Every night. Every night he would cry silent tears, small droplets of silver falling quietly down his tanned skin.
No one would know of his pain, the pain of being rejected, of being beaten, of being a monster.
Every night he would pour out his heart to the only thing that would listen; a leather bound note book that sat in the top draw of his deask. He would write his darkest feares of being locked up, the pain of not having anywhere to belong, long into the night, the silver moonlight shining on his orange locks.
Others may say it's not right for a man to have a diary, but for Kyo it was the only thing keeping him from the brink of madness, the only thing that seemed to care for him, his only friend and compainion. As he wrote, his tears would fall, releaving him of just a small amount of the pain and pressure. It wasn't much, but it helped, helped him seem normal and in controle, partly, infront of his 'family'.
He hated having to do this every night, feeling weak, but he couldn't help it, he couldn't stop it at the consequence of going completley mad and depressed. But every night he would have to crawl out of the wollow of drepression after he wrote, after he cried, after he died a little inside once again.
Once he finished writing, he would crawl into bed, and dream dreams of nothing but blackness, emptiness and lonelyness. And in the morning, as he watched the sun rise, he piece himself together again from the night of breaking and he would carry on his life, having no one know how broken inside he really was, having no one know how much help he needed.
And one day, after graduation, he would dissapear and no one would notice or care. Because nobody knows that he's still there.