CHAPTER 6. ENJOY. THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR SUPPORT AND LOVE! IMPORTANT NOTICE BELOW.

TRIGGER WARNING: PLEASE READ FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY

This chapter contains graphic descriptions of self-harm, descriptions of blood, victim-blaming, graphic descriptions of rape, and (brief) suicidal thoughts/attempt

Please be careful.

"Where did I go wrong; I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life."
- How to Save a Life, The Fray

Hiro was drowning. The frigid waters swept over him, and he struggled to keep his head above the thrashing waves. His flesh stung from the bitter cold and his lungs crystallized. A glacier wormed its way around his heart. Oxygen was scarce. The tide rushed in, and savage currents took him prisoner. They dragged him far out to sea, until the coast was but a speck. He was useless to its gravitational pull. When he was brought under, he didn't resist. He didn't scream. Instead, he succumbed to the murky depths; its willing victim.

As the days passed, pretending got easier. Hiro became an expert at dodging questions and faking smiles. He kept everyone at arm's length, all for their benefit. He didn't want to subject them to his personal hell. For the most part, it worked. At school, he fed everyone around him some half-baked excuse as to why he looked so tired, and why he wasn't eating much, and they bought it. Yet, some were harder to convince than others. Among his friends, that person was Honey. Genial and discreet, the young woman was good at hiding her worry in well-crafted statements.

Hiro, you need to try this sandwich; it's so delicious. I'm gonna grab you one. Hang on.

I'm so exhausted, oh, my gosh. My biochem class is killing me. I hope you got a better night's sleep than I did.

It was a valiant effort, but Hiro knew all her tricks. He understood the fact that it was just because she cared. But when her obvious attempts at siphoning information from him got to be too much, Hiro shut down. Ignoring her was the only option he had, save for losing his temper and lashing out. That was something he wanted to avoid. After a while, it seemed she got the message. Her subtle interrogations waned over time, before stopping altogether. Hiro wished he could say that that was all he had to deal with, but he knew that was just half the battle.

His family was another story. He couldn't avoid them. There was no place in the house he could go and hole himself up into. His room was not his own, and rules stated he couldn't lock the door to keep anybody out. At least not for long. Still, he employed the same measures he used for everyone else. He didn't speak much, and when he did, it was just one-word responses and little shrugs. Aunt Cass chalked up his taciturn attitude to puberty, which Hiro was grateful for. Except for the occasional inquiry on how he was feeling, she didn't press him for answers. She had a lot on her plate, and Hiro knew she preferred for Tadashi to take the reins on those subjects. Hiro got off easy with her, which left him ill prepared for the biggest challenge.

Tadashi operated on a different mode than their aunt. It was apparent that he wouldn't be satisfied until Hiro divulged every secret he had to his name. Hiro tried to stay calm and just brush him off. But sometimes, Tadashi got too nosy, and Hiro didn't hesitate to let him have it. That got his attention, and held his brother off from the constant harping. Hiro wasn't proud of his reaction, but he would deal with the guilt later. When his back was up against a wall, he didn't have any other choice.

Pretending got easier. But 'easier' was a relative term.

The nightmares came to him like a snake in the grass. Silent, waiting to strike and deliver their fatal blow. Hiro began to fear the dark because he knew what was just around the corner. He staved off sleep as much as possible, but he knew that that option couldn't last forever. He was right.

They were always the same, the nightmares. Pervasive, crippling, and real. He lived the assault again and again. Felt it in such vivid detail, like it was happening for the first time. But with one glaring difference.

Before he could process it, Hiro was on the cold, wet ground. The four were on top of him, crushing his lungs under their weight. He couldn't breathe. Their faces were all glowing eyes and fang-like teeth. He tried to kick and fend them off, put he was powerless to their advances. His limbs felt like blocks of cement, heavy and absolutely useless. They tore at his clothes with sadistic joy. Petrified goosebumps rose up along his arms and legs. They held him down, intent on taking their sweet time. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to disappear. His brain was screaming. Begging him to think of something, anything, to distract from the pain. Their rough hands traveled his body, leaving searing bruises in their wake. They marred his skin with their callous touches. The kind of touches that would stay with him long after they were gone.

His pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. They only laughed and gagged him with a dirty rag to keep him from making any more noise.

He fought for air, coughing and sputtering around the grimy cloth. Black spots appeared in his field of vision.

Someone yanked it out a second later, but not without an earnest threat behind the action.

"Shut up," one hissed. "You make one more peep and I swear to God, I will snap your fucking neck. And I don't want to do that..." his voice lowered to a sickening purr. "It's a very pretty neck, you know."

Hiro swallowed, tears sliding out in a continuous stream. The man slithered closer, like a serpent, his mouth stretched into a nauseating grin. "Don't cry now, sweetheart," he cooed with feigned sympathy. His breath was hot on Hiro's face, thick with the putrid stench of liquor. He forced Hiro's head to the side and began placing hungry kisses along the smooth expanse of his neck. Hiro could feel sharp teeth grazing his skin as slimy lips moved down. The man lavished his attention on the pulse point where Hiro's neck met his shoulder. He gave a lewd moan before trailing further south, finding the shallow dip and curve of Hiro's thin collarbone. Hiro whimpered, his stomach churning. If he had the strength, he would have vomited all over the pavement right then and there.

At last, the man moved away, but only so he could pass him off to the next person. "Oh, well, would you look at that," he sneered, scowling into the distance. "Someone's here to save the day..."

Hiro whipped his head around. What he saw made his heart stutter like a caged bird frantic to escape from its confines. Finally. Everything was going to be okay.

Shrouded in a dense fog was Tadashi, standing under the flickering light of a lamppost. The fog absorbed the dim glow of the lamp, creating an ethereal orb around him. Tadashi looked like an angel - his guardian angel. His savior.

"Tadashi!" he cried. "Help me!"

There was nothing. No reaction of any kind from the other boy. It was as if he was a mirage; a figment of his imagination.

"Nii-san! Please..." Hiro choked on the last word, panic constricting his airway.

Hiro brought his hand up to his chest to calm his ragged breathing. He tried to scream again, but to his horror, realized there was no sound. His voice was gone, no way of calling out.

But even though Tadashi couldn't hear him, Hiro knew that his brother could see him. Why wasn't he doing anything? Why wasn't he helping him?

Tadashi's visage remained faraway and stoic. And he didn't budge, giving no attempt to rescue him from the attackers' malicious clutches. He simply shook his head.

"Oh, Hiro... you brought this on yourself. You knew how dangerous bot-fighting could be, but you went anyway. If only you'd listened to me, none of this would have happened. What were you thinking?" His brother's voice sounded so stiff and detached; empty of any usual compassion. Without another word, Tadashi mounted his scooter and sped away from the crime scene.

Hiro reached out for him as the loud rumble of the engine faded into the dark.

No. Please. Don't leave me here.

Hiro woke up drenched in a cold sweat, T-shirt clinging to his frame like a second skin. He touched his face, feeling wetness spilling down his cheeks. His throat felt raw and sore, like someone had pumped battery acid down his esophagus. He stole a peek at his brother's sleeping form across the room. Hiro then turned back to stare at the blank wall, veiled in eerie shadows. With silence as his only company, an unwelcome visitor burrowed its way into the back of Hiro's skull.

He warned you.

Hiro bit down on his lip until the metallic taste of rust coated his tongue. Shaking hands grabbed fistfuls of blanket, gripping the quilted fabric until his knuckles went white.

The voice he grew accustomed to got louder by the minute. It was distorted and distant, but it was his own. It mocked him, taunted him. Reminded him of all his wrongdoings, both old and new. He tried his best to block it out, but it proved useless. It evolved into something too powerful; something he couldn't control. Unable to fight it any longer, he gave in. Soon, it drowned out every last one of his thoughts.

Hiro's desperation for a release consumed him. To purge himself of the demons that burned just below the surface. That's how he found himself on the floor of the bathtub, slim fingers wrapped around the sleek handle of one of his aunt's razors. He snuck into her room one night while she was still downstairs and Tadashi was out. Rifling through her cabinets, he came across a whole pack. She wouldn't miss one, he figured.

Lighting a match he stole from the kitchen, Hiro watched the plastic cover begin to melt and pucker under the heat of the small flame. The corners softened first, separating from the hold it had on the tool. From there, he made easy work of the little, purple shaver. He took the protective shield off and tossed it away. Warped and hollow, the piece gave a weak clatter as it hit the side of the ceramic tub. Hiro turned the instrument over, revealing the trio of shiny blades nestled inside the disposable head. In one swift motion, he struck the razor against the brushed nickel faucet. It snapped in half and the three blades fell out. They scraped the bottom of the tub as they landed by his feet.

Taking one in his hand, Hiro studied it with care, memorizing all of its characteristics. It was a simple design: a narrow, rectangular slice of stainless steel with sharp, treacherous edges. Unassuming from a glance, it was only when someone inspected it up close could they appreciate the devastation it was capable of. Curling his fingers around the blade, Hiro squeezed as hard as he could. He kept the pressure on, feeling one of the edges piercing his skin. There was a slight pinch that subsided into a dull sting. Hiro removed the blade, focusing on the miniscule droplets of blood pooling in the center of his palm. He wiped them away, but more filled its place in an instant.

Steadying it between his fingers, Hiro then positioned the blade in the middle of his inner thigh. It was a covert place. Somewhere that no one would ever see. He pressed it into the designated point and dragged backwards. His papery skin split open, sticky red fluid beginning to drip down his leg. Hiro shifted the blade to an unblemished spot and repeated the process. Again and again and again. It should have hurt. The pain should have been too much for him to continue. But Hiro didn't feel much at all. A paralyzing numbness gripped him; a defense mechanism to protect him, he supposed.

When it was all said and done, there were eight cuts. Four on either leg, each one jagged and imperfect. Hiro looked at the new gashes with a sort of morbid fascination. Some trickled; some flowed. Some ran deeper and longer than others. The only constant was the blood. There was so much blood. It painted the pristine, ivory tub in a slick, crimson sheen. The undeniable scent of iron hung in the air.

Needing to erase all traces of evidence, Hiro turned on the water. There was a squeak from the faucet, and the showerhead blasted him with an icy torrent. He didn't even flinch at the freezing rain biting at his back.

The water cascaded over his arms and down his knees. It mixed with the blood, diluting it. The color transformed from a deep maroon to a pale orange. It swirled around his ankles before washing away down the drain, taking with it the sins of his actions.

Hiro had the audacity to believe that that would solve all of his problems. That last shred of teenaged cockiness that didn't want to let go. It was a foolish thought at best. He should have known that relief was only temporary.

The haunting urges returned with a vengeance. Those same demons that he thought he was rid of simmered under his skin. They delighted in his torment, driving him to the edge of a breakdown time and time again.

Cutting became his outlet. An addiction; a drug. The only thing that gave him a semblance of control. When he couldn't get to his private stash to do the job, Hiro did the only other thing he could think of. He sank his fingernails into tender flesh and unleashed his fury. He tore at fragile scars and reopened old wounds. It was a methodical insanity. Like a force greater than himself possessed him. He wouldn't stop until his fingers ached and he saw red seeping through the cotton fabric of his shorts.

But sometimes, even that wasn't enough. In brief moments, Hiro considered a permanent release. To be free from the anguish and shame that plagued every second of his existence. He could finally rest. And he would spare his family and friends the heartache of knowing the kind of person he truly was. Someone who allowed himself to be used and thrown away. Someone who was weak, and damaged, and unworthy of their love.

He held the blade a precarious distance from the bulging, blue vein on the underside of his arm.

If you do it right, you'll hardly feel a thing. Then you'll never hear from me again. That's what you want, isn't it?

The promise of peace tempted him, and Hiro almost went through with it. It would have been easy enough. But the closer he inched the blade, the more his hand trembled. He had the foresight to think ahead. Who would find him? Tadashi? Or even worse, Aunt Cass? He could imagine the poor woman's scream as she came upon him. His body, limp and lifeless; pallid skin contrasting the brilliant red coursing down his arm. She would try to stall the bleeding, but it would be too late. Her youngest nephew, gone, without so much as a goodbye.

How could he do that to his family? Was he really that selfish?

Hiro let the blade slip through his fingers. He then buried his face in the crook of his elbow, muffling the sobs that followed. The gravity of what he'd almost done came crashing down.

Coward.

Hiro was condemned to this life, and there was no one else to blame but himself.

Tadashi looked on as a slice of pearly moonlight illuminated his brother's troubled features. Hiro tossed and turned, scrabbling at the bedsheets. He was having another nightmare. They occurred on a frequent enough basis that Tadashi had a reason to worry. Hiro hadn't had persistent nightmares since their parents died. But even those were not as volatile as the ones he was experiencing now. Not by a long shot. Hiro thrashed back and forth, like he was trying to escape from something, or someone. The blankets twisted around his legs, often ending up on the ground. In the first few days, Tadashi went over to the other bed to wake him. When he did, Hiro pushed him away, refusing to accept any kind of consolation. The nightmares became so severe, that, a lot of times, Hiro wouldn't even stay in the room. Giving no explanation, he'd grab his pillow and disappear. When Tadashi asked where he was going, Hiro just mumbled an apology for disturbing him and darted to the floor below.

One night, Tadashi shadowed him. He crept down the stairs, making sure to avoid the final creaky step. He strained to see in the dark, the only light coming from the dingy bulb under the microwave. Daring not to breathe, Tadashi held onto the railing and waited. He heard rustling as Hiro settled on the couch. Then silence. It lasted for a while, long enough that Tadashi assumed Hiro had fallen asleep. He headed back for upstairs, when a sound made him freeze. It started off like a hiccup; a sudden gasp for air. There were only a few seconds of quiet before he heard it again. But the second time was much softer, chased by a sniffle. A subsequent whimper confirmed what Tadashi feared.

Tadashi's protective nature took over, and he nearly bolted to the sofa to gather Hiro up in his arms. His brother was suffering, and he wanted nothing more than to hold him until he stopped crying. But the sobering reminder of the situation planted him in his spot. He knew he wouldn't get far. With his conscience chastising him the entire way, Tadashi retreated to the attic.

Baymax's red charging station stared at Tadashi from the floor of his bedroom. Running out of options, he thought about using the robot to perform a secret exam on Hiro. With sunken eyes and dark circles around them, it didn't take long to see the toll the lack of sleep was having on him. If Tadashi knew the problem, he could figure out the best way to help. He let the idea ruminate in his head before he dismissed it altogether. It wouldn't be right. A blatant invasion of privacy. That's what got him into trouble the first time. Still, his intentions behind the decision all originated from a place of love. When he mentioned his concerns to Aunt Cass, she just reminded him of Hiro's age.

"He's growing up," she said. "Fourteen is not an easy time for anyone. He'll be back to his old self before you know it. I wouldn't worry too much, hon."

Tadashi tried to take a step back and analyze the issue from a new angle. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was overreacting. But whenever he tried to relax and let it go, a little voice whispered in his ear to keep his guard up.

Tadashi couldn't help but notice how thin Hiro had become. Endowed with a metabolism faster than the speed of sound, Hiro was always lanky. He never gained much in the way of muscle or body fat, yet his doctor maintained that he was in perfect health. However, his new scrawny appearance was approaching alarming levels. The bones at his joints protruded, emphasizing just how skinny he was. His ribs poked out, creating visible ridges along his sides. Hiro sat at the table for dinner, but he spent more time pushing the food around on his plate than anything else. At school, he followed a similar pattern. He just picked at his lunch, giving the illusion that he actually ate something. Tadashi didn't think it could get much worse, but that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Hiro began declining every outing offer that Tadashi presented him with. From the movies to pizza to the arcade. Even a Ninjas game that Honey scored tickets to from some radio contest. When Tadashi insisted on a valid reason why he didn't want to go, Hiro just curled up into himself and asked to be left alone. By then, Tadashi knew he wouldn't get any more from him, so he dropped the third degree. Hiro's sudden aversion to get-togethers extended past social events. When they were all gathered, like at the lab, Hiro stayed back, as if he wasn't meant to be there. It was a gradual severing of contact with those closest to him, and Tadashi didn't understand why.

Hiro wasn't even bot-fighting anymore. In fact, Tadashi hadn't heard him mention anything about them in weeks. Megabot was nowhere to be found, the pint-sized machine a usual staple on Hiro's desk. Hiro didn't tinker in the garage anymore or show off any new blueprints. Tadashi supposed that that was a good thing, but something didn't sit right with him. It seemed strange for Hiro to just quit his favorite hobby with no warning.

But perhaps the most telling clue that there was something wrong came from the startling change in Hiro's smile. Cheeky and mischievous, it always hinted that Hiro had something up his sleeve. Yet, he retained that bit of innocence, thanks to the little gap between his two front teeth. Once something he hated, Hiro grew to love the slight imperfection, learning to use it to his advantage. But those were a distant memory now. Every smile he put on was tight-lipped and artificial, never reaching his eyes like they used to. It was disingenuous in a heartbreaking way. It was just for show. A mere charade to appease.

Tadashi watched the little brother he knew slipping away. And it terrified him to think that he was already too late to get him back.

I hope you all liked it. Please review. Everything will be okay, I promise.

P.S. I might have given the impression that Aunt Cass doesn't care/notice what's going with Hiro, and that's not the case. She knows Hiro is growing up, and in her eyes, she sees his attitude as him needing his own time to figure out all the changes that comes with it. She went through something similar with Tadashi, so she understands that kids need to have personal time to figure out who they are during that weird adjustment between kid and adult. She loves her nephews very much, and she knows that they know that they can come to her anytime with anything. I just didn't want anyone to think that she's so busy that she doesn't notice/doesn't care enough to investigate.

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