Drowning in Deception

The holidays are coming around, and it's all but pleasant for a certain blonde. When his little secret is accidentally discovered by his good friend, Dark, it seems the whole turns against him.

Chapter 4

...

Krad sat, as bored as ever in the tiny office. He was a tad bit uncomfortable, though it was anger that served as his more prominent emotion. He tapped the tip of his pencil on the sketchbook he held in his lap, unable to draw. Four hours of it, already, was more than enough.

The boy groaned and shifted positions, laying the pencil down. This…sucked. He closed his eyes, wearily, and decided that as long as he still had a few hours before his appointment, why not sleep a bit? That would certainly make up for all those hours he had spent fretting, last night.

Kei had been very unpleased, to say the least, when he heard of his son. At first he thought it might have just been a joke, and he had decided to finish the meeting. But then the anxiety came…he left, early, and was at Dark's house right around nine o'clock; even the predicted blizzard hadn't been enough to stop him. Few words were spoken; Kei had come in, gave Krad a dirty look.

"Let me see," he said.

Krad looked at his father for a moment before releasing a scowl; furiously, then, he drew up both his sleeves and presented his scarred arms to his father.

Kei's nostrils had flared, and he glared at his eldest son. He reached out a hand and, gripping him by the wrist, tugged him from his seat on the couch. "Let's go."

Kei slipped through the door, though Krad lingered for just a moment. The blonde tossed a quick look to Dark, though the friend wouldn't meet his gaze. Krad couldn't help but feel guilty as he closed the door behind him.

In the car, no words had been spoken. When they reached their own house, still no words. Krad had darted upstairs and slipped into his pajamas. He turned off the light and prepared to close his door (as he always did before sleeping) when his father appeared in the doorway.

"Don't close your door."

Krad raised a brow. "Why not?"

"I don't trust you. It will stay open, from now on."

The blonde rolled his eyes and stormed over to his bed, dropping atop the mattress, angrily.

"Make sure you're up by eight," Kei said.

"Why? There's no school tomorrow."

Kei said only, "You've got an appointment tomorrow."

And, so, here he was. And here he had been since nine this morning.

Krad, at his father bidding, grudgingly awoke at eight. Krad had decided that he wasn't even going to bother setting his alarm clock; to hell with an appointment—he didn't care.

Kei, of course, had other plans, and woke the blonde up, himself. Angrily, Krad had asked, "Where are we going?"

"I've hired a psychiatrist. Make sure you bring something to keep yourself busy; you'll be there all day"

Krad raised a brow. "What?"

His father shook his head. "I can't leave you alone, so I'm having you stay there. There's a woman there that'll keep an eye on you until I can come pick you up at six."

Krad let out a silent groan. "And when is my appointment?"

"Four."

The blonde's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to be there for nine hours?"

"If that's what it takes, then yes. I've also scheduled you an appointment every day after school at four for the next two weeks. Saturday's will be like this, and Sunday's you'll have to come to work with me."

"Dad!"

Kei growled. "What?"

"Why? I don't need someone to baby-sit me!"

"Well I think you do, because clearly you're not responsible enough to take care of yourself."

"Yeah, well, there have been times when you've failed to take care of me! If I'm wrong, wasn't there a certain incident a few years back? Right before mom died?"

"Krad, shut up!"

Kei stormed out of his son's room, and Krad was left alone. He rolled his eyes and changed. At eight thirty, his father returned. "You're ready?"

"Yeah, yeah."

On their way out, Krad grabbed a few pencils and a sketchbook.

The car ride had been almost as silent as the one from the night before, and Krad felt an urge to break the silence..."What about Satoshi?"

"Satoshi is fine on his own."

"I'm not going with you."

Kei's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

Kei turned into a parking lot and parked the car in front of a building.

"I'm. Not. Going. What do you think I'm going to do, cut myself all day long? That's ridiculous."

Kei glared at his son. "I'll be late for my meeting if we take any longer."

Angrily, Krad shot up out of the car seat and slammed the car door behind him. He could feel his father's gaze on him even as he entered the building. Krad couldn't help but slam the door shut behind him. A girl squeaked from the front desk, shocked by the noise.

"I'm sorry," Krad said, hastily, as the girl calmed herself down.

The girl gave a nod. "Oh, it's okay. You're here for an appointment…?"

"Yes."

"What's your name?"

"Krad Hikari begin_of_the_skype_highlightingend_of_the_skype_highlighting."

The woman's eyes rolled over a schedule, and hesitantly, she said, "Er…Sir, you appointment isn't until four."

"I know."

"Oh…did you need something, then? To reschedule?"

"No."

The girl was clearly confused. "Then…why are you here so early?"

"My father doesn't think I'm trustworthy enough to stay home by myself."

The girl shifted a bit behind the counter. "Oh, well if that's the case, the waiting room his right over there." She pointed towards a heavy wooden door. "Right through there."

Krad gave a nod and walked, boredly, though the door. Inside the room were four chairs, a small desk, and a clock. There wasn't a window, Krad noted dully, only walls with a peculiar spatter design. He took a seat and let out a sigh before flipping open his sketchbook.

Krad looked up at the clock, releasing a yawn as he rubbed his eyes. He stretched a bit in his seat, standing for a moment to ease his sore back.

He looked at the clock again.

It was still three thirty.

The blonde sank back down into his seat, huffily, and reached for his pencil, very unhappy to find that there wasn't a bit of a tip, left. He shoved it back into his pocket, and boredly opened the book, flipping through the pictures.

Today, he had managed to draw several images: A layout of the room, the face of a woman he couldn't name, his house, Dark.

Krad snapped the thing closed. Rage bubbled in his blood and he set the book down on the ground before reaching over to pick up a novel that had been carelessly discarded. He had no idea what the title was, or what the novel was about, but he managed to make it nearly halfway through the book when a woman from a door different than that which he had entered from opened. An older woman stepped out of the door and into the room with a small smile on her face. "Are you Krad?"

The blonde nodded.

"All right. It's four. Would you like to come in?"

Krad looked at the woman for a long moment, unsettled by her grin, before he shrugged and picked up his sketchbook, rising from the seat. He set the book down carefully on the table before following the woman into her office.

She took a seat behind a desk, gesturing for Krad to relax himself on a sofa. The teenager did so, crossing his arms and resting them above his knees as he watched the woman scribble something down on a sheet of paper. She looked up. "Do you know why you're here?"

Krad rolled his eyes. "No," he said, unable to refrain from his sarcastic nature.

"You're father said you have an obsession with cutting yourself."

"No, I don't."

The woman frowned. "Would you mind showing me your arms?"

"Yes, in fact," Krad said, slightly agitated, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"But, dear, why won't you show me your arms if you don't have an obsession with cutting? If that's the case, you surely wouldn't have any marks, so what's wrong?"

"I didn't say I didn't cut myself, I said I don't have an obsession. It's not like I run home and cut myself every night."

The woman nodded. "I understand. May I see your arms?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Krad raised a brow. "What are you supposed to be doing? Messing with my mind, right? What does seeing my arms have to do with anything?"

"It's important," the woman urged.

Krad rolled his eyes and jerked up his sleeves, "Here, then, if it's so important."

The woman looked over his arms for a moment, nodded, then scribbled some more things down. "Thank you."

Krad drew his sleeves back down. It was silent for a moment as the woman finished writing, then raised her gaze to look Krad in the eyes.

"What?" The blonde couldn't help but growl.

"Would you like to talk?"

"No."

"Won't you, please? Tell me about yourself."

Krad sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, why don't we start with your family and friends? Tell me about them."

The blonde snorted. "My mother's dead, my little brother's a know it all, and my father's always busy with work. Right now, my best friend isn't interested in even looking at me."

The woman gave a sympathetic smile that made Krad even more upset than he had been, earlier. "I see," she said in her sugar-sweet voice, "How did your mother pass away?"

"Car accident."

"Tell me about your brother."

Krad was bored again. Eventually, everything always let up to his perfect little brother. "Satoshi. He's fourteen years old, finished university, already, and still goes to high school. He's a prodigy, great at everything—music, art, school."

"You sound jealous."

Krad shook his head. "No. Irritated."

"And why is that?"

Krad looked up, spitefully. "Because I don't want to be here, and because I've had to sit out in the waiting room for the past seven hours because my father doesn't trust me home alone."

The woman tapped her pen against the wooden desk. "Tell me, Krad, do you consider yourself to be a good kid?"

The male paused for a moment. "Sure. I listen to my father; I do my work. I get decent grades at school. I don't do anything…wrong."

"So why cut?"

The blonde groaned and leaned forward, resting his forehead in the palm of his hand. "Because it fascinates me."

"How is that? Do you like the pain?"

"It's not like that at all. This has nothing to do with the pain."

"Then why?"

Something snapped inside of Krad. "Because I can!" He shouted.

The woman was slightly startled. Krad continued after a pause, much calmer, "I have moments in my life where I feel like crap, sure. There are times when everything seems pointless, and when I think living is idiotic, but no. I don't cut myself then. That's not the case, anymore. Now I do it because it's become a game. The first time it happened? It was an accident. Back then, I used to do it just because I liked how it looked. Would you like to know why I continued to do it?"

The woman shook her head, and Krad gave a sad little laugh, "I wanted to see how long it would take someone to notice. Would you like to know how long?" he didn't wait for an answer, "It took eight years. Eight damn years."

He paused again before continuing. "My father is always at work. He hardly ever spends time with Satoshi and I. Satoshi, he takes out every now and then. Satoshi's the good son. Satoshi deserves to be rewarded, naturally, so he pampers my little brother. Constantly. He doesn't know how to act around me, so he showers all his love on Satoshi. We have dinner together, most nights. I don't think my father likes to see me, though. I've got my mother's face. Her eyes. Often when he looks at me, I can see the pain I bring him. I guess he only sees my mother when he looks at me. I don't remember much of my childhood. There are very little memories of her on my part. Satoshi's got her personality, I'm told. Maybe that's why my father prefers his company. I guess my father loves me, but the whole thing is such a burden, anyway."

Finally, the woman spoke. "I…see."

"Do you think I'm crazy for what I've said?" Krad asked, suddenly.

"Do you think you're crazy?"

Krad paused. "I'm not answering that."

The woman nodded, ferociously jotting down notes. Krad waited in silence until the woman spoke again. "What's that you've got with you? Do you draw?"

The blonde shrugged, "When I can."

"May I see?"

"Whatever." Krad rose from his seat, lazily, handing the woman the sketchbook. She flipped through it, her eyes tracing the images. She didn't hide her surprise, "These are good!" She flipped through a few more pictures then stopped at one in particular. She stared at this one for a long moment and then flipped the book to face Krad, so he could see the image. "Who is this one?"

Krad's eyes narrowed. "That would be Dark. The best friend I told you of. The best friend that betrayed me."

The woman set the sketchpad down. "Betrayed?"

"It's his fault I'm here. He ratted me out. And now he won't even look at me."

"But you're not glad he's trying to help you?"

"Help?" Krad sat up, leaning forward a bit. "What do I need help with?"

"For your cutting problem. So we can get you to quit."

"I don't need help. I don't have a problem!"

The woman shook her head. "Krad, cutting is a problem."

"But I haven't done that in months!"

"But I noticed a fresh cut on your arm."

"That was an accident," Krad hissed. True enough, though, it had been an accident.

"And the burn mark? Did you do that to yourself, too?"

"No."

"Well, who did? Does your father abuse you?"

"No! It was a damned accident! I went to get something out of the oven and my hand slipped."

"…Of course." The woman was writing again.

"…You don't believe me."

The woman raised a brow. "I never said that."

"But I can tell by the way you were just looking at me."

The female smiled. "It was lovely meeting you, Krad. I'll see you again on Monday."

Krad blinked. "What?"

"Our session is over. Here's your art book. I'm…going to prescribe you for a few medications. I've written the list down, here, so give it to your father."

Krad took his book and the list of paper the woman handed him, scanning over the names of the products. "What do I need medications for?"

"They'll help you with your problem."

"What problem? There's nothing wrong with me."

The woman stared for a long moment at Krad, and the male eventually sighed. His shoulders slumped a bit, from fatigue or surrender, neither knew. He muttered a small, "Thanks," as he left the office and sank back down into the chair he'd been in earlier.

The clock read ten after six, and so Krad tapped his foot boredly as he waited for his father to show up. He waited until six thirty. Until seven. Seven thirty flew by.

Kei had still not shown up. Come to think of it, no one else had, either. The blonde had been alone in this office all day, and not a single person had been in aside from himself.

Seven forty five rolled around, and the door in front of him opened. Out from her office came the middle-aged woman, patting down her braided brown hair. A look of surprise crossed her features as she glanced at Krad who sat, chin resting in his palm, cross-legged in one of the black chairs. "Didn't you want to go home?" She asked when the boy opened his eyes to look at her.

"I'm waiting," he offered.

"Waiting?"

"For my father."

"Oh. When is he supposed to come?" She asked, glancing up at the clock.

"He was supposed to be here at six," the blonde said, quietly.

"Then you're been here all day…?"

Krad nodded.

"…Good night, Krad."

"Goodnight."

She left, dusting herself off as she walked across the room and passed through the door leading to the front office. For fifteen more minutes did Krad wait before finally, at eight o clock, he finally gave up and rose from his chair. He picked up his belongings and stepped into the front office. For the second time that day, he startled the young woman working there.

"Oh!" She explained, "I didn't know anyone was still here!"

Krad shrugged. "Sorry. Goodnight."

He left the little building feeling very upset. He hadn't the slightest notion as to why Kei hadn't shown up, and for the longest time he feared that something might have happened to his father. He quickly got aboard the next bus heading towards his house, and rode as far as it would go, stopping only a few blocks away from his house.

He would have to walk the rest of the way, but Krad really didn't mind. Unfortunately, however, having not eaten all day left him slightly disoriented, so he stopped at a fast food restaurant before starting the trek home.

Fifteen minutes it took him, though when he arrived in his driveway, he'd almost wished it had taken twice as long. Kei's car was parked, as it always was, in the driveway. The trashcans had been set outside, and the mail taken in.

Curious, Krad discarded the trash left over from his meal and stepped inside his house. His father was reclining in the living room, reading the newspaper. The television was on, though it seemed that Kei was much more focused on the paper in his hands. He didn't look up at his son when he asked, "Why are you home so late?"

"Because you forgot to pick me up, I suppose."

Kei feigned no interest and the sarcasm was heavy in his voice. "Forgot? Did I?"

The blonde glared at his father for a long moment, before storming upstairs.

From below, Kei called, "We need to talk."

Krad rolled his eyes as he hastened up the stairs. Dropping into his room, the blonde selected a clean outfit and slipped into the bathroom, where he took a most relaxing shower. He dried his hair, brushed it, and slipped into his new clothes. From out of the pocket of his jacket, however, fell the tiny, crumpled paper that woman from earlier gave him. He leaned down and opened it, glaring at the paper.

That woman. That woman. What was her name, anyway? He'd never asked. He didn't supposed he really cared; he hadn't liked her at all.

Finally, he opened the door to the bathroom, startled to find his father standing right in front of him. "Let me see."

"See what?"

Kei frowned. "Let me see your arms."

Krad's face split into a scowl and he shoved past his father, pushing the paper into the other's hands. "There. She said to give that to you," he spat, disappearing into his room, where he threw his clothes into the laundry basket and slammed the door to his room shut behind him. He snapped off the lights and toppled atop his bed, burying his face in his pillows.

That night was the first time he'd cried—sobbed—since he found out his mother had died. Silent were his tears; he didn't know where he learned to cry without a voice. He fell asleep, only his sorrow at his side.