Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z. If I did I wouldn't be wasting my time writing here when I could be wallowing in my millions.
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Life for a Life
Gohan watched as his dark, red blood lazily trailed down his arm and into the sink. With it his emotions came to a slow halt as he was calmed by the europhia brought about by cutting. However soon enough the feeling was gone and his memories and guilt ridden thoughts came back full force.
'If only I didn't grow complacent, he would have still been alive'
A lone tear made its way down his face and splashed on the cut he had just made. He looked at the small blade in his hand, the one he had used for six long months. Everybody thought that he had gotten over Goku's death; he had fooled everyone with a mask of cheerfulness while inside his heart wept for every fake smile, every loud laugh and every stupid joke.
They had actually thought that he would be healed just like that? They thought that by saying it's not his fault over and over he would start believing it as well. He would and could never believe that because it was HIS fault, it was HIS mistake and he could never make it right. As his thoughts started getting too much to handle the blade slowly cut into his skin releasing his blood and with it all of his guilt and shame, at least for a little while.
Watching the blood flow down his arm always brought him a morbid fascination, calming him and letting him think clearly for a minute or two before the guilt returned. Gohan looked at his arm tracing the small cuts with his sharp eyes, as he gazed at his arm he had an epiphany, all he was doing by mutilating himself was hurting himself even more.
A feeling of disgust washed over him and the urge to cut grew with it, he wasn't trying to punish himself like he had intended when he started to cut, now he was doing it for himself, taking the easy way out to release the pent up emotions that plagued him inside his mind. He just couldn't stop anymore whether he wanted to or not.
His mistake haunted him everywhere he went and the only way for release was the self-mutilation he had learned to perform oh so well. He couldn't stop anymore and that thought terrified him, someday he would cut too deep or on the wrong place and he was most likely to die a slow, lingering death. No one would understand if he told and so he could only see one way out of the never ending loop of cutting, the inviting arms of death beckoned to him.
He knew it would happen eventually and so why wait for it; he slowly took up his blade and slid it across his forearm in a neat slice, the blood welling up and starting its trek down his arm. For a moment he wondered if he was doing the right thing and in the same instant banished that thought thinking that it was the only way to amend his mistake. Life for a life.
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