Warning: discussion of self-harm. Please, do not read this if you are not comfortable with the topic.

A Silent Plea For Help

Just—just once. Right?

The first time he did it—it was after he'd made Ayumi cry after finally losing his temper. 'They are just children, you fucking idiot,' he mentally kicked himself.

Anger, irritation, among the many other emotions he did not want to take a look at too closely. It was what he often felt these days. It lingered and stayed right under the surface, with no real place to go to. He was a teenager stuck in a child's body, after all (please, stop this).

So he did it. 'Just for a bit release of pressure.' It had been a thought that he could have been thinking at the time. Or maybe he had not been thinking at all—there's no logic in all this, after all. Perhaps, he had been in a sort of daze: knowing, but also at the same time, not comprehending (why?) what he was going to do when he pulled the item out of the upper drawer and set the sharp edge of stainless steel on his skin and drew.

Red tracks of blood, sharp pain, and the warm smell of iron; it left him feeling empty and tired. But the anger, the irritation that had lingered for so long, had lessened to a whisper (such a relief).

He'd never thought he would be the kind of person to resort to this behavior—this kind of coping mechanism (so shameful). There was no logic in it, after all (you idiot!). And he was the detective, right. Right? However, asking himself that question (I am not the kind of person to do this, right?), it did not matter, not one single bit (so silly), because stress and despair and pain did not care for logic, did not consider the person in question, he was just—

(So stupid, heh.)

He closed his eyes in a deep weariness (so tired), and a small and uncomfortable smile found itself onto his face. But no tears. Only an ache was left behind, throbbing and whining after he had finished—after he had enough.

When Ran found out somehow on that Saturday afternoon, (and he had been careful, okay!), she asked, frowning and tone colored with worry. But he lied (he got hurt so often, after all, it was so simple). But when she directed that mere question at him, he felt himself flush hotly (oh so shameful), the sweat forming on his forehead and his insides twist (am I crazy?).

And it was just this once, right. Just this once.

Right?

All the mistakes are mine.