Wounds
Part Eight

He's furious.

I don't have to infer or pick apart his mannerisms to see this. It comes at me in the form of his angry fist and I catch it with a bit of recoil. There's no control in him this time, I notice, and he's lashing out at both me and himself. The man who just left must be leaving him with the empty desolate feeling he'd bathed in before. The strength in his punch dies and he's trembling up his arm. I can see the angry howls on his tongue and I've already prepared myself for the screaming match that will follow.

Unknowingly, I've let him down and he's crumbling from all of the realizations that come while I'm watching him scramble to piece himself together in a way that leaves him feeling less vulnerable. He's steeling himself for when he bites my head off—his viper-like tongue stinging with accusations.

"What the fuck was that?" His words are gritty in my ears; but I smooth it out with a deep breath, because I know what I'm doing now. I've already unraveled him so much that he's actually quivering at the loss of illusion.

For weeks, I've spent my nights in his room, watching him destroy himself as a person. For more weeks, I destroyed him myself…until he became used to me and used to the way I've subtly instilled my routine in him—tracing the patterns of my kind of love into his skin. The pleasure he thinks he hates is actually only loathed because he wants that. He doesn't want what he just got and it's very hard not to see that while he's looming over me with a threatening expression and eyes glassing over with forecasted rain.

"What was what, Kanda?" I play dumb and wait for him to make the first move. He's already walking on cracked glass and it's just a process of making him step through before I get around to picking him up and pulling out the shards so he can heal. I hate doing it this way; but it's proving to be most efficient, because he looks ready to skin me alive. I almost find it funny. He never had a positive feeling toward me, and here he is, showing he wants me in place of what he'd been doing for god knows how long. Truth is plain as the furious storm reflecting in his dark eyes. "You wanted it and to be honest, I was tired, so I thought I would give you a break from me tonight."

It's the worst lie I can manage and that's frightening, because I'm usually very good at lies. Lying is so much harder when it's literally hammering my heart out of my chest with how bad it's making me feel. And really, he's not stupid. He's not stupid at all and this is accentuated by the swift open palm he smacks into my face before I'm really aware he's done it.

The sharp sting only lasts long enough for me to get my mind and body to cooperate and tell me what just happened. I'm sure that was enough to leave a mark, yet the mark probably won't be on my face; but on his pride instead. I think this, because I know he's so angry that he's as livid as he is. The reason he's livid is because I'm right.

What happened in that bed moments ago is entirely his fault and he knows that he could have pushed that man away himself. He could have said no and he could have saved himself the misery of mopping up someone's needs while slowly shredding his dignity into the mattress.

What he does now is something I wasn't anticipating and it's literally ripping me apart to see him act this way. The way he turns away from me and slides down the wall just makes me want to reach out and apologize—even if I was proving my point. It's the scream, however, that makes it haunting and I don't know what to do now. I just, I feel like I should stop him; but I know he's justified. He's being destroyed by himself, by others, and by me in the most conflicting of ways.

This scream, I understand, is the same scream that erupted that first night that I forced myself on him; that same night that I forced him to feel pleasurable sensations that he really didn't want. Yet, he wants them now. That's why he's screaming now.

"You…I…fucking despise you," he breaks his horrid shrieking to grunt hateful words at me. I'm expecting them. It's his only way to express that I've splintered his stable environment of self-hate and threw him into a confusion that left him wondering what was what and why he couldn't simply go through what was normal before.

"I know." There's no need to really ask why and there's no need to defend myself. I watched him curling under someone's touch until he was chewing his lip bloody to keep him from expelling the distressed noises he makes when he's too thrown out of his comfort zone. Of course he's going to paint me as the enemy for that. "You were the one who said I couldn't keep it up, didn't you?"

It's possibly too unfair of me to say such a thing. Because Kanda is being thrown so many different things that no matter what direction he takes, he's wrong. That is possibly why he's losing his mind.

"I hope you fucking die," he sneers and nearly curls himself into the brick wall.

I stand and force myself to remain distant like I have been all along. I can't show the affection I want, because I'll never get at him like that. "I'll see you tomorrow night, Kanda," I say as I leave the cold room behind me.

A/N: I swear to god, I need to be reminded that this is here sometimes. Sorry guys, I do have this thing done, I just need to edit a chapter here and there.