*It felt like he was watching the whole world go by in fast forward. Things
were holding him down, keeping him from being happy. From feeling real.
Syaoran only knows one way to fight it; there is only one way to fight the
numbness.*
**WARNING: This fic will be OOC. Also, it is going to be violent and there will be strong language. I advise those who oppose OOC fics to just turn around now, unless you're willing to open up and check it out. There is a high possibility of character death within this fic also, so be forewarned. Thanks!**
Every New Day
In the dark recess of a dimly lit room sat a young man. His legs were bent, arms resting on his knees as he stared silently over his folded arms. Melancholy amber eyes looked at the object before him as it lay inches in front of his bare feet. It shined, despite the lack of light, as if beckoning the teenager to take it in his hands once again.
A hand moved from its position, shifting unruly strands of dark caramel colored hair, then folding itself back with its twin under the young man's chin. A dark scowl was resting on his handsome face as he watched the object closely, almost as if it would come to life and spring on him at any given moment.
Seconds ticked by like hours; another bad day was seemingly taking forever just to end. Surrendering himself to the call of the object, he reached out, grasping the handle in his hand carefully. He turned the knife over in his hands, watching it glint in the faint light. Relief seemed to take place of the low look on his face as his eyes lightened slightly and an almost mad smile crossed his face.
Setting the knife back on the hardwood floor beside him, the teenager rolled up his sleeve. He stopped, admiring the marks on his arm. Some of them were old scars, now barely visible after the healing process. The rest were ranging in their phases of healing, some almost healed while others remained red and scabbed.
Taking one more look, he noticed a patch of skin without fault. Picking up the weapon once again, he positioned it on top of the soft flesh and prepared himself. In a moment it was over; he dragged the knife over his skin, sending a shock wave of pain that the young man welcomed. He looked down at his arm, at the place where he had sliced; the once pale skin now possessed an angry red line, and it was slowly oozing crimson blood.
Sighing heavily, the teen began slicing again and again, making parallel cuts beside the original. Soon he was bleeding from five slashes, all ranging in depth. He watched the blood as it ran down his arm, making a ruby trail around his arm. The boy noticed some of his blood had dripped off his arm, and was soaking into the floor. Muttering soft curses, the boy rose to his feet and retreated to the bathroom.
"Son of a bitch . . . " he whispered, mopping the blood with a dark green towel. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the wetness of his life source on his temple. He got up again, went to the bathroom, and washed the blood off his arm. The heated skin on his arm stung as he applied a hot washcloth. A knock on the door shook the young man from his work, and he hastily dried his arm, neglecting to bandage it.
"Syaoran?" a muffled voice called from the other side of the door. The boy opened the door to a smaller woman with the same amber eyes. She smiled softly at the young man, who forced a small smile in return.
"I thought you had gone to bed, Syaoran." The woman stated, her voice soft but strong. Syaoran shook his head, trying to hide his arm from his mother's view as best he could by leaning against the door frame.
"No, Mother. I was just getting ready to though." Syaoran replied. His thoughts suddenly flashed to his temple; there was still blood from his arm on it, and if his mother saw it, she would start to ask questions. For Syaoran, questions led to truth, and admitting the truth to his mother would certainly kill her. What would she say if she found out her strong son, the one who would someday inherit everything in his family, was cutting to keep from breaking down?
"Well I won't keep you any longer. Goodnight, Syaoran." Yelan said, smiling up at her son before turning to walk away. Syaoran also started to duck back into his room, but stopped when Yelan turned and called his name.
"Syaoran . . . " Yelan asked, looking at him suspiciously. Syaoran's heart began pounding; she had seen the blood for sure now, and he was going to have to tell her the truth.
"Yes, Mother?" Syaoran asked, trying to mask his nervousness.
"Perhaps you should wash your face again. You missed some dirt on your face from training I believe. Goodnight." Yelan pointed out. Syaoran sighed with relief as he nodded, backing into his room and closing the door. He slumped down against the wooden access, sweat glimmering on his face.
'That was much too close . . . ' Syaoran thought as he rolled his sleeve up again. He cursed once again as he noticed the blue shirt now sported a good sized blood stain.
'Damn. Another shirt to hide under the bed.' Syaoran thought, removing the garment and tossing it under his bed. Returning once again to his bathroom, Syaoran examined the cuts. He had cut a little too deep this time, and the five wounds were just beginning to clot. He washed off the cuts once again, wincing at the pain. Syaoran reached into his medicine cabinet and pulled out some antibiotic for the cuts.
'You know, you could just go to someone, tell them you've got a problem. But who's going to believe that you, the strong one, have problems? You're not supposed to be flawed; everyone relies on you. You can't be weak like this, it's not good enough.' Syaoran thought, leaning in to look at himself in the mirror, his hands on the sink to support his weight.
In front of him was the reflection of a totally different person. The one he used to know had died, and in its place came what he had become; a frightened young man who just wanted to feel. That's why he started the cutting; feeling had left him when she left him. Cutting was the only thing that he could see keeping his sanity.
"This is all your fault. If you wouldn't have hesitated, you wouldn't have this problem. You wouldn't be addicted." Syaoran said aloud, glaring at his reflection angrily. This was true; if he hadn't waited so long to make his move, he'd have what he wanted, and he wouldn't have lost the one person who made him feel emotion at all.
Sakura.
Syaoran threw on an old black shirt after he bandaged his arm, and climbed into bed, turning to face the french windows overlooking the city. His mind began to wander to the day he started cutting, the day he lost Sakura forever.
It was a beautiful June morning. In fact, Syaoran remembered it was a Monday. He was walking down the sidewalk toward Sakura's house to pick her up for school. As he walked along, he fiddled with the necklace in his pocket. It was silver with a star shaped charm on it, and he was intending on presenting it to Sakura on the way to school when he told her how he had fallen for her.
Upon reaching a small cheerful house, Syaoran heard a door slam and the tapping of small feet as they moved down the stone walkway. Before he knew it, Sakura was bounding over the picket fence, a piece of toast clamped in her mouth. Syaoran could hear Touya yelling at them, but mostly at him.
"You stay away from my sister, Li!"
Syaoran rolled his eyes and smiled. Even at twenty-five, Touya kept a sharp watch on his baby sister. Sakura rolled her emerald eyes and looked back at her older brother with a 'leave him alone or I'll make you wish I was never born' look. Smiling sweetly at her friend, Sakura took off with Syaoran toward the school.
"Oh Syaoran, you'll never guess what happened to me last night!" Sakura squealed on the way. Syaoran fiddled with the necklace, waiting for his chance to speak up.
"You're not going to guess?" Sakura said, pouting slightly. Syaoran smiled, but shook his head nonetheless.
"Nope. You'll tell me either way. This was I know I can get on your nerves." Syaoran replied smartly. He had the necklace in his hand, and started to pull it out as Sakura spoke.
"Landon asked me out last night!!" Sakura exclaimed, taking Syaoran by surprise. His grip on the necklace loosened, and he let it slip back into his blazer jacket, unknown to Sakura. Syaoran felt his heart drop through his body; this was not what he was expecting to hear. He barely listened as Sakura told him about the date she was planning on going out on that night.
"So what do you think, Syaoran? Syaoran? Syao. . . are you there?" Sakura asked, waving a face in front of the scowling boy. Syaoran snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Sakura with an apologetic smile.
"I think it's great. Landon's . . . a great guy." Syaoran muttered, not looking at Sakura. They reached the top of the stairs leading into the school, and Sakura took off to where Landon was standing, a broad smile on his face. Syaoran kept walking by as Sakura and Landon chatted.
Melancholy. That was the one word that described Syaoran that day. He felt like there was nothing that could pull him from his comatose state. It turned out that his day could and did get worse. In one of his classes he had to take a pop quiz, and he failed it. In another class his homework wasn't for the right chapter, resulting in another zero.
An argument with a teacher in the last few moments of his last class earned Syaoran his first detention. It seemed like nothing was going right for the seventeen year old as he flopped back down on his chair. Sakura watched him, a puzzled look on her face. Syaoran scowled and crossed his arms after the bell sounded; now he had an hour of detention to look forward to.
After the detention, Syaoran went home to find he was late for training, earning him two extra hours of hard work. When finished, Syaoran was completely worn down. He trudged into his home and into his room, where he quickly showered.
He wasn't sure what it was that made him snap. Perhaps it was the fact that Sakura was now out of reach to him. Maybe it was the difficulty level of the homework he was working on. Or it could have been the amount of frustrations he had endured throughout the day. Whatever it was, Syaoran became desperate for something to release the frustration.
His mind was racing, what could stop this aggravation, what could get rid of the cold numbness in his heart? He searched through his desk drawer until he found what he was looking for; a knife his father had given him. It was neatly folded, the handle onyx in color with a stripe of abalone. Syaoran snatched it in his hand, flipping the blade quickly.
For a moment he stared at the weapon, considering what he was about to do. He rolled up his sleeve slowly, revealing his flawless bicep. Before he could stop himself, Syaoran drew the knife across his arm. He winced at the pain, but quickly found himself drowning in the rush of relief he felt. It was like he had made an exit for all the feelings he had felt that day. Entranced, Syaoran watched the blood as it ran slowly down his arm.
That was the first time he had ever cut. After that night, a month passed before he did it again. However, it soon became clear that the rigors of his life were wearing down on him as he cut more and more frequently. His arms were criss-crossed with cuts and scars from over a year of cutting.
'I need help . . . I know this isn't healthy, but . . . I can't stop.' Syaoran thought as he turned over in bed. The thoughts of cutting had subsided with the thoughts of insufficiencies and regret he had felt before he had cut himself. He felt lighter, even though he felt more regret for allowing himself to be weakened to the point of cutting again.
This was the vicious cycle; Syaoran would feel frustrated or depressed, or feel some sort of regret for something, and to get the feeling to go away, he would cut. After he cut, he would feel regret and therein continuously feel the need to cut again. It never seemed to end, something would always hurt or disturb him.
Syaoran closed his eyes and let sleep take him over. Tomorrow was another day, after all, and he needed all the rest he could to battle the frustrations he knew would be waiting for him when he next opened his eyes.
*So, what do you think? This is obviously going to center around Syaoran and his problem, and Sakura's going to become involved later. There will be some S&S, I promise. I'm also strongly leaning toward a character death, much to many reader's probable dismay. Please review this and give me some feedback. Let me know if you think it's unique or if it sucks, or whatever. Thanks!*
**WARNING: This fic will be OOC. Also, it is going to be violent and there will be strong language. I advise those who oppose OOC fics to just turn around now, unless you're willing to open up and check it out. There is a high possibility of character death within this fic also, so be forewarned. Thanks!**
Every New Day
In the dark recess of a dimly lit room sat a young man. His legs were bent, arms resting on his knees as he stared silently over his folded arms. Melancholy amber eyes looked at the object before him as it lay inches in front of his bare feet. It shined, despite the lack of light, as if beckoning the teenager to take it in his hands once again.
A hand moved from its position, shifting unruly strands of dark caramel colored hair, then folding itself back with its twin under the young man's chin. A dark scowl was resting on his handsome face as he watched the object closely, almost as if it would come to life and spring on him at any given moment.
Seconds ticked by like hours; another bad day was seemingly taking forever just to end. Surrendering himself to the call of the object, he reached out, grasping the handle in his hand carefully. He turned the knife over in his hands, watching it glint in the faint light. Relief seemed to take place of the low look on his face as his eyes lightened slightly and an almost mad smile crossed his face.
Setting the knife back on the hardwood floor beside him, the teenager rolled up his sleeve. He stopped, admiring the marks on his arm. Some of them were old scars, now barely visible after the healing process. The rest were ranging in their phases of healing, some almost healed while others remained red and scabbed.
Taking one more look, he noticed a patch of skin without fault. Picking up the weapon once again, he positioned it on top of the soft flesh and prepared himself. In a moment it was over; he dragged the knife over his skin, sending a shock wave of pain that the young man welcomed. He looked down at his arm, at the place where he had sliced; the once pale skin now possessed an angry red line, and it was slowly oozing crimson blood.
Sighing heavily, the teen began slicing again and again, making parallel cuts beside the original. Soon he was bleeding from five slashes, all ranging in depth. He watched the blood as it ran down his arm, making a ruby trail around his arm. The boy noticed some of his blood had dripped off his arm, and was soaking into the floor. Muttering soft curses, the boy rose to his feet and retreated to the bathroom.
"Son of a bitch . . . " he whispered, mopping the blood with a dark green towel. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the wetness of his life source on his temple. He got up again, went to the bathroom, and washed the blood off his arm. The heated skin on his arm stung as he applied a hot washcloth. A knock on the door shook the young man from his work, and he hastily dried his arm, neglecting to bandage it.
"Syaoran?" a muffled voice called from the other side of the door. The boy opened the door to a smaller woman with the same amber eyes. She smiled softly at the young man, who forced a small smile in return.
"I thought you had gone to bed, Syaoran." The woman stated, her voice soft but strong. Syaoran shook his head, trying to hide his arm from his mother's view as best he could by leaning against the door frame.
"No, Mother. I was just getting ready to though." Syaoran replied. His thoughts suddenly flashed to his temple; there was still blood from his arm on it, and if his mother saw it, she would start to ask questions. For Syaoran, questions led to truth, and admitting the truth to his mother would certainly kill her. What would she say if she found out her strong son, the one who would someday inherit everything in his family, was cutting to keep from breaking down?
"Well I won't keep you any longer. Goodnight, Syaoran." Yelan said, smiling up at her son before turning to walk away. Syaoran also started to duck back into his room, but stopped when Yelan turned and called his name.
"Syaoran . . . " Yelan asked, looking at him suspiciously. Syaoran's heart began pounding; she had seen the blood for sure now, and he was going to have to tell her the truth.
"Yes, Mother?" Syaoran asked, trying to mask his nervousness.
"Perhaps you should wash your face again. You missed some dirt on your face from training I believe. Goodnight." Yelan pointed out. Syaoran sighed with relief as he nodded, backing into his room and closing the door. He slumped down against the wooden access, sweat glimmering on his face.
'That was much too close . . . ' Syaoran thought as he rolled his sleeve up again. He cursed once again as he noticed the blue shirt now sported a good sized blood stain.
'Damn. Another shirt to hide under the bed.' Syaoran thought, removing the garment and tossing it under his bed. Returning once again to his bathroom, Syaoran examined the cuts. He had cut a little too deep this time, and the five wounds were just beginning to clot. He washed off the cuts once again, wincing at the pain. Syaoran reached into his medicine cabinet and pulled out some antibiotic for the cuts.
'You know, you could just go to someone, tell them you've got a problem. But who's going to believe that you, the strong one, have problems? You're not supposed to be flawed; everyone relies on you. You can't be weak like this, it's not good enough.' Syaoran thought, leaning in to look at himself in the mirror, his hands on the sink to support his weight.
In front of him was the reflection of a totally different person. The one he used to know had died, and in its place came what he had become; a frightened young man who just wanted to feel. That's why he started the cutting; feeling had left him when she left him. Cutting was the only thing that he could see keeping his sanity.
"This is all your fault. If you wouldn't have hesitated, you wouldn't have this problem. You wouldn't be addicted." Syaoran said aloud, glaring at his reflection angrily. This was true; if he hadn't waited so long to make his move, he'd have what he wanted, and he wouldn't have lost the one person who made him feel emotion at all.
Sakura.
Syaoran threw on an old black shirt after he bandaged his arm, and climbed into bed, turning to face the french windows overlooking the city. His mind began to wander to the day he started cutting, the day he lost Sakura forever.
It was a beautiful June morning. In fact, Syaoran remembered it was a Monday. He was walking down the sidewalk toward Sakura's house to pick her up for school. As he walked along, he fiddled with the necklace in his pocket. It was silver with a star shaped charm on it, and he was intending on presenting it to Sakura on the way to school when he told her how he had fallen for her.
Upon reaching a small cheerful house, Syaoran heard a door slam and the tapping of small feet as they moved down the stone walkway. Before he knew it, Sakura was bounding over the picket fence, a piece of toast clamped in her mouth. Syaoran could hear Touya yelling at them, but mostly at him.
"You stay away from my sister, Li!"
Syaoran rolled his eyes and smiled. Even at twenty-five, Touya kept a sharp watch on his baby sister. Sakura rolled her emerald eyes and looked back at her older brother with a 'leave him alone or I'll make you wish I was never born' look. Smiling sweetly at her friend, Sakura took off with Syaoran toward the school.
"Oh Syaoran, you'll never guess what happened to me last night!" Sakura squealed on the way. Syaoran fiddled with the necklace, waiting for his chance to speak up.
"You're not going to guess?" Sakura said, pouting slightly. Syaoran smiled, but shook his head nonetheless.
"Nope. You'll tell me either way. This was I know I can get on your nerves." Syaoran replied smartly. He had the necklace in his hand, and started to pull it out as Sakura spoke.
"Landon asked me out last night!!" Sakura exclaimed, taking Syaoran by surprise. His grip on the necklace loosened, and he let it slip back into his blazer jacket, unknown to Sakura. Syaoran felt his heart drop through his body; this was not what he was expecting to hear. He barely listened as Sakura told him about the date she was planning on going out on that night.
"So what do you think, Syaoran? Syaoran? Syao. . . are you there?" Sakura asked, waving a face in front of the scowling boy. Syaoran snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Sakura with an apologetic smile.
"I think it's great. Landon's . . . a great guy." Syaoran muttered, not looking at Sakura. They reached the top of the stairs leading into the school, and Sakura took off to where Landon was standing, a broad smile on his face. Syaoran kept walking by as Sakura and Landon chatted.
Melancholy. That was the one word that described Syaoran that day. He felt like there was nothing that could pull him from his comatose state. It turned out that his day could and did get worse. In one of his classes he had to take a pop quiz, and he failed it. In another class his homework wasn't for the right chapter, resulting in another zero.
An argument with a teacher in the last few moments of his last class earned Syaoran his first detention. It seemed like nothing was going right for the seventeen year old as he flopped back down on his chair. Sakura watched him, a puzzled look on her face. Syaoran scowled and crossed his arms after the bell sounded; now he had an hour of detention to look forward to.
After the detention, Syaoran went home to find he was late for training, earning him two extra hours of hard work. When finished, Syaoran was completely worn down. He trudged into his home and into his room, where he quickly showered.
He wasn't sure what it was that made him snap. Perhaps it was the fact that Sakura was now out of reach to him. Maybe it was the difficulty level of the homework he was working on. Or it could have been the amount of frustrations he had endured throughout the day. Whatever it was, Syaoran became desperate for something to release the frustration.
His mind was racing, what could stop this aggravation, what could get rid of the cold numbness in his heart? He searched through his desk drawer until he found what he was looking for; a knife his father had given him. It was neatly folded, the handle onyx in color with a stripe of abalone. Syaoran snatched it in his hand, flipping the blade quickly.
For a moment he stared at the weapon, considering what he was about to do. He rolled up his sleeve slowly, revealing his flawless bicep. Before he could stop himself, Syaoran drew the knife across his arm. He winced at the pain, but quickly found himself drowning in the rush of relief he felt. It was like he had made an exit for all the feelings he had felt that day. Entranced, Syaoran watched the blood as it ran slowly down his arm.
That was the first time he had ever cut. After that night, a month passed before he did it again. However, it soon became clear that the rigors of his life were wearing down on him as he cut more and more frequently. His arms were criss-crossed with cuts and scars from over a year of cutting.
'I need help . . . I know this isn't healthy, but . . . I can't stop.' Syaoran thought as he turned over in bed. The thoughts of cutting had subsided with the thoughts of insufficiencies and regret he had felt before he had cut himself. He felt lighter, even though he felt more regret for allowing himself to be weakened to the point of cutting again.
This was the vicious cycle; Syaoran would feel frustrated or depressed, or feel some sort of regret for something, and to get the feeling to go away, he would cut. After he cut, he would feel regret and therein continuously feel the need to cut again. It never seemed to end, something would always hurt or disturb him.
Syaoran closed his eyes and let sleep take him over. Tomorrow was another day, after all, and he needed all the rest he could to battle the frustrations he knew would be waiting for him when he next opened his eyes.
*So, what do you think? This is obviously going to center around Syaoran and his problem, and Sakura's going to become involved later. There will be some S&S, I promise. I'm also strongly leaning toward a character death, much to many reader's probable dismay. Please review this and give me some feedback. Let me know if you think it's unique or if it sucks, or whatever. Thanks!*