck as a child. It had torn away part of the flesh when she had it pulled out, and it healed rather slowly.

The scar did make for some impressive cosplay, though.

She became my adoptive mother only a month after the wreckage. After the crash, I had nightmares about it. Imagining how bad the crash was or what they looked like after. She helped a lot with the nightmares, usually watching a movie with me until I fell asleep on the couch. She never seemed to grow annoyed with me.

Her personality flaw is not knowing how to act. She doesn't know how to handle sadness she can't treat instantly like a movie after a nightmare. If someone is mad at her, she panics and blows up in a ball of tears. When someone is sad, however, and she can't really help, then she keeps her distance.

After Kono came around, Lucille and George both agreed he needed to finish school above all. Of course, he wouldn't attend for a while to recover, but his education did matter. So, Kono and I were now living in the same place.

Though the house did feel more empty afterwards.

...

Kono had left for a few months, to start off.

Her mother or something had needed some medical attention over in some other city. She trusted me home alone, seeing as I was seventeen. The only thing I didn't like about this was that she was leaving me without any support.

Let's back up a bit. Around middle school, people started getting much more judgmental. But before middle school, I met a kid in fourth grade who had black hair and the coolest blue eyes.

His name was Desmond. We were pretty good friends, to say the least. He was a loud kid, but we were about the same then. Middle school, as I said, was when things went downhill.

For some reason, white hair and a British accent is weird compared to blue or purple hair. And, seeing as neither me nor Kono-Chan had a great sense of fashion - despite strict uniforms - for the other kids to like, I got picked on a bit for that. It didn't bother me at the time, but at some point it shifted to where I was just the weird kid outright. I'm not sure what happened, but just one day I came to school and found Desmond at our table with our friends. Everyone was laughing and joking around - in fact, one girl was in tears from laughing. But once I sat down, there was still talking, but it got a lot more quiet. Desmond was the same, though, attempting to pick up the conversation and crack some jokes here and there. Many glances came my way and soon two people were writing on a piece of paper - one looked confused as if he didn't get why they were ostracizing me. I guess the girl he was writing with told him, because his expression instantly shifted to one of shock and the saucer-sized eyes that you get when you hear something terrible.

Once the bell rang for us to go, they were the first two to get up and go. As soon as they left, they were laughing and smiling again. I had asked Desmond what was up, but he didn't know a thing.

For a long time I didn't mind it. I slowly grew more introverted and to myself. I hated hearing rumors about me. I'm usually not sensitive towards anything, but my image being torn down and replaced with a new one was something that hits me hard - and it still does. As I said, I grew introverted - it wasn't to stay away from people, really. I just didn't want to be told what was wrong with me all of a sudden. I mean, I had had thoughts about it. Maybe how I talked? Maybe my clothes? Backpack? Binder? My hobbies? Eyes? My hair? My friends? How I stood? How I answered questions?

Then came along high school.

High school was the bane of my existence - but then again, it's nobody's favourite school year. A lot of teens grow depressed from the drama and bullying, and that's why so many people are afraid of it. I'll admit, I was a part of that majority. But I had a common reason. People.

Now, I'm not getting all into my high school years. Just one small detail you should probably know.

...

That morning, I was running extremely late to school. I always hated missing school, despite the ruining of my reputation. The problem was, I didn't have Kono-Chan there to help me wake up. She had left for a family issue, as I said, leaving me alone for about three months.

I had already woken up 15 minutes late. Now here I was, attempting to fix the collar to the black uniform and button it at the same time. Toothbrush still in my mouth, I glanced at my hair through my bangs. It looked a complete mess. I rolled my eyes and sighed, though it came out as a growl because of the toothbrush in my mouth.

Because my hair was long, it tended to fluff up and stay flat in all the wrong places. Random strands of hair jutting out and ending up not being presentable in the least. Even if my hair was obviously against the strict dress code, Kono-Chan opted that since I was from England, I had the right to keep my hair the way I wanted. I didn't much care what happened - after all, my hair was only long because I hate eye contact. If I had to cut it, I could still make it work. But I didn't want anyone but me to cut it. I didn't trust people when it came to them shaping my image. If someone wants to shape my image, then that someone has to be me.

I finished brushing my teeth, moving on to brush my hair and finish buttoning my shirt. I left to the kitchen, taking one drink of the orange juice before gagging. I spit it out into the sink, ending up pouring the rest out. Orange juice after toothpaste was a horrid combination.

I glanced at my watch as I reached for a piece of toast, grabbing my bag and jogging to the train stop. I was a whole thirty minutes late. There was only about fifteen minutes left to arrive before the first bell went off.

But then came along the thoughts. Now, at home, I'm a normal guy. But once I'm on the campus or almost there, I kind of shut down, I guess you could say. I get quieter and then I pay more attention to what people say. At home, I'd zone out completely. But at school, things were different.

Every morning I contemplated why I was different. The same ideas floated through my head - hair? Clothes? Backpack? I never really got an answer, despite the back up I gave myself.

But I had to admit: I was getting pretty sick and tired of being ignored. It was growing more frustrating every week without an answer. And now to add in the factor of being alone at home and left with only my thoughts, I'd be more aware of my flaws, like smiling weird or my eyes being unnatural to some people.

No, I wasn't okay with myself, but I had no reason to change myself. I didn't feel any need to harm myself - I saw no logic in it. But still it always came back to square one-
"Are you getting on?" The man of the train obviously seemed annoyed. I nodded, stepping on and finding my usual seat to sit at. How long was I standing there? Maybe I was holding everyone up. Is he still mad? Maybe I should apologize.

The train lurched forward. I leaned my head against the window. I glanced at the world outside. The occasional kid passed by in a flash. I wonder if he felt inferior at some point? What if he did now?

My eyes focused on my reflection. The same tang of sadness and dissatisfaction of seeing my reflection I get in public came around. The same questions. I looked over every part of my face, contemplating if those were my flaws and ending up finding some evidence that it was. With no music to distract my thoughts, I arrived at the station near the campus with seven minutes before the first bell.

I stepped off the train, walking in the direction of the school only two minutes away. Still, I had some thoughts on my mind. Why couldn't they just accept everyone? I didn't even really do anything. I didn't attempt to grab attention. I didn't talk to many people. What could possibly be wrong?

I stepped through the doors of the campus and to the cafeteria, frustrated and annoyed. I was too sensitive. I already felt a lump in my throat and a burning to cry.

"Seriously?!" Hiroko boomed. It was the first thing I heard when walking into the cafeteria. "You need to stop hanging out with him! Haven't you heard what everyone's saying about you now? You don't have to join Augustine!" Me? When did I get into this? Who is he talking to? And what did he mean by "join"?
"You gotta stay normal, okay? Otherwise we can't talk to you! With him around, you're just as much of a freak as he i-!" When I heard the word 'freak', I instantly felt a surge of rage. All the pent up anger of that morning - the anger at myself, society, and him - just spilled out. I don't even remember walking up to him.

But now here he was, his head on the table from me throwing a punch at his face. Even then, I didn't feel guilty. I knew I shouldn't have done it, but I just released all the anger I had on him. I banged his head on the table, but soon it got so bad to where I had him at the stairs to the side, throwing his body back in forth onto the marble stairs. Long before, people were excited about the fight. But at the sight of blood, everyone lost their minds. A crack.

There went his head.

I should probably stop...

But what about everything everyone said? Everything ever rumored?

What about my hate towards myself?

Where would I get another chance to feel this surge of all the anger being released?

The white stairs were stained with red. I felt the electric touch of somebody trying to pull me off of him. My blood was already boiling. I can't just stop. It was as if I was punching everyone who ever hated me.

As if on reflex, I whipped around, punching the teacher - a female - square in the jaw. If it wasn't quiet enough before, it definitely was now. The teacher, my teacher, doubled back, holding her jaw.

The adrenaline rush was increasing by every blow I made to someone. The blow to the teacher boosted it. Being a rebel felt amazing. It felt blissful to have a reason for everyone to hate me, to be scared of me. Now I didn't have to guess for what they stared at me and whispered behind their hands about. I had a reason.

A reason. One that was rational, one that was tangible in its own way. A reason that could diminish the thoughts about my appearance, the thought of how I spoke. I had a god damn reason. A reason to feel the adrenaline at this moment as all my peers stared at me in horror. None of them made a move to stop me. It felt like minutes going by, but I knew it was merely seconds.

And then the anger returned.

All the bastards who made me think I was worthless. That I was weird, odd, unique in a terrible way. Before I knew it, I was still swinging at the unconscious Hiroko. I didn't need a reason to keep punching. He was my anger, my dislike towards myself in a physical form.

And then came a stronger force. Arms hooked around mine, lifting me up. It was the principal. A nurse rushed forward, taking away Hiroko as I screamed and kicked at the principal.

I could already feel the guilt mixing with the anger. I forced myself to push it away. But now I had no reason to fight. My physical anger was gone. I fell limp. The principal kept a tight grip on me, pulling me away from all the other kids freaking out.

I could already hear Maria, Hiroko's girlfriend, crying from down the hall. The sound of the assistant principal attempting to calm everyone and the sound of footsteps down the hall to try and follow me and find out what was happening to the monster walking amongst humans.

.

An hour passed. A long hour. The suspended hour.

Konomonokera still didn't know. She turned her email off long before, and her calling information was only reserved for me. She refused to give it to the school - something about her not wanting to hear about things to give her more stress while she was away.

I had my cellphone next to me on the couch. The black screen reflected back at me.

I never felt this terrible. I felt so tired, but I also felt the need to do something. But more than that, I felt such alienation from myself. I didn't even know who I was anymore.

Was I the happy kid at age five?

Was I the sad orphan?

Was I the blood-stained monster with a joker smile?

Was I a normal teenager?

I never knew how to know if someone was depressed. I was sure I wasn't depressed. I didn't want to feel like a martyr.

There was no one around to be a martyr to other than Desmond. What was I talking about?

As I laid there on the couch, I felt guilty. Guilty couldn't even describe it. The image of blood on the stairs and his unconscious body on top of them flashed behind my eyes. The guilt of refusing to answer the principal's questions. I touched the bandage on my cheek that covered the cut Hiroko gave me.

I was a terrible person. The sound of a cracked skull resonated within my own. God. I killed him.

I cracked his god damn skull. And I still kept hitting him. He was such a bloody mess and I kept going.

I felt warmth and liquid touch my fingertip.

I moved my hand away from the bandage, seeing clear liquid on my finger. Tears.

The sight of tears hit me hard. Why should I be crying? Wasn't I the terrible person who just killed a teenager my own age?

My chest tightened. I covered my eyes, willing myself not to cry. I didn't have a right to cry.

I felt so alone. It was cold on the warm afternoon. Right now people would be enjoying lunch at school. And I was here in my own house, trying not to cry because I didn't deserve the right to cry over my own murder.

I rolled over, facing the TV screen. I reached down, grabbing the remote and turning it on. I sat up, hugging a pillow and waited for the volume and the resolution to calibrate.

The news.

"17-year-old Augustine Diez has put Hiroko Norok-"

I bolted for the remote, turning it off. I quickly wiped away the tears coming. I couldn't stop thinking about how I killed him. I was sure I did. It wouldn't get off my mind.

I hugged a pillow to my chest, burying my face into it. How could I be so messed up? I'm too sick and too twisted.

I saw my phone vibrate. I ignored it. I knew it was Kono-Chan.

The words of the news echoed in my head. Put Hiroko in what? A grave?

"I killed him...I know it. I can't believe this..." I mumbled into the pillow. I didn't try and stop the tears. My breath was uncomfortably hot against the pillow, added on the hot tears spilling onto it.

"Augustine?"

I jumped, pulled out of my state to focus on the black-haired teen sitting on the couch next to me as I hugged a pillow against me.

"Desmond?! What are you doing here?"

"Eh." He shrugged. "I decided to call home. Mom was concerned, but I just faked a stomach ache. I was worried about you."

I swallowed. "I'm a murderer, Dez. It doesn't matter what happens to me. You shouldn't care."

"I shouldn't, but I am." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "I don't find anything wrong with you. I can't even picture you as a killer. I'm sticking by you."

I hesitated. "Why would you stick with a killer?"

"Because you're not a killer. I'm not with a killer, I'm with a normal teenager who's paranoid as fuck. You're not a killer, not even close to being one. The worst that's going to happen is that you go back to school."

My heart sank. I never even thought of the possibility of having to go back to school. I felt a chill ride up my spine. I had just turned to ice.

"You're suspended for six months, so you still have summer to think things over. You'll be okay."

I turned the pillow, pressing my cheek on the cooler side of the pillow. The velveteen surface of ice felt much better than the Sahara on the other side.

I mulled over the thought of his words. Would I be okay? Of course not. Being a murderer would only grant me the inability of ever getting a good job or career while Desmond moves on to be the doctor he's working on being.

"What kind of doctor do you want to be?" I mumbled against the pillow. He observed me for a few moments before he opened his mouth to answer.

"I guess I'd want to be a cardiologist," he replied. "Why?"

I shrugged. Really I just wanted to get off the subject of him being with me. It sounded weird. Especially since we were both guys. You only say those things when you're being cliché and cheesy.

Like in books.

He glanced at his watch. "I should probably get going." A part of me felt disappointed, but the other part felt relieved. From there I walked him out and wished him farewell.

However, only a few days later, he returned with worse news.

I had left the door unlocked. I only glanced my eyes to the right from my video game as Micheal went flying out of the car with a grunt and red sliding onto the road. It sent a shiver down my spine.

"Hey." His tone sounded low. He looked nervous. Anxious. Uptight.

I gave a nod. I hadn't been feeling as bad as I had the first day. Though being alone most of the day had left me with much time to think. So many arguments and wars with myself left me numb from the world. Whatever he had to say I wouldn't really be listening to.

He sat down next to me. I paused the game, tossing the controller to the side. I hadn't been into the game like normal. I felt like a hollow shell only full of empty guilt.

"Um...so..."

"Something happened." I could just tell. My heart was thumping with fear of what he might say. Too many things could leave his mouth that could upset me.

He took a breath. "Hiroko died."

My heart fell to my shoes. My lungs felt like a car in a trash compactor. I could already feel my throat tightening and my eyes burn. Oh God, I just killed a human being. Someone who didn't even deserve it. Then realizations started to hit me:

No woman would ever want to marry me.

No one would want to hire me.

Everyone would know me as a murderer.

Oh God. What would my parents think? Even if they were dead, they never would've wanted me to lose my cool so bad that I made someone's heart stop beating. I was always such a patient kid.

I lost my cool over something stupid. Everyone gets picked on for flaws. What makes me different then any other kid that gets messed with? Even if I thought this, I was just sitting here staring at the floor acting as if I was special.

Even if I thought this, I still had tears pouring from my eyes.

Even if I thought this, my hands were shaking as I moved to wipe them away. It felt as if I were smearing the hot, sticky blood onto my face and painting myself even more of a murderer.

Crying hurt. I had already done it so much. I thought I had cried out my soul, my identity. But still tears cascaded down my eyes. Desmond was silent next to me, an arm over my shoulder in his own version of a hug.

"Augustine, chill. Kono-Chan wouldn't let you go into jail or juvenile jail. You'll be alright."

"But it's my fault!" I sobbed, pressing my palm into my left eye, feeling a jolt of pain. Is that how Hiroko felt when my fist landed against his eye? How much pain did I need to make myself feel to compensate for how much he experienced?

"But you can't beat yourself up over it. You'll be okay-"

"No I won't! You don't get it, Desmond!" I shoved him away from me, giving him a hard look in his eyes. "You don't, okay? You didn't kill someone only a week ago." I wasn't yelling - I was too tired of myself to yell. I was too tired of crying and hating myself. I was tired of everything. I felt like I had just ran a mile.

I was tired of all the rumors. I was tired of the guilt. I was tired of being reminded. I was tired of being on the spot. I was tired of always wondering what everything was thinking about. I was tired of Desmond trying to tell me lies. I was tired of telling myself lies. And I was exhausted with waking up everyday.

We sat in silence, minutes going by. I already felt a lump forming, flames licking my throat raw. I sucked in a breath, hoping it would help, but all I got was a shaky sound to replace it.

"Do you just want me to leave?" Desmond asked.

"I don't care what you do." My voice was low. I stared at the floor. I already knew my bangs covered my eyes from Desmond.

"I'm just trying to help. If you're going to push me away, just tell me to GTFO." He cracked a small smile at his own humor.

"I don't care what you do," I repeated. I honestly didn't. I was just done. I wouldn't care if he punched me in the face at this moment. I'd be glad if he did. Maybe then I could find some clarity.

"Augustine. You're being weird."

Great. Join everyone else on the judgement train.

"Seriously. You sound...depressed or something."

"I'm not." It sounded hollow to me. Was I? How do I know if I am? Would I just be assuming? That wouldn't help me look like a better person. I'd just look like an attention-seeker.

No matter what I did and what way I looked at it, I just saw negative. It was suffocating. Desmond could be a positive, but I only saw negative at the moment. He was making me question myself and get frustrated. I rubbed my temple, hating the silence but also loving it. Hating it because it gave Desmond to think about his own judgments. I loved it because I didn't have to talk to him.

I wanted to be left alone, but I didn't want to be lonely. I was worried that I would hate myself more if I was alone.

"I'm sorry." I spoke barely above a whisper.

"For what? There's nothing for you to apologize for."

"You should probably just go." That I didn't mean to say. I just blurted it out. I wanted to slap a hand over my mouth for saying it.

"If that's what you want, sure. You probably need some time to think, anyway." He stood up and picked up a backpack I didn't see him put down when he walked in. "I'll check on you tomorrow morning, okay?"

I nodded. "Okay."

He returned the nod and headed to the door. I heard it click shut in the other room.

.

As I look back now, I only remember feeling numb and the number 40. But I do remember extreme hate and guilt at the same time.

It was 6:47 in the morning. I hadn't slept. I couldn't. I kept tossing and turning, thinking about 38. At the time, I had no clue what that number meant, but I remembered later that that was the age that both my parents had died at. The number on their car. I don't know why that number was carved into my mind at that particular moment. But it was.

I remember walking out into the kitchen, overly frustrated with myself. I had damp tear tracks on my cheeks that heated my skin. I felt an edge of fear. I leaned on the marble counter, wishing Kono-Chan would come back already and tell me what all this meant. I felt numb, weird, but above all else, hate. Hate towards everyone at school, Desmond, Konomonokera, and mostly myself.

I felt like a child. I was blowing things out of proportion. If someone were here, they'd think I was an emo or something. But I couldn't help it. I couldn't escape this hate. It was like it was controlling my life.

And then I thought of a solution. As if the hate had possessed me that morning at 6:53 AM, I counted...

1,2,3...

25, 26, 27...

38...39...40.

Red turned to fuzzy and fuzzy turned to black. But the thing that screamed at me was that I finally didn't hate what I did to myself.

.

And then I woke up. It startled me. First it was a blinding white, stinging my eyes. Then it was cold. Insanely cold. My fingertips felt numb. Then the taste of something sour but sweet. And then the scent of medicine.

I wasn't supposed to be awake. Dear God, please don't let me be awake. I don't even remember what I did to get here, but I don't want to be awake.

There were plush pillows behind my back. I closed my eyes against the blinding white light and opened them again, this time greeted with a white room. This wasn't my bedroom.

I still felt like I shouldn't be awake. I couldn't remember why I was here. My mind was completely blank.

A doctor passed by on my left. I heard crying outside a wooden door.

A hospital?

Why was I in a hospital of all places?

I heard a woman's voice outside the door. She was speaking Japanese. A male voice responded to her.

I wanted answers, but I felt exhausted and numb. I made up my mind to go to sleep. And then the door swung open.

It was Kono-Chan.

"Augustine, I'm so sorry, I should've stayed, I didn't know-"

"Why am I in the hospital?" I usually never cut her off, but now I was getting concerned. My voice sounded slurred. I guessed it was the morphine.

Her eyes showed tears. "You..." Her voice broke. Tears cascaded down her face. "Augustine, I'm sorry. Honest. I should've never left."

"I don't understand."

"It'll come to you, August. Just rest." As if I were a five-year-old instead of seventeen, she kissed me on the forehead. I did as she said, drifting to sleep as she left the room.

.

Later, I woke up. That was when I had remembered everything. The guilt had never hit me so hard before.

What reminded me was Desmond. He was in my room. Tears were falling down his cheeks. He looked pissed off when I woke up.

"Desmond?" My voice was quiet.

He lifted his head up from the table next to the hospital room. There was a small bag of small cakes with "KC" written on a card next to him. Next to that was a balloon tied to a teddy bear. I couldn't read it from there, but I could guess from the curly writing and the faint "L" it was from Lucille.

Desmond wiped his tears, clearing his throat. When he looked at me, he looked away right after. He couldn't make eye contact with me. The only thing he was looking at was my left arm.

I hadn't actually looked at myself and why I might be in the hospital. But when I looked down to my left arm, I saw it was covered in a multitude of bandages and gauze. Was it broken? No, I've moved it. It would be placed in a sling or cast by now.

"Why did you do it?"

His voice broke the silence like a sharp knife through tissue.

"Do what?"

"You know what I'm talking about." He sounded hurt.

"No, I don't. Kono-Chan was saying something like that too. Is it something about my arm?"

"Yes, idiot!" His hand slammed on the desk as he stood. "You're in this place because you tried to kill yourself!"

Kill myself? Suicide?

When did I ever feel that way?

He could see the confusion on my face. "Do you not remember?" He was glaring at me. "How do you not fucking remember?!"

"I don't know! I don't remember ever doing anything like that."

"Do I need to spell it out for you? This morning I came to check on you and you-" He choked. He took a breath. A few moments later, he started again. Much quieter. "I had come to check on you and you weren't in your bed or in the living room. So I looked around and you...were leaning next to the counter, your arm cut open..." Another breath. "There was a bloody knife next to you. It looked like it had fallen out of your hand. Your arm was completely red..." He looked as if he were reliving the memory. "There was even blood on the floor..."

All of it came back in a slap to the face. The memory seemed so foreign, but I remember it all. Thinking a suicide note was too cliché. Thinking how no one would miss me. Thinking how it would be so much easier for everyone if I were gone. Thinking how wonderful it would be that I wouldn't have to think about how terrible I was.

Taking the knife and cutting through my flesh 40 times. 38 times for my parents. One time for Desmond and Konomonokera and how sorry I was that they had to put up with me. One for Hiroko to compensate for the pain he felt.

I looked at my gauze-covered arm. I felt glad that I was alive. But also a little disappointed - then I felt completely guilty for thinking that. What was I thinking?

Oh God.

The scars would be there.

"Why did you do it?"

I was silent for a long time, trying to calm down. God, how much I regretted it. "I'm sorry, Desmond. I'm sorry."

"I really hope you are! I was the one who had to call the hospital on your suicidal ass! I had to explain what I saw five fucking times! Do you know how terrible I felt?! Augustine Dylan Diez, you gave me a fucking HEART ATTACK."

"I'm sorry!" The tears spilled out. "I'm sorry, okay?! I regret it! I regret it all! All I know is that I hated all the rumors, I hated myself, and I hated how I killed Hiroko. I felt terrible. I couldn't stand living like that. It was unbearable. It was like I was stuck home alone and you were the only one there. But even then I felt as if you hated me...I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything."

He was silent this time. His expression softened. "Fine." He ran a hand through his black hair. His icy blue eyes penetrated me as if he wasn't sure if I actually regretted my suicide attempt. "Are you happy you woke up?"

I nodded. "Yes...before, I was startled...but I'm outrageously happy that I'm alive. I feel better." I paused. "I don't hate myself anymore, before you ask. I don't know why...but all the guilt is gone."

"Kono-Chan said you're being registered to another school. And she's going to talk to the school about your record."

I nodded silently. "I guess I have an apologize to a lot of people..."

"Yeah. George and Lucille are here too. You might want to start with them. Lucille was freaking out. She was a bawling mess. George almost punched a doctor for not letting him in your room. I'm pretty sure you should start with them."

And I did. They both hugged me like two bears. Millions of questions were repeated to me over the day. I got stitches the next day. A week after, I was allowed to take the bandages off.

The scars were horrific.

All of them were horizontal. There wasn't one going down the middle, on the main vein. No wonder I was alive. Either way, I felt dreadful. I wanted to just cut my arm off so I wouldn't have to look at those terrible scars.

What's funny is that seven years later my scars were removed.

...

Age 24. Drinking.

As blurry as the memory is, those two elements are what stuck out in my head the most. I had been drinking on the night of June 11th. I very rarely drink, but at the time, I had just met my boss. I had joined two years before, but I hadn't seen him before. And then he had insisted we go out to get a drink.

Afterwards, I don't remember a thing. But from the testimony from another man, I had gotten myself into a pretty bad wreck whilst drunk driving.

Everything after the wreck I remember clearly.

I had woken up with a piercing pain in my...well, everything. I had been lying on my back, and the night sky was above me. The surface I was laying on was flat until I tilted.

And then I was in an ambulance.

That was when I got confused.

I tried to speak, but instant pain jolted through my jaw. I had a major headache. My chest felt heavy and both my legs were throbbing. From the pain in my right arm, I guessed it was broken. The only part of me I didn't feel was my left arm.

Thinking it wasn't injured, I didn't concern myself with it. I attempted to turn my head, but the extreme pain in my neck made it impossible. What the hell happened?

I heard the clicking of heels from far away. Then I heard the heels hit metal and the ambulance shift. I heard someone sit down next to me.

"Augustine, I know you're awake."

British.

Woman.

Sounds rather bossy.

Yep. Selene. No one better to have than your wife by your side.

I could only open my eyes again to confirm her statement, seeing as my jaw was broken.

"Are you okay?" I managed a sigh. Of course I wasn't okay. But I couldn't tell her that, nor shake my head. "Well, of course you're not okay. You look terrible. You know you're not supposed to drive drunk."

I rolled my eyes. The headache made me not want to deal with Selene at the moment. Of course, I didn't mind that she was here. I just preferred that she didn't lecture me about what I know I did wrong.

She went silent. Then I heard her gasp. "Augustine your a-"

She stopped. I heard someone murmur something to her. "But he has to know-"

"Not yet. After." Selene went silent. I heard her move. She was in the corner of my vision. She looked to be holding something, but I couldn't feel or see anything that she could be holding.

A few minutes went by. The ambulance finally got a move on once the IV was in my arm. The constant rumble of the objects in the emergency vehicle wasn't helping my head.

I glanced at Selene. Her blonde hair was over her shoulder as usual. With a wince, I turned my head. I grew concerned as soon as I saw her glasses were off. She sniffed.

I felt ten million times worse. I was immobilized and I couldn't speak without excruciatingly painful jolts going through my jaw. I couldn't comfort her at all. I regretted ever drinking and making her feel this bad. Despite my thoughts, I could do nothing to help her.

Selene made eye contact with me. I was right. She was crying. "I know you can't do anything to comfort me. Don't be concerned." Even if she said not to be concerned, her words only made me want to comfort her more. "Can you feel your left arm?"

"No," I managed to say. It hurt like a stab in multiple areas of my jaw, but I would say a whole speech for her with a broken jaw.

My statement only seemed to hurt her. Her eyes fell. "Oh..."

Minutes passed by. The ambulance came to a stop. Selene followed my gurney into the hospital and down multiple halls. I kept my eyes closed, trying to keep the thought of pain away. My neck, still turned, was beginning to hurt at the angle it was set at.

I heard Selene farther back and a set of doors opening. "You're going into surgery. Don't worry, we'll make sure you're asleep." I guessed the person speaking was directing his phrase at me. But I couldn't see what I needed surgery for. Then I heard a feminine cry.

"No! You can't do that!" It was Selene. My eyes snapped open.

"Calm down, she'll be fine. So will you." I wasn't so sure. I only had broken limbs. I shouldn't be going into surgery. What was Selene freaking out about? I could say nothing to protest my location, so I remained still on the gurney.

.

I woke up. My vision was blurred and I felt extremely tired. I almost fell back to sleep, but I heard two voices speaking from not too far away. I shifted slightly, feeling pillows under my head and back.

"...think that he'll say?"

"I don't know. I know he's not going to take it easily, though."

"Maybe he will. He's a cool-headed guy. Optimism sometimes goes through his head."

I recognized the first voice instantly. It was Desmond. The second one was Selene.

"How many months are you?"

"Only four."

"So you're due in November?"

"Yes." Selene sounded pleasant. I already knew she was excited to be a mother in five more months. Frankly, I was terrified to be a father. I was only 24. I'd only been married for a year. Yet here I was, laying in a hospital bed with a pregnant wife not too far from me.

I moved my jaw slightly. It didn't hurt as much as before, but it still made me wary of speaking. I managed to sit up, looking over to Selene and Desmond. They both looked surprised that I was awake.

"Good morning, drunky." Of course the teasing with Desmond would start. He grinned at me. "Hope your fifteen hour nap went well."

"Fifteen?" I mumbled.

"Yep." He looked like he didn't want to mention something. "So...er...anything hurt?"

"Jaw."

"Thought so..." His voice trailed off.

Selene took a deep breath. "Augustine, you don't have a left arm."

I blinked. Of course I had a left arm. Luckily, it hadn't gotten injured. I didn't feel it because I didn't move it. I opened my mouth to protest, but she shook her head.

"Just look."

Puzzled, I did as she said. My heart stopped. I could feel the blood rush out of my face. The breath in my lungs were punched out.

My arm was gone. None of it was on me. All that I saw in its place was the bed. I looked at my right arm just to make sure that was still there. I was relieved to see it was.

"They had to amputate it because all the nerves in your arm..." She took a breath. "If you had it, you wouldn't be able to feel anything. I'm sorry."

I could feel my eyes stinging. I swallowed hard. I managed to nod. "I understand..."

"You'll still be able to do a lot of things. Maybe you can get a prosthetic."

"A prosthetic? I can't stand prosthetics, Selene." It was true. Seeing those "Barbie arms" gave me chills.

"It doesn't have to look like that. You can get something different."

"I'll still have to deal with one arm...if I even want one." My jaw was growing sore. Selene had long since gone silent.

...

For almost a year I had only one arm. For a very long time, I refused to get anything close to a prosthetic. But then Katy was born. Selene managed to convince me that I needed a prosthetic to handle caring for her.

With Katy around, Selene was much more stressed. I already knew she had cheated once. Of course, she didn't know I worked with him - she didn't know I was an assassin - but after I had seen messages of the two talking, I confronted him. He didn't hide it at all. He didn't know she was married. She had told him she was single.

When I had confronted her about it, however, things went downhill. She lied to me without a single flaw. Without hesitation. But she had me wrapped around her finger.

She had told me that she'd never do it. She expressed how much she loved our family. But soon after I had gotten my mechanical arm, she had found out that I was an assassin.

To put things into perspective, Selene is a major neurotic. Hearing I was an assassin, she went off on me. She demanded a divorce, demanded I put Katy up for adoption. She was almost two at the time, and I was already insanely attached to her. Putting her up for adoption was something I wasn't willing to do.

I agreed. As heartbroken as I was, Selene was a liar. Liars are something I can't stand. So she left back to England, thinking Katy was gone and all her blood ties to me were severed.

Of course I was upset about the sudden separation, but Katy became my top priority. Despite those words, I didn't quit my job. If I quit, I'd be killed. My boss stressed that. He said it wasn't because of the cruelty of the company, but because there had been a few instances where people had quit and reported everything that happened to the police. So, company in jeopardy, nobody left without having a death wish.

...