I tell myself I don't need to be fixed but the words bounce off the walls I built around myself. They fly right back into me, pushing me around until I'm knocked off my feet. They leave bruises up and down my arms and sides, black, purple, yellow and green. Colouring my own body with my own shame and pain. Like a self-tormenting painter and his own canvas.

The bus is about to arrive at my house and I prepare myself to get off. I'm tired and broken and I just want to get away from all these familiar faces before I break down and start crying. Everything moves by me and I hardly notice, as if I'm stuck in the middle of the road but the traffic keeps rushing over and around me, a blur of lights and time slips through the cracks of my mind like sand.

The bus finally stops. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hinata, okay? Stay strong." Kiba encourages, his smile beamed up at me and I couldn't help the strange small smile that crawled over my lips.

"Thank you, Kiba. See you." My voice is quiet and polite, words tumbling out of my mouth automatically. I don't want him to see me weak, I won't let him see me breakdown. He deserves better than that.

I enter my house and take a look around. The rooms are empty and cold, no family pictures on the wall or the warmness of hearing a mother in a kitchen or children running around. Despite this, my house was very professional, extravagant. My fathers expensive taste hung around the room in pricey paintings and stiff looking furniture. Ever since mom had died, a family room had become a foreign concept in my fathers designing plan. My house is very large for only 4 people living in it, my sister Hanabi, my father, myself and Neji, my cousin. There was a small apartment in this house that Neji resided in, and although I know he tries to involve himself in our lives, he usually cuts himself off and hides in there. This makes my home even more lonely, since Father is usually at the office and my sister is off being a social butterfly or at one of her many sports or other events. That usually leaves the house to myself, which I don't really mind at the moment. Being alone meant not being bothered.

I dragged myself up the stairs and to the left of the house into my bedroom. Sighing, I collapsed onto the bed, and as I let my complications and pain bubble onto the surface I started to drown in them.

Broken images and memories of laughing and smiling swam around in my mind. A boys deep throaty laugh, my cheeks heating up to the point I thought I would combust, playful eskimo kisses, more serious deep kisses. Touching, moving, all to our own melody. No more restricted feelings, no more hesitating.

As the intimate recollections crept in, a black hole opened up in my chest, making it hard to breath and keep control. I cringed and folded into myself, wishing these feelings would go away. Wishing happiness didn't float around and be swept away so easily. I felt so lost and lonely. And I missed him, a lot.

And I knew the most pathetic part of it was that he probably didn't miss me at all. That he stole every part of me that made me, my innocence, my pride and my heart. He stole everything with a mischievous smirk and he played the game so well.

I cried for this boy a lot, and I knew for a fact he didn't even look my way at all anymore.

I was spiralling into some sort torrent of hurt feelings and anger and sadness. And I felt so helpless.

Everything once again blurred around me and before I knew it, in precise movement I had flipped onto my side and ripped open my night stand drawer. I brought out a small box decorated in flowers and opened it carefully.

Inside was a razor, shining and gleaming at me, beckoning me for it. It whispered and drowned every coherent and non coherent thought I had, leaving me in some sort of tranquil state. I inspected my own arms and traced my fingers over the bright white scars. I thought for a long time, of the pain, of everything terrible that happened to me and I knew I needed some sort of release. That a couple good cuts would sever these chains and I would feel in control again. I lifted my shirt then, looking at the word carved into my own body which had now faded into another scar.

Empty.

"Hinata! I'm home!" A door slammed shut and my sisters voice floated up the stairs. I snapped out of my state and hastily ripped my shirt down.

"Okay! Do you want me to cook supper?" I was surprised at how steady my voice was. Practicing to be perfect made you perfect and pretending to be perfect I guess.

"Yeah sure!"

I shut the box and put it back in my drawer and shut it violently.

I would not cut, because somewhere in the back of my mind, at least I hoped, I knew it was not worth it. He was not worth it.