Random Angst. For the win. Don't worry, Helping Me is under construction. I promise. I just want to write this now.
999blee999
Soul grunted as the early morning light hit his face though his curtains. Damn, had he forgotten to close them again? Rolling over, he jerked them shut, his blanket falling off the bed in the process. The cold air hit him sharply, making goosebumps erupt across his lithe body. Instinctively, he curled into a tight ball, shivering. When it proved to be no good, he sat up and rubbed his arms. Reaching down, he grabbed the jeans he had left on the floor the previous night. Ignoring a shirt, he walked out into the kitchen of his and Maka's apartment.
At first, he wondered, half asleep, where the meister was. Then he remembered. She was out still. With him. Soul wouldn't even say the bastard's name. What made his blood boil was that she hadn't even come home. A sudden pain wrenched his heart. He was her best friend, her confidante, her- no. That wasn't right. He was her weapon. Her tool. What the hell did he deserve from her? Certainly not her affections or attentions.
"I am nothing more than a piece of equipment to her," the truth was bitter, stinging, "I don't even deserve to be treated as a human being to her."
He looked over to a table set up next the door. On it was a picture of him and Maka, back when they used to spend time together. Before him. Soul picked up the frame, staring at the almost unfamiliar face of his meister. He carried it to the kitchen, musing all the while. She didn't care anymore. He could probably die and she wouldn't care.
A grin twisted itself across his face, his features curling into a sick semblance of their normal 'cool'. Why couldn't he? Test her? It would be all too fun. He looked at the picture of her, sitting innocently on the counter where he had set it. Her charming smile, teasing, taunting him with something he could never have. Were weapons supposed to have feelings? He was, after all, really only a piece of sharp metal with a human form.
Tears leapt unbidden to his crimson eyes. He hadn't felt this unwanted in so long, so much a third wheel was he now. He gripped the beautiful frame so hard he could hear it start to crack. With a quick flick of his wrist, he had shattered it against the wall. Crying freely, he walked over to it and picked the picture out from under the splintered remains of the wood and glass. His gaze trailed up to the collection of knives he had bought Maka when he was trying to teach her to cook…
"AH! Soul, its on fire! What do I do?!"
He shook his head to clear the unwanted memories, and drew what he knew was the sharpest of them. He slowly sank to the floor, staring at his reflection in the silver blade of the knife. The twisted grin came back, though he still cried. Oh, if Maka couldn't stand to look at one scar on him, how would she feel after two? He slashed his arm as he thought it, the blade slicing deeper than most cutters dared to go. Blood poured from the wound, coating his legs and the floor. .
Three? Slash.
Four? Slash.
FiveSixSevenEight? SlashSlashSlashSlash.
Uh oh. He'd only been cutting one arm. Better do the other, otherwise Kid would freak. They weren't symmetrical. A crazed giggle escaped his lips as he evened out his work. Blood had already spattered across part of his photograph and was spreading into a crimson puddle around him. Never mind that his pants were soaked through, never mind he couldn't feel his little finger on his left hand. He heard a door distantly slam, and somehow he knew it was Maka, entering the ground floor door to the apartment building.
He swiped his arm across the right side of his face, smearing his normally snowy hair crimson, relishing the metallic taste of his own blood on his lips, the flavor enhanced by his naturally metallic being.
Steps on the stairs. Only one person.
Blood on his lips.
A giggle escaped his lips again as he heard a key jangle in the lock. His head was fuzzy now. His vision blurring. He had really cut deep, hadn't he? Oh well, he wasn't scared. He just hoped he could stay conscious long enough to see her face.
The door opened, creaked slightly, oops, he was supposed to have oiled that a week ago. Maybe she could do it with all the blood on the floor. Get some use out of it, seeing as he didn't want it anymore.
"Soul? Are you awake?"
He giggled again in response. He could hear her footsteps in the living room. She was looking for him. He couldn't wait for her to see his surprise. Too bad, though, she couldn't give it back if she didn't like it. He giggled once more.
"Soul? What are you doing? Why-" she had come into the kitchen, "SOUL?!"
"What's the matter, Maka-chan?" he rasped, his breathe coming in short gasps, "I thought you loved the color red."
"Soul?! What did you do?" she fell to her knees beside him, ignoring the blood staining her clothes and skin, "What-"
"This is for you, Maka."
"What? Soul, why would you-"
"BECAUSE OF YOU!" he roared, despite his breathlessness, "Because, -he began sobbing- because. Because I couldn't make you."
"Make me what, Soul?" she tried to get up, to try to staunch the blood pouring from his arms, but he yanked her back down.
"What am I to you, Maka Albarn? A friend? A tool? What?"
"You're my partner, Soul."
"You mean your tool."
"Don't-"
"Don't what?" his sentences were harder to force past his iron flavored lips now, "Don't say that I'm nothing but a tool who is blessed to have a human form? Don't…don't make me laugh. I did this for you, Maka. Because, I couldn't make you, no matter how much I wanted it, no matter how much I tried. I couldn't."
"You couldn't what, Soul?"
"I couldn't make…you… I couldn't make you love me."
999blee999
RAGH! I am so angsty right now! Next chapter!
