Warnings: Mature content involving suicidal attempts, self-harm, strong language, and eating disorders. These things are very explicit and the story has been rated accordingly.
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE READING: Somewhere in the story there's a line that says "I'm not a fucking fag." Do not in any way think I'm making fun of gay people! I have nothing against homosexuality, a few of my best friends and family members are gay and I believe there's NOTHING WRONG WITH IT! It was simply put in there to emphasize bullying effects, because as shameful as it is, it does happen.
The cold edge of the sharp razor blade lacerated smooth, alabaster skin and crimson droplets began to pool in the shallow cut.
Not enough.
The blonde haired, blue eyed adolescent brought the razor once more to the wounded flesh and quickly carved deeper into the inflamed skin.
The cut was deep and he knew it. Liquid of life cascaded down his arm and onto the smooth white tile – staining the purity with his sin.
It hurt. Pain rushed to the inflamed area. His eyes slammed tight in discomfort, but it was worth it. The endorphins were rushing through his system and the physical pain began to swallow the emotional scars nipping at his subconscious. It hurt, butitfeltsogoddamngood!
He sighed in contentment. The pain was temporarily gone, replaced with a high. He was soaring on ecstasy.
Somewhere his name was being called – he paid little attention. The sound bounced off his ear drums, but did he care? Fuck no.
He stared down at the liquid strawberry pooled on the floor. This is your fault. He sneered to the voice calling his name. Your fault…your fault…your…fault…
The cut was deep.
Deeper than he had ever dared to cut before.
I don't fucking care!
F
A
L
L
I
N
G
His consciousness was slipping.
Awake. And he was floating on the verge of reality and dreams.
He wanted to submit to the black waves threatening to overtake him, but he wanted to fight. He never had the will before, but there was power in loss. He was losing himself, losing his sanity, losing his identity. Who was he anymore?
Footsteps echoed up the stairs. Not today.
He wouldn't succumb today, he wouldn't let go of anything. Instead he would hold on. He would continue in the hopes of things getting better. As much as he wanted to go, there was always that little annoying fucker called hope.
"Roxas?" The most familiar voice in the world called.
Roxas cursed under his breath and adrenaline pulsed through his system. He couldn't be caught. Doing the only thing that came to mind, he grabbed the little glass bowl that rested on the sink counter-top that contained small amounts of potpourri and smashed it against the floor. It shattered into a million small fragments, like little diamonds on the ivory tile. Eyeing the perfect shard, he flung himself onto the ground and gingerly placed the fragment in the cut to make it look as though the glass was the perpetrator of his wound. The razor had long since been laid out of sight.
"God dammit!" Roxas cried loudly, very convincingly.
The bathroom door flung open to reveal the, very sweaty, twin of Roxas, mouth agape and eyes wide in surprise. "Holy shit! Roxas, are you okay?"
The identical ocean eyes bore into Roxas', nothing but concern plastered on his face. "Just peachy!" Roxas replied sarcastically.
"We have to get you to a hospital," Sora said, instinct kicking in and knocking his happy-go-lucky attitude right out of the ball park.
"Bro, I'm fine. I'll just clean the wound and be done with it. No big deal." Roxas shrugged his shoulders, playing his nonchalant part very accordingly.
"Do you see how much you're bleeding? Roxas, this is serious. The cut is deep and it could get infected - it'll probably need stitches."
Roxas rolled his eyes. "Don't you think you're overreacting? Really, it's not all that bad; I'll just wash it off and put some ointment on it."
Sora wasn't so easily convinced. "Roxas, who is the older twin by two minutes? Two glorious minutes of seniority?" Sora asked with an edge of his humorous personality returning.
"Me!" Roxas cried, eyeing his younger brother, checking to see if there were any visible head injuries.
"Oh..umm…yeah…but it's only two minutes so who really gives a cares! I'm taking you to the hospital!"
"But-"
"Nope, don't give a shit," Sora intercepted, scooping the elder by two minutes up in his arms.
"Sora, I can walk."
"I'm not letting you walk with the condition you're in!"
"It's just my arm that's bleeding, and anyway, you're all sweaty!"
"Struggle will do that to you."
Their conversation was normal. The bickering was comical. The picture was perfect. Roxas was shattered.
He lied to the person closest to him in the world. Just a little fib.
He had to be more careful of his timing. I'm just stupid.
He thought he would have the house to himself that day. You just can't trust anyone…
The taunts grew harsher. It's not just a phase. He liked black. So fucking what? He was called gay. I'm not a fucking fag!
He was called fat.
He got home that day, his forearm just begging to be sliced.
The stitches were fresh from his visit from the hospital and the flesh still inflamed. As much as he hated to admit it, Sora probably saved his life that day. Damn bastard. Did the son of a bitch ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, he didn't want to go on?
He was home alone once more. His father and mother out at work and his brother at struggle practice. The house was his. The damn bastard he once shared a body with better not show up unannounced.
He found himself standing in front of the ever familiar bathroom mirror, eyes raking over his short physique. Fat? What were these people talking about?
He raised his shirt over his head and stared at his body. It was slender, practically no fat rested upon his bones. Fat? But then he began to see it. How had he never noticed the small buildup on his hips? Or the small protruding belly? I'm disgusting.
Without even thinking he raised the lid up on the toilet and pushed his two front fingers so far down his throat he began to gag, and soon, the stench of acid and food filled the room.
They're right.
"Roxas! What the fuck is going on with you?" Sora stood in the doorway, only this time dressed in pure white.
"What- what are you doing here?" Roxas breathed out, his voice still heavy from the activity of purging.
"Practice cancelled. Roxas, what are you doing?" Sora crouched down and took Roxas' face in his hands, forcing the sibling to look at him.
"Got sick," was all Roxas could reply, "Don't eat the school's meatloaf," Roxas joked.
It was painfully obvious in Sora's glare that Roxas wasn't believed in the slightest. "Roxas, what's going on with you? You haven't been yourself lately, and you're concerning me. You're my best friend, my brother, you can tell me anything."
He thought about it for a split second. He thought about telling everything. He could tell Sora and be sent away to an institution for help. To be examined by aliens in white robes and have his mind probed like the insect they saw him as. "None of your damn business."
Ten pounds fleeted from his body. Ten pounds that he couldn't afford to lose. His bones were protruding from his ribcage and hips, but he only saw fat piling on his body. He was obese. He was disgusting.
Shoving his fingers down his throat became as often an occurrence as crimson flowing down his arms.
Everything was just perfect.
Fag. Stick. Beached whale. Emo.
Why don't you go fucking kill yourself?
Kill…yourself…
Why didn't he?
I have no idea.
There were at least twenty pills lying in his open palm. He wasn't sure what type they were, but if it was strong enough to have to be kept in a lock box under his father's bed then it was sure to serve its purpose.
The glass of water was sure to do its job to quench his thirst, taking life with it.
His arms were already streaming crimson, this time dripping onto the carpet as to leave a permanent stain; even when he was gone, he would forever have a piece of him still in this world.
He was home alone once more and he was absolutely sure that Sora wouldn't barge in on him this time…
Sora.
Sora.
"Sora!" Roxas shouted when his twin appeared out of thin air, grabbed his wrist and spilt the pills onto the floor.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing!" Sora demanded.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Roxas called.
"Don't you dare talk that way to your father!" A new voice entered the room: His mother. Why was she here? And why was she calling Sora…father…
Roxas could feel himself slipping from the cuts on his arms. He looked down and where Sora's hand was once clasped around his wrist to find it gone – to find the room void of Sora.
"Sora?" Roxas asked confused and glanced around frantically, his cuts long forgotten.
His mother and father could only stare at him with masks of horror on their face.
"Roxas, honey," his mother said softly, "Sora's been dead for seven years."
"So, Roxas, are you willing to talk more today?" The alien in the white robe asked (probed) him.
Roxas clamped his mouth shut. The psychiatrist scribbled down some notes on her notepad.
"It's okay," she said soothingly. I fucking hate you. "I can't force you to talk. But it would help me to help you if you would," she said sweetly. She sighed when he refused.
Even though he hadn't uttered a single word to her about his problems, it was fairly easy for her to diagnose him. The scars were evidence of self-mutilation, his bony physique gave suspicion to an eating disorder, he had been caught red handed in attempt of suicide, and, from the parent's information, he suffered a form of schizophrenia.
It had all been explained to him once he was locked away into a mental institution on Destiny Islands. His parents believed the calm ocean and sandy beaches would help settle his frazzled mind. Yeah fucking right.
Sora died seven years beforehand in a car accident. His mind brushed aside that fact and created a false Sora to help him cope with the depression he was suffering. Sora was his rock and, with their help, they could make Sora go away forever and let Roxas live his life normally.
But Roxas knew better.
He glanced over to Sora, who was sitting beside him in all his spiky haired glory; a goofy grin plastered to his face.
Sora had flesh and blood, as much as he did.
Roxas knew better.
Sora would always be there with a razor blade clutched in his fist.
This story, minus the whole Sora subplot, is an entirely true one that I felt I needed to write to get off my chest.
Four years ago I went through the exact same thing. Roxas is me, only in a male version of me, and I didn't form schizophrenia – that was something I added.
I don't want anyone to go through what I did. No one deserves to live their life that way. I know at times things may seem tough, and you may want to give in, but I didn't, and I'm happier today than I have been in my entire life! I'm depression free and cutting free. Bulimia is something that I struggled with for a long time and it will take a long time to fully recover from it. I'm not proud of the things I've done and I'd take it all back if I could. I lost nearly 30 pounds at the peak of bulimia, 30 pounds which I couldn't afford to lose. Sure, I now have a body that some people envy, but in all honesty, I hate it. I hate how I got this body. I'm skinny and I wish I wasn't because of how I got this way. If you have curves, LOVE THEM! I wish I was curvy, I really do! And never doubt the fact that, girls, you're beautiful! And guys, you're handsome as fuck!
And if you EVER feel in the SLIGHTEST bit down then talk to someone! Talk to me even, I know sometimes it's easier to talk to a total stranger than it is your best friend. Really, just a private message saying 'I need to talk' or something along the lines of that and I'll reply to you within the next 2 hours or so! I'm always willing to listen to anyone.
I'm not trying to get sympathy from this story, I just want to get it out there, and I thought 'what better way to do it than by doing my favorite thing of writing, and in my favorite fandom of kingdom hearts.'
Please Review! It'd mean the world to me!
~Libby.