Disclaimer: I don't own digimon, so leave me alone

Disclaimer: I don't own digimon, so leave me alone!

Okay everyone! This is my first posted fic. Now this fic is angsty, so be warned. It deals with a suicidal digidestined. However, I left the ending open for interpretation. Not all my fics are so sad, but I suggest you all read this. I like it, which is saying a lot because I hardly ever like my stuff. It's kind of short, so it's not that much of a pain to read. Anyways, please review or else I won't post anything else! But be gentle, I'm new! And now for our feature presentation...

(I hope you all like it!)

Choices

            The choices you make in life are what define who you are. If I choose to die, then what does that say about me? If I press this razor to my skin and drag it along my wrist, will the blood cleanse me of this pain? It hurts inside, more than I can bear. What will you think of me now...

            Black clouds filled the sky that grim Monday morning. The rain hung in the clouds, waiting to fall like tears being held back. It was as if the sky was mirroring my emotions. I walk slowly, eyes downcast, into my school. Not caring how many people I run into in the process. School is like a prison to me. For eleven of my sixteen meaningless years of life I've been trapped here behind these walls.

            "Davis!" She calls my name. Not even her voice can ease my pain. All it does is increase it, for I know she will never be mine. When she sees my face, she speaks again, "What's wrong?"

            She touches my arm gently, as if to mock my emotions. I jerk away from her, causing her to flinch slightly, but I don't care. I don't care if I hurt her. I hope she hurts. I hope she has to suffer like I've had. Like she's made me. Already her stupid boyfriend is coming towards her. Takeru. I hate that name. I hate him. I hate them both for what they've done.

            I don't answer her, just shove her aside. She nearly falls. I don't look back to see the hurt look on her face. I can never look back...

            Rain pours down on me, pounding against my skin. I look up at the apartment building. His apartment building. Where he's inside with her. A hand touches my shoulder. I turn to face the one who's trying to consol me. Yolei. She lives here too.

            "Davis, what are you doing out here? You're soaked! Look, come inside and get warmed up. You'll catch pneumonia standing out here!"

            She doesn't wait for my answer, just starts walking, hand still on my shoulder. I go with her. Arguing would be more trouble than it's worth.

            She takes me into her apartment. No one's home. I watch a puddle form on the floor around me as she puts a pot of coffee on. When she looks at me, she sees I haven't moved since I came in the door. She sighs slightly, but says nothing. She comes over to me and takes off my soaking coat. We were so close. Any normal sixteen-year-old would have felt something. I feel hollow.

            For some reason, she understands me without me answering her questions. I wonder why, but can't find the answer.

            "Here, sit up on the counter," she says. I obey, although I feel like a child. She runs her hand through my soaking hair,"You must be freezing," she says, barely above a whisper.

            She's so beautiful. The way her soft hair falls around her face. Her cheeks are slightly redder than usual. Our eyes are locked together, unable to look away. I want to feel something. To feel her. But I can't.

            She leans forward. Her soft lips touch mine. A warm sensation flows over me. Overwhelming me. I can't take it. I pull away. She looks at me, a confused expression on her face.

            "What are you doing?!" I yell, "Did you think I liked you," (How can you like me?) "I don't like you! I don't like anyone!" (I don't even like myself.)

            I shove her away. She falls to the floor in tears. I run out the door, not even bothering to take my coat...

            So here I sit, on the bathroom floor. The doors locked. No one's home anyway. I hold the cool metal edge of the razor to my shin. An odd thought suddenly occurs to me. Does it take more courage to press down or pull away? How can I choose? What can I choose? Suddenly, I know the answer to my questions. When you make the choices that define who you are, be sure to take the courageous path.