Running Away
Chapter 14
The room was dark, dark enough to make it difficult to see, but not so dark that you couldn't see anything. The only light came from a low-lit candle in the corner of the room that was already beginning to go out.
There was a heavy dampness in the air. It didn't help any that there weren't only windows. The only exit was the door, and that had been shut tightly, so that no one could get in.
It was deathly quiet. The only sound was the occasional drip as the tiny rivulet of water that ran along the ceiling let a small drop fall to the ground. When in this quiet too long, ears would become so adjusted to the quiet that even the tiniest sound would be loud.
That was where he sat, in the middle of the room, surrounding by the darkness. He sat perfectly still, his eyes staring down intently at what he had sat on the floor in front of him.
The light from the candle gleamed off the silvery-polished surface of the blade as it lay there, innocent in itself, but yet laying heavy blame on its user.
His one eye was fixed on it, identifying every curve, memorizing every change in texture. His hands held the fabric of his pants tightly, his knuckles almost white.
He shivered despite himself, and he turned his head, surveying the room that he was in, even though he had already gotten bored from its never-ending pattern of stone that made up its walls.
"Tasuki…" his voice was so small that he could scarcely hear himself. It was more of a sigh, a deep breath, than an actual word formation, but the presence of the word itself still hung heavily in the damp room.
He closed his eyes, trying not to let the inevitable tears grace his face, but he knew that it was to no avail. How many times had he cried since then? How many minutes had gone by where hot tears still streamed down his face?
Too many to count.
How long had it been? It had only been a few hours, a few measley hours since that one moment where Chichiri had learned the truth that had destroyed him inside.
All those times that you were close to me. All those uncomfortable moments. That time… that time when both of us really started to understand what was happening…no. I didn't understand it. Now I can see that I never understood it.
"You bastard!" He punched his fist into the ground, a jolt of pain running up his arm. He didn't feel it though. It was nothing compared to the pain that was he was going through inside.
"You lied to me. You cheated me! You… how could you?" He stared down at the ground, not caring that the only one who could hear him was himself. "All along you had someone else, all along… were you just… using me?"
A fresh wave of tears started again. His voice cracked as he continued to ramble. "Was I just some little toy that you could run off with? Have some fun with? Then you could just go back, leaving me… leaving me!!"
He brought his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms tightly around them. He cried deeply into his pants, the cloth becoming wet with the tears.
It was a couple of minutes before he was finally able to stop, before no more tears would fall from his eyes. He sniffed a few times, his nose was beginning to run from the countless cries.
He wiped his eyes on his sleeve so that he could see again. He watched as everything sat there, still, silent, nothing moved, nothing made a sound. He felt like he was in a void.
He looked down at the ground next to him, at the small trails of dust that lit across the rarely used floors. He slowly lowered his hand, one finger sticking out and poked into the dust. He watched as he began to write something in the dust, not even knowing what the was writing.
"Wing…" he looked down at his creation. He remembered how pure that sign had seemed before, how much hope it had always given him.
He stared at it, a kind of lull taking place in his mind. His mouth turned slightly down at the corners, his eyes narrowing.
He reached out his hand and quickly swiped away the sign, making sure that every last trace of it was completely gone. The only thing that sign represented now was lies, distrust, broken hearts…
He turned back to his original position, and as he did so, his eyes once again rested on the forgotten blade. The curve of its smooth surface reflected the light of the candle softly into his eye.
He reached out his hand, his fingers gently running across the surface. How cold it felt, how smooth, how… inviting…
He curved his fingers gingerly around the handle, feeling the rough of the fine leather that was wrapped around it. He ran his thumb across the fabric, feeling the small bumps that made up each individual section.
He rotated the blade in his hands, watching the way the light reflected off the silver as it slowly turned. His eye looked down in wonder.
He brought his other hand up, sticking one finger out, he slowly ran it across the sharp edge of the blade. He drew in his breath as it sliced through the skin and instinctively jerked back.
He looked at the newly formed cut, small, barely visible. A tiny drop of blood had formed near it. The pain… it felt reassuring somehow. This wasn't what it was supposed to feel like, was it?
He wondered… his mind traveling. He ran the smooth surface of the knife across the top of his hand, feeling the coolness of the silver, the slick surface of it sending chills down his spine.
He turned his arm so that he wrist was pointing upwards. He looked down at his wrist, so soft, so sensitive. He looked at the individual veins that he could see through the skin. He clenched and unclenched his fist, watching as the veins moved with it.
He stuck a finger out from the hand that held a knife and slowly rubbed over the skin there. He marveled at how soft it was, how smooth, how vulnerable…
Using his hand, he slowly lifted up the sleeve that had covered his arm, folding it over itself so that it would stay. He traced his finger up from the skin to the inside of his elbow back up to his wrist, following the largest blue vein.
Would it hurt? What would it feel like? Questions were running through his mind as his finger ran softly over his arm, the knife still at a safe distance away from the sensitive skin near his wrist.
A small smirk played on his face. "Tasuki… just you wait. What will you say to this, huh? What will you… say?"
He wrapped his fingers tighter around the handle of the blade, rotating it a few times in his hand, looking at it intently. How easy that sharp blade could slice through his skin, through the thin vein that contained his life.
He slowly lowered the blade so that it was positioned directly over his wrist, centered over the small group of veins that he had studied so carefully. He watched, amazed by how steady he was holding the blade, how steady he was in this state.
Why should I be otherwise? What have I got to lose now? The one man I loved, the one person I truly loved, is now gone. I might have been able to take it if it was his life that was gone, if he was no longer here. I would at least know then that I would join him someday… but no. He's still here. I will never be with him. Will never hold him… stroke his hair… hear those words that I so want to hear…
One small tear threatened to glide down his face again. An image of Tasuki appeared in his mind, memories flooded through him, filling his head, his heart.
"No… he will never be mine. Never…"
The force of the words were pushing the blade, deeper a little against his wrist. He could feel pressure against the thin folds of skin that separated his sensitive veins from the air around him.
"There's no reason… no reason…"
He moved the blade to the right of his wrist a bit, gripping it as hard as he could in his hand.
"that I have left to live…"
He closed his eye, not watching. He slid the blade across his wrist, traveling across the veins, across the skin, until he felt air again. He opened his eye again, looking at his wrist.
There was no pain, no pain at all. He looked at the deep slice that he had made, where the flaps of skin curled slightly upward now that they weren't connected.
He saw red begin to fill the gap, begin to come out, begin to run down his arm. He watched it as drops began to fall to the floor, drenching his shirt, his pants. He watched it all, calmly, emotionless.
It kept coming, it wouldn't stop. More and more just kept gushing from this new cut that he himself had inflicted. A small pool had begun to form below his arm, staining the rock beneath it.
A weird feeling began to float in his head. He felt like… felt like… He felt weak. He wanted to go to sleep, to sprawl out on the floor in front of him, close his eye…
It was as if there was no more blood, no more gaping slice in his wrist. There was nothing, everything was fine, nothing was different. He felt like he was floating through the sky, about to depart from this body.
He layed out, gently resting himself on the floor. Even the hard rock felt comfy now, a soft bed where he could sleep...
He closed his eye softly, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. His breathing began to get slower and slower, short slow breaths.
He felt himself fall asleep, felt himself fall into the dream world that he had often taken himself to many times in the last month or so. Maybe in this world Tasuki would be there. Maybe there'd be no Kouji. Maybe this was where he was really supposed to be…
The room was silent once more. His breaths could barely be heard, even in the heavy, quiet air.
Across the room, the air shivered, and small bursts of light began to appear, forming a larger shape.
A shadow could be seen walking up to the figure of the fallen man, bending down, and then a quiet voice could be heard.