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Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade; it belongs to Aoki Takao.

Chapter Ten

Kai's POV

I didn't know if I could takeit any more. The guilt and pain…it was unbearable. I wanted something to alleviate it…something, anything….

Glancing back at my out-cold parents for the umpteenth time, I finally stood up straight, taking my warm forehead away from the cool windowpane for the last time that night. Cracking my knuckles absently, I headed out of the room slowly, closing the door gently behind me, blinking in the sudden light from the dimness of my mother's room.

I wandered about the hallways aimlessly, wiping the back of my hands on my cheeks to dry them. Long ago I forced myself to stop crying…but internalizing everything all over again was eating up my soul.

Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I gazed at some doors, mindlessly reading the brass plates. Up and down many white corridors I traveled, brightened eerily by the fluorescent lights. Doctors and nurses were still scurrying about, though the hospital was much less crowded, much less busy.

I passed a trolley chockablock with all sorts of instruments. All sorts of instruments that were rather dangerous to have just sitting in a hallway. For some reason, though, these medicinal-related objects seemed to call to me….

I glanced back over my shoulder and noticed a lady in a nurse's uniform pushing the cart inside a nearby room. For the odd reason, I halted, leaning against the wall casually with one heel propped against the wall.

Minutes later, the lady reemerged and went off down the hallway, nodding politely to me. Unresponsive, I waited for her to be out of sight. Then, and only then, I wandered toward that door, standing threateningly before me.

I peaked through the blurry window above the brass plate, squinting, trying to make out what was beyond the door. Nothing was visible, though, and I just decided to take a risk. Making sure the corridor was deserted, I squeaked the door open and peered around it.

No one.

So I hurriedly stepped inside and clicked the door closed behind me.

A couple of yards away stood the trolley, calling me forth. Moving closer, I examined each metal object swiftly…and found one that suited my liking. Hoping these things were clean, I lifted it, studied it, and pocketed it.

Without further thought, I peaked around the door again, saw no one, and strode out, continuing my way down the corridor as though nothing out-of-the-ordinary was going on.

After a few minutes' time of searching, I discovered the location of the restroom and headed inside. Obviously, whatever floor I was on was quite abandoned, for no one was in the bathroom at all.

Smirking—as this was quite the advantage—I stood in front of a streaked mirror, examining my features: the usual pale self, face adorned with a cocky smirk.

I pulled the metal instrument from my pocket, staring at it.

I thought of why I was doing this in the first place, zeroed in on my inner agony and my suffocating guilt.

But I also recalled the last time I did this, and how it really didn't help me in the way I envisioned, only adding on more pain to all the emotional suffering I was enduring….

Still, though disgusted as I was by it, I was desperate; sick of being stuck in agony. Certainly, befriending Tala helped ease away some of this, but realizing what had happened to my parents and the pain they felt over me only added to my inner turmoil. Therefore, it was all becoming too much…and I wanted to erase it all, at least for a while, at least for some few precious moments….

Desperation as my advocate, I pulled up my sleeves on one arm, and unraveled the tightly-placed gauze. It wasn't needed anymore…but it would be in a few minutes.

Picking up the instrument, I studied my blurry reflection in its metal for a moment…and then brought it to my skin.

At first, the scalpel brought me no pain. Gradually, this swelled to a sting that very quickly evolved into throbbing. My mind focused solely on this pain, soaked it up, wished for sole concentration on that pain forevermore so I wouldn't have to deal with my worthless emotions….

But no. That felt like running away, resorting to an easy outlet.

I opened my eyes—which I hadn't realized I had closed—and stared at the blood welling beneath the metal of the scalpel's blade.

And for once, I suddenly didn't care. Didn't care if I was being weak, didn't care if I was running away, didn't care if this was stupid—I wanted and needed relief.

And thus I brought it….

half-an-hour later

Ah…thirty minutes of relief.

I left that dingy restroom with an odd apathy in my heart, induced by a bunch of now-gauzed self-inflicted cuts. Much better than that pain…much better.

Ambling back to the room I found the scalpel in, I was fully intending on returning it. But a roadblock met me as I crossed the threshold.

My hand was on the doorknob, I was about to enter, when a gruff voice behind me came out-of-the-blue.

"Excuse me, young man, where do you think you're going?"

Turning my head slightly, I took in the countenance of a burly, brunette man, towering over me with his hands on his lab-coat-covered hips.

"In here," I replied simply, jerking a thumb toward the closed door and going back to my task.

"Don't be fresh—why do you want to go in there?"

I didn't answer.

'What am I going to do? Go in there, and he'll see what I've taken; leave, and risk never coming back.'

"Well?" he prodded, glaring.

The truth spilled out before I could fully decide on my action. "Returning something."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"This." I produced the scalpel from a pocket carefully. Apparently, I still wasn't in much of a caring mode.

The man seized it, tenderly, and examined it so closely it looked as though he were trying to see individual molecules. "And where, my dear boy, did you get this?"

"In there, obviously."

Again, he glared. I returned it with an intense one of my own, though it really held no passion.

"Don't be fresh with me! Just what, precisely, were you doing with this?"

"That really is none of your business…sir."

"Yes, son, I believe it is. What are you doing in this hospital, anyway?"

"My parents…."

Suddenly, his dark eyes were upon me, sizing me up—and comprehension dawned on his ugly mug. "W-wait. You're…that Hiwatari boy?"

Scary, when everyone knows your name.

"Yes."

He blinked rapidly a few times, then gathered his composure and looked angry once more. Shoving the scalpel in my face, he asked loudly, "What the devil were you doing with this instrument?"

I couldn't think up any lies. I knew this apathy was temporary, meaning anyway that if I lied, it would probably just add to guilt in the future. So what else could I have done but been honest?

In slow-motion, I rolled up my sleeves. He, apparently, was stuck in slow-motion mode as well, because the time it took for his eyes to widen and his jaw to drop at the sight of blood staining gauze was an eternity.

"What…why…." Words were not coming to his brain; he just gaped at my arm, dumbfounded.

Taking my chances, I snatched the scalpel from him, and once again had my hand on the doorknob. This time he clasped a hand on my shoulder, firmly.

"You are coming with me!"

The man half-dragged me down the corridor, hand on my shoulder, and I merely glared at the world. Nothing was in my soul…except anger—this guy messed up my feeling of pleasant nothing.

Though I didn't fight back—resisting any stimuli would only work me up more, I reasoned.

Eyes flashing dangerously, the man yanked me into an office on the ground floor. Sitting behind a polished desk was a plump, mustachioed, balding man. Ogling me with deep blue eyes, the older guy said, "And what might this surprise late-night meeting be for, Doctor Schakowsky?"

"This boy was stealing costly surgical instruments, only for the purpose of inflicting pain upon himself!" roared Dr. Schakowsky furiously, his iron grip tightening on my arm.

I merely glared as the guy in front of me continued sizing me up, though it still was somewhat empty.

"And," started the older, "what precisely did he steal?"

"This!" Dr. Schakowsky held out my hand, which was clenching the freshly-cleaned scalpel.

"And you know what he was doing with this…how?"

The doctor ripped the scalpel from my hand and slammed the scalpel on the older guy's desk with unnecessary force, then yanked my shirt and sweatshirt sleeves up to reveal the reddening gauze.

Not much of a response from the older guy, he raised his eyebrows.

"Well, sir?" demanded the doctor. "What should we do with him?"

A few moments contemplative silence descended; then, "This is that boy gone missing a week or so ago, is it not?"

My glare intensified. Why had everyone in the city heard of me? Really, it was highly annoying. Sure, I wanted to be noticed somewhat, because I didn't want to be lonely. Somewhat being the keyword there: I didn't want to be publicly known!

"Yes, sir, this is."

"Has he been reunited with his parents?"

Doctor Schakowsky turned expectantly to me. Still glaring, I muttered, "Yes."

"Yes, sir," corrected the doctor heatedly. He obviously didn't care I had injured myself, but was only concerned with the fact I had used "costly surgical instruments" to do so.

"Well, then, I feel we ought to let his parents have a say in the outcome of his punishment."

Getting annoyed with this doctor's grip—which was beginning to cut off my circulation—I ripped my arm away from him, pulled my sleeves down, and mumbled angrily, "My mother's in a coma."

My tone was challenging, angry—I wanted instantly for someone to aid her, and I was going to make it known, right there and then, even though it was a split-second decision, even though it meant yanking myself from my apathetic trance.

Both men eyeballed me, the older apparently considering my statement. He placed his chin carefully on the bridge his intertwined fingers created, and questioned slowly, "Then your father can help decide what we do with you because of this little offense." He waved the scalpel in the air for effect.

"My mother is in a coma," I endeavored, "and I want you to do something about it."

The scalpel was back on the desk, and the guy was answering me, "We are already doing all we can, my dear boy."

"Do not call me "your boy", old man: I am no such thing."

"Forgive me, then, Kai."

I nodded acceptingly; at least the man was using my name instead of calling me "the missing Hiwatari boy" or something.

Something in my intense glare must have triggered another thing in the guy's mind, because he sighed in a defeated way, and leaned against the back of his chair, eyeing the ceiling, extra weight causing the chair to squeak. "Well, Kai…treatment here, it isn't lacking. It's just that we haven't got that much on the plane of taking the best care possible of comatose patients…."

Dawning realization crossed his aging features. He sat straight up again, staring directly into my flame-like auburn eyes. "I have something to discuss with your father, Kai, do you think you could come here with him tomorrow at three o' clock on the dot?"

Wondering what this guy was up to, I nodded reluctantly, still glaring him down. Feeling dismissed, the other man (looking confused) nodded respectably at the older gentleman and clasped my arm again. "Come now, Kai—thank you sir."

See? Longerness. :)

New things are just around the bend for Kai, so read on if you want to find out!

have a nice day

CyborgRockStar