I was alone. Again. I get sick of the endless loneliness, day after day. Youji has millions of women who want to be with him. Omi has tons of friends at school and admirers at the shop. Aya had his sister and Sakura. I had no one.

This thought rested heavily in my chest as I left my room and walked down the hall to get ready to make dinner. That's another one of my thousands of jobs.

"You're missing the point, Aya," I heard Youji say in the kitchen, "Ken is not a person. He is a toy. Kritiker put him here to use as such and to relieve us of housework and stuff."

"Youji's right, Aya-kun," Omi added, "While it may seem heartless, he isn't a real assassin. Kritiker just pretends that so that it won't weigh on their conscience. Ken is a toy. That's all he is and all he ever will be."

"When was the last time you slept with him?" Aya asked Youji.

"Last night."

That hurt. I had told Aya how I felt about him two weeks ago and I couldn't help but pray that he didn't ask Omi the same question.

"What about you, Omi? Let me guess. Friday? Thursday?"

"…You aren't going to like my answer."

"Give it to me anyway."

Omi sighed. Don't say it, I mentally chanted, please, just don't say anything.

"About an hour ago."

I didn't want to imagine Aya's face, let alone what he was thinking. I wrapped my arms around my body, knowing I should go, but unable to leave.

"Why would Kritiker do something like that? It just doesn't make sense," Aya muttered.

Youji piped in, "Killing people is a stressful job. Kritiker thought that having someone to fuck would help relieve the stress. It's not like Ken is important. He's basically a walking, talking dildo and if he gets killed in a mission he has deluded himself into believing we need him for, they'll just send someone else."

I couldn't breathe. It hurt so much, hearing those cold, yet true words. I turned around and went back to my room. By then the tears had started pouring from my eyes. I went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. For a while, whenever I got out of the shower and saw the fog on the mirror, I would use my finger and write out different adjectives that described me.

I pulled a thick black marker with permanent ink out of my pocket. I had been using it earlier to label prices down at the shop. I pulled off the cap, and proceeded to whisper the words as I wrote them on the reflecting glass.

"Disgusting."

"Vile."

"Pathetic."

"Worthless."

"Whore."

"Slut."

"Loser."

"Murderer."

"Toy."

"Faggot."

I choked back a sob as the last word was smeared onto the once immaculate mirror. I had a few more words.

"Unneeded."

"Unloved."

"Unlovable."

I dropped the marker into the sink and crumpled to my knees. I was broken and crying on the floor. At least I had cloths on. Otherwise, it would've been a typical night. I felt dirty. I was dirty. No wonder no one could love me. I was too gross to love.

I leaned over to the bathtub and crawled in. I turned it on, the switched it to shower mode. I didn't care that the water was cold and it made my teeth chatter. I needed to get clean. All of the dirt and grime that had ever touched me was clinging to my skin and I wanted it off.

Youji knocked on my door and called out, "Ne, Kenken, when are you going to fix dinner?"

When hell froze over.

"Kenken?" he called out, louder this time.

I stood up and shut off the water. He was annoying me. I didn't want to see him, see the mask of false affection on his face that he used on the women he seduced as well as me. I could tell he was getting impatient, but I didn't care.

"KEN!" He shouted. I opened the door, cold water dripping from my skin, hair, and saturated clothing. "Whoa," he said softly, "What happened to you?"

"It doesn't matter," I whispered. I walked down the dark hallway and into the kitchen where Omi was doing homework and Aya was drinking tea. They both stared at me as I walked in.

"Ken-kun, what happened?" Omi asked.

"I said doesn't matter. Could you please try to listen to what I say and take it seriously for once in your life?"

They watched me as I pulled three bowls out of the cabinet and filled them each with cereal. I covered one with milk for Omi, one with water for Aya, and left one plain for Youji.

"There," I said, setting the bowls on the table, leaving a trail with each step, "Enjoy your dinner. Goodnight."

They stared at me as I left. I didn't care. I didn't care about them. I didn't care about what they thought. I didn't care about anything. Nothing mattered. I just went to my room, locked the door, and curled up on my bed while wearing my soaking wet cloths. And I cried.