Chapter Nine :

To Succeed, could be to fail

"So, where exactly are we going?" I can't resist asking. I know that my guide is starting to get annoyed with me, but it's something that occupies my brain, besides the overwhelming urge to sit in a corner and cry. I refuse to think of all the things that could go wrong, though I can feel this little cloud of doom hanging over my head.

I know, and I'm not telling. Great, my guide has turned into the annoying child from hell. At least I'm the one asking the annoying questions and not him. Of course, two can play at that game.

"Are we there, yet? Are we there, yet? I have to go to the bathroom. Timmy pushed me!" He turns to glare at me, and I laugh. I can't help it. He looks like Tai when he doesn't get his way, or Ken when someone steals the book he's reading.

Okay, bad idea. Thinking about Ken is a bad idea. I don't really need the constant reminder that I'm going to be a failure. Gray eyes flicker my way, and I'm caught in a disapproving stare. Are you already giving in? Of course not! I wouldn't give up. Ken needs me, and I'll be damned if some insecurity is going to get in my way of being a hero. What an interesting attitude change. Just don't get in my way, and we'll be okay, my friend.

The passage we're moving through is long and twisting, reminding me of one of those carnival houses, where the halls are made of mirrors, and they double back on each other constantly. I wouldn't be surprised if you could put a whole in the wall, and see that large chamber with the old guy. "What exactly am I supposed to do? I know that you said I'd know when I got there, but the suspense is killing me."

My guide turns and gives me an odd look, half-amused, and half sympathetic. I stop, an idea suddenly clicking in my head. He turns, and looks at me, his eyes knowing.

"That last line, the one you said before we started. That's the answer, isn't it?" I can feel the breath in my chest choking me, as if I inhaled a large amount of smoke. My head is slightly fuzzy, and I feel nauseated. "I know that I said I'd kill myself, but I didn't think that I'd actually be expected to do it myself. Dying is one thing, slitting my wrist is another."

It's one of the lines that coincides with both poems. They both speak of it, but in different ways. I would kill for love/ greed for love/ cut my wrist and bleed for love.

With a trembling hand, I pull the poem out of my pocket, and stare at the newest verse that's appeared. "Breathe for me, bleed for me/ Beg for help from above/ Give for me build for me/ What would you do for love?."

And therein lies your answer. They doomed each other to eternity in this place because they were unwilling to allow themselves to believe in each other. They thought that their love would keep them safe from the trials of life, they didn't realize that it doesn't work that way. Love just means that you have to be willing to fight for it, and realizing that while love may not make the world a perfect place, it does make things a lot nicer.

I said that they weren't strong enough, that Martin Pendragon didn't love her as much as they both though he did. Where exactly does that leave me? Ken doesn't even know that I love him, how could he? I've spent the past year stuffing down every instinct I had where he was concerned, hoping that he couldn't read my desire to jump him at every meeting. The whole point of this is to prove my love, and yet, I could still lose him to another person. He doesn't love me, probably isn't even really gay. The only thing I have is my hope.

"Damn it, hope is my brother's thing, not mine! I'm friendship! Friends don't kill themselves for friends, they kill themselves for lovers, and that's Sora's thing!" Why the hell should I have to live up to everyone else's crest?

Are you backing out? You can leave now. You can still go back without a memory of this. Your friend will be left here, but you won't feel the lack. We've already had this discussion, thank you. I would feel the lack. I am not backing down. Give me the damn knife, or dagger, or blade, or whatever it is you want me to slit my wrists with, and let me have at it. You believe that you are ready? Are you certain?

"Does it matter? If I'm not ready now, I never will be. Ken needs me now. Not later, not tomorrow. So it has to be now." He looks at me, a silent respect in his gray eyes. "Let's do it."

He pulls an object out of the shadows, and it glints in the dim light of his torch. I take the hilt of the dagger he hands me, holding it up in front of me to stare at the blade. I have to admit, I have thought about suicide many times, but I've never actually gotten as far as holding onto the means of my destruction.

Give for me, build for me/ What would you do for love?

For Ken? For love? I would do anything.

With a deep breath, I press the tip of the blade against the vein of my wrist, and push down, hissing when my skin is pierced, closing my eyes against the sight of my blood pooling in the small depression made by the pressure of the knife. It burns as it trickles down my wrist, scorching a trail along my arms. It hurts, like a burn, and I can feel it tingle as my fingers start to lose some feeling in that hand. After a couple more seconds, my head feels kind of light, and I switch hands while I still can, puncturing the skin on the unmarked wrist, repeating the process.

My eyes are still shut, and the sound of the dagger hitting the floor is nothing more than a distant clanging sound as the world slips out from under my feet. I never feel my body hitting the ground.