A/N: w00t! First story! Let's be honest, this one is slightly morbid. ^^;;; I had always wanted to do a scene like this (more or less to see if I could actually write it), so I naturally jumped at the chance when I found it. This will probably be the shortest of all the themes, but there's really only so much I could write on the matter. *shrug* Anywho... hope ya'll enjoy! As always, commentary is welcome. (Also, I don't own anything; Xavier, Amelia, Anton, Amber, and Maddy all belong to xXxXxXxmxmxXxXxXx)
9. Cut
The nicked metal ran a third course across the pale field. The snowy backdrop quivered and gave, crimson seeping from the rent the blade had left. Crimson. Crimson tears, crimson life, crimson hair, crimson blood. Love, lust, hate. The blade rose and met the skin again, biting flesh. It stung, of course, but he was beyond caring. In the place he was in, in the fortress he had built himself, it was an outside annoyance. A mere tingling sensation external from himself. He sat on the edge of his bed, trembling slightly. He wasn't afraid – he didn't care – but his body cried out at each cut, much to his own displeasure. No wonder he wasn't the leading L successor. Even though he could mentally block the sensations, his body itself ended up betraying him.
He was bent over his abused arm, rivulets of blood streaking down its length, pooling in his palm. His arm looked so pale, so lifeless. He knew that his entire body looked that way, but in this moment, the site of his self-inflicted pain looked the most deathly. Angry red lines puckered up, still crying for him. He moved the razorblade down another inch, drawing a fourth line to accompany the others. "Mother… father… brother… sister…" he murmured to himself, watching his life source spend away. With a sick fascination, he drew his pinky along each cut, squeezing the skin together and apart. More crimson tears. He withdrew his finger and looked vacantly at the blood collected at its tip. 'Those who hate me. Those who wish this blood would never stop flowing. Never stop crying.' He inclined his head and gave an experimental lick. Bitter. Coppery. Pain-laced emerald eyes flickered back to his arm. Rust colored scabs had started to cake around each cut, only emphasizing the pallor of his skin. 'So easily spent… so fragile…'
They wouldn't care if he died. The proud Amelia, his mother. Distant and cold. The stony Xavier, his father. More content to watch things from afar, keep from getting involved. Always inclined to do nothing. The arrogant Anton, his brother. Competitive and determined, less playful then cruel in his own games. Worst of all… Amber, the elder sister. The haughty bitch who had tried numerously to end his own existence herself. So why…? 'Why should it matter? Clearly I don't.' A cut for four of the five family members who hated him. But were they truly the only ones?
The blade crashed down again, slicing deeper than the others. A ragged cry tore from his throat – he hadn't expected to go so far. Vertical, crossing the first cut. 'Near.' He hissed mentally. 'Near… he's partially responsible for this. He's the root of the problem. He's the reason….' A single true tear leaked down his cheek. Near. The obsession, the competition. The goal. The only thing Mello could see. 'Why he could never see me…' "Mello…" he choked, lifting the blade again. "Why did you leave me here alone? Why did you… I lov-" The second vertical line, white hot like the first. "Mello, Mello, Mello…"
Four bloody crosses.
One fallen, one lost. One living, one dying.
L, Mello, Near, and he himself, Matt.
Forsaken again.