He liked it, the pain that coursed through his veins that one time he accidentally slit his wrist. The vibrant haired boy had been chopping carrots for his little sister, and accidentally hit his wrist, since his eyes gazed up from them, a little dab soon becoming more, splashing against the vegetables he liked himself.

His little sister cried out in shock, covering her mouth with her hands, soft eyes wide in horror. He hadn't even noticed that he was losing blood until he felt a strong hand's fingers wrap around his wrist, forcing him to face his father.

"Come," he said with a stern voice, a tone he usually never used.

Nodding slowly with a quirked brow, he had followed the dark haired man into his caring room, hospital room where he treated patients, bandaging his son's slit wrist.

"Pay more attention," he sighed.

The orange haired boy nodded slowly, yet a voice inside his head only cackled at the thought of this youth ever being careful.

Those brown eyes opened slowly, groaning as he rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand, sitting up with a grunt. "Haven't had that dream in a long time," he sighed, looking down on his left wrist. "It's been so long..."

Yet the feeling of pain resurfaced, pleasurable pain. Shuddering, he almost moaned, feeling so good. Turning and placing his bare feet on the ground, he bit his lower lip, resisting the urge to do it again. After all those years. He didn't know what made him drift off, but the voice that came at times kept telling him he missed the pain so much, a little tiny voice in the back of his mind.

Walking down the stairs, his ears perked up, making sure no one was awake.

Reaching the kitchen, he walked over to the sharp knives' drawer, pulling it out slowly with half-lidded eyes. The lust for the pleasure to return was so overpowering and reassuring, telling him it was all right. Lifting his left hand slowly, he reached in, pulling out the sharpest one he could see, yanking it out and hovering it over his left wrist, more accurately than the mistake so long ago. Five years ago.

"And now the urge is back," he muttered, a grin slowly placing itself on his handsome lightly tanned face, "I want it so bad..."

In one swift movement, he bit his lower lip, blood oozing out of the wound and down his arm, a sick grin growing on his normally sane face. Placing it there again, he sliced, slashed, and even cut over some again, until his knees were shaking, a pool of blood almost forming below him.

It feels so good... he thought, hoisting his arm up and sticking his pink tongue out, licking at the thick liquid, the bittersweet taste of metallic and salt indulging his senses, making him shudder in sick amazement. Tastes...great...

His eyes slowly shut, dropping the knife as he fell to the opposite side, laying in the blood as he placed the left arm out, his right hand covering the cuts, arms trembling as his grin twitched, laughing softly.

I've never felt anything like it, feels so...awesome...

Footsteps rushed down the stairs after the thud of his light body, lifting his head with hazy eyes to see his dark haired sister stare at him with wide eyes at the end of the stairs, mouth covered by her left hand, tears brimming her eyes as they darted from him to the kitchen knife, then to him again, repeated until the tears fell down her usually unexpressive face, falling to her knees while screaming.

"K-Karin..." he gasped out before his world went black.

XXXX

"You've gotta be kiddin' me!" an albino shouted, crossing his arms at a woman with orange hair, boobs gigantic as she nodded, placing a hand on the boy's back and pushing him into the facility. "Hell no! I ain't goin' in there! Take me back home, Rangiku, you bitch!!"

His eyes were golden and the background was a black abyss. Not normal at all, but what was more awkward was his tongue. Dark neon blue. Almost navy.

A dark Mustang pulled up after them, the white haired boy turning to see a boy with vibrant orange hair open the passenger door, stepping out with his left wrist bandaged to half of his forearm.

Another cutter, eh? he thought with a smirk, black sunglasses hiding his eyes. Seems like he's addicted t' it.

Rangiku watched the lightly tanned teenager pull a duffel bag and backpack out of the car, turning while waving to two girls and a man with dark hair, not bothering to look at them as he frowned, walking toward the place, yet stopped once he was beside the albino.

Wearing a baggy dark blue shirt that said zero-one-five, sagging black pants, dirty sneakers. A spiked wristband around his left bandaged wrist. The white haired boy on the other hand was wearing a simple shirt with a demon skull on it that said 'fuck you' underneath it that had seemed to be written by the snow white haired teenager, denim pants that were rimmed with orange, a chain hanging on the left side of his hip, black and white buckle sagging from its post. Both of his wrists bandaged.

"Hichigo, don't stare!" the woman scolded, offering a hand to the vibrant haired boy. "I'm Rangiku, this is Hichigo Shirosaki."

The snow white haired teenager shifted his black bag on his right shoulder, snarling.

The lightly tanned boy took her hand, shaking it with a nod. "Ichigo Kurosaki."

"I see..." the woman said with narrowed eyes, a firm grip on Ichigo's left hand, turning it so she could see his whole wrist, eyes slowly edging towards Hichigo's. "...you're a cutter too, aren't you?"

"Yeah, unfortunately, and that's the reason I'm here..." he said with a frown, pulling his hand away as Rangiku turned, walking away, but offered both teenaged boys a warm smile before leaving. When she disappeared, Ichigo looked at the white toned Shirosaki. "You're a cutter as well?"

"Tch, yeah," he frowned, looking up at the old place that looked like a school. "Bitch wanted t' send me here...said I had a problem."

Ichigo chuckled a little at this, walking towards the building with anger slowly raising within the bellows of his stomach. It wasn't his fault he wanted the pleasuring pain to linger around longer. It felt too good to let go and before he knew it, he was addicted.

"So...what's your story?" the albino asked, taking long strides as the orange haired Kurosaki grumbled, his brown eyes narrowing at his new home until he was 'well'.

"I accidentally cut myself five years ago while chopping some carrots for my little sister," the boy sighed, slumping his shoulders as they approached the entrance, "the pain felt so good...that a few months ago, I did it again, and continued. I was hooked, felt too good to let go. My grades slipped and my psycho father thought it would be wise to send me here, you?"

"Heh...I got tired of fightin', because everyone was afraid of me," he smirked, grasping the handle to the treatment center, pulling it open with a sickening laugh, "I wanted pain, and lots of it. So I began slittin' my wrists, so much that I was so close to dyin' from blood loss, but I'm still alive. It felt like I was in heaven, the pain made me feel alive, and felt like I was in hell because it stung like a bitch."

Both looked up to see a man with a green and white striped hat walk over, bright blond hair, and wearing a green trench, kimono underneath, and fanning himself with a paper fan.

"Ah...you must be the new guys," he piped up happily as a teenager walked up behind him, red hair and narrowed reddish-brown eyes, his long crimson mane tied behind his head in a ponytail. "This is Abarai-kun, he'll be your guide, and I must go take your registration papers to the headmaster." Both quirked their brows, yet handed him the papers and off he went, leaving the two with the frowning Abarai.

Yet both were thinking across the same lines. Shit...

---

Summary- He wanted to relish in the pain once more, although the first time was an accident. His occasional cutting sessions became an obsession, and so his father sent him to a place that will 'treat' his obsession and make him 'well' once more. Wrong, he only sent him there so his sisters won't see anymore horror in the blood he sheds from himself.

Does cutting go under horror?