A.N.: Ryouma-sama's POV of last chapter!
Oh, I warn you, though this has some medical/psychological backup theories, I'm not an expert nor student on this matter, so anything in Psychology or something here is either things I've created or that I've picked up somewhere in my ever short lifetime so far…
JAPANESE DICTIONARY
Nitoryuu – ambidextrous
Oyaji – how Ryouma-sama calls his dad (literally means "old man" or something)
Kaasan – how Ryouma-sama refers to his mother
To the person who reviewed the prequel to this fic (Attack on Ochibi-chan!) as anonymous under / here's my answer: first, I hope you read this sequel, 'cause you didn't leave me a clue to your e-mail and I can't answer otherwise, so… "no Ouji-sama" means "Prince of" ("Ouji" means "prince", "-sama" is that traditional honorific for people who have a higher hierarchy than you, and "no" in this case means "of" as). Hope that clears it! Feel happy to e-mail me for better reference/explanation if I didn't do a very good job here!
To Craze Izumi (I think that was you, wasn't it? oO): I can't really put more than three chapters as I've already written the whole fic as a threeshot… even the chapter titles were arranged for that, so I'm sorry. If it serves as a consolation, this chapter is incredibly long for my standards! '''
WATCH OVER OCHIBI-CHAN!
1st SERVICE, 2nd TRY – CAUGHT ON NET: HISTORICAL PROBLEMS
I watched the others play from the classroom window and uncharacteristically a sigh escapes my mouth.
Three months already, and still my wrists hadn't healed. It was not only boring, it was ridiculously depressing to not be able to play my sport, the one thing I really feel comfortable with doing…
My gaze shifts from the bouncy students below to my wrists, still wrapped by now yellowish gauze. This thing not only feels very itchy, though I'm able to ignore it, but it constantly triggers back memories I never thought of for the last seven years.
Memories my mind had suppressed and that I had completely forgotten.
But now, without having my only effective distraction, the nightmares have come back when I sleep, making me relive some of those past events. Though I feel I haven't quite remembered everything yet, I truly don't wish to learn anything more than what they have already shown me. Because of these bad dreams, it's been almost two weeks since the last time I had a good night's sleep, this being a good part of the explanation as to why I've been feeling so light-headed and weak lately.
I was able to hold on for two months while we all waited for them to get better, though it's been some time since I last saw the other regulars, but I knew from that promise they'd made that they would be waiting.
I actually survived two more weeks besides the two estimated months, though my body greatly started feeling weary, weak, and my senses seemed to have dimmed a bit.
But then those nightmares started haunting me and I've been forced to remain silent about them: if I said anything at home, either they'd just laugh or they'd get extremely worried, to the point of trapping me at home or something. I know because those dreams don't seem to be just some creation from my mind, I can feel they're real, or better yet, that they were my reality at some point back, and thus I know what my family's reactions would be if I told them again, like I did when all this happened before… just like the dreams told me.
And I see it again and again every night; these horrible memories won't stop haunting me, torturing me out of sleep. I know that by now, I'm living in a daze, a world where I don't know what is reality and what was it, my body keeps bringing me to and from both worlds, sometimes I can barely tell if I'm awake or dozing off.
I just wish these wrists would heal soon enough so I can get back to playing tennis and block these horrible visions all over again.
But somehow, I also feel that I'm far from getting rid of this curse.
Four months already passed… and this has become pathetic.
My body's weakening without the exercise I need. The doctor made it clear that I shouldn't have any kind of exercises, that I should limit myself to the schoolwork.
But I've learned, from those dreams, that my force is tennis.
I've learned from these truthful visions more than I needed to remember… including the fact that tennis was the one thing that was able to give me the strength I needed to survive years ago, when I went through all that process.
Suddenly, I'm in that world again, the scenes playing before me in a rapid display, almost causing me a headache, but not so fast that I couldn't see them all over again.
The accident, the consequences, oiyaji's seemingly innocent jokes… they all summed up to create what happened.
I couldn't walk; my lower body was completely paralyzed after that truck ran me over on my bike.
The hospital where I woke up in… my parents around the bed I was sleeping on, eyes widening in relief when they saw I had woken up…
When they told me that I'd lost all movements from my waist down.
The satisfaction on their faces when the drunk teenager who was driving the said truck was sentenced to jail for at least 8 years or so…
All the efforts I made to be able to at least stand up again…
Oiyaji's taunting words…
The day I saw him play tennis… and his shock when I asked to play it too…
The joy I found in playing it, even though I could barely support myself…
The perseverance I had to show in order to have my body heal enough to play it…
And how the sport, or better, the joy of it helped me overcome that barrier many deemed impossible to bring down.
How my body slowly started to develop as I played…
All the tournaments I faced, each of them making me stronger…
And, of course, all the psychological side-affects the whole process brought down on me…
"But that's one thing I don't even want to remember," I think to myself as I suppress a shudder, only then noticing that I'm already halfway home.
Like I said, it's been difficult to know what's reality and what was reality. My body's been doing everything automatically lately, which, obviously, doesn't help much when my eyes refuse to see the real world and only show me the dreamland I've been traveling to so much. That's why I've been pretty much bumping on everything in the way, and the only reason I know that's what happens, even if I don't feel anything, is because my body feels all sore when I get home, a few bruises obvious on my white skin.
It's strange though, that when I get home, it's like I get to be myself for some time, at least I don't doze off when I'm there, but the dreams come full force at night… usually showing me the scenes that almost
Those memories were definitely the worst; the way I've been acting lately is strangely close to that pattern, which only makes me more frightful, knowing what I'm up against, but not knowing how to fight it back… knowing that if the near future brought me face-to-face with the same situation again, I wouldn't have the strength to fight it back down again…
Another month went by… and I've been snoozing even in the tests now, which, for sure, brings all attention on me. I haven't been let in peace at home, they've noticed a long time ago already that something's wrong, but I refuse to admit what's going on.
Satoshi and the others think I haven't noticed they've been watching me. My senses have decreased significantly, but they're more obvious than they know. I'm sure my grades must have caused them a greater reaction: they looked at me in the weirdest way before running off altogether when they saw the charts…
And I haven't seen the other regulars for quite a long time now…
I've been feeling strangely weird… even more so…
And I know what the cause for this is.
My feet… better yet, my ankles, which were naturally weak, their condition worsened by the accident, without playing tennis… they're losing all the strength I was able to gain by pursuing the sport all these years… it took me more than a year to have them ready to run for an entire set, yet it took only a little less than a few months to lose all the efforts.
And now, I'm limping… and that's why I'm feeling weird. Of course, years ago I had been used to it, but now, after such a long time of actually being normal, it feels very strange to be limping again.
And I know it can get worse; if I don't get back to playing soon, I know limping isn't the only thing I'll be doing again…
And yet everyone refuses to let me even near a tennis court…
When I got home, my parents had the weirdest look on their faces, Karupin seemed to be recoiled into a far corner and my cousin was nowhere to seen… I had the faint feeling she was in the kitchen making dinner.
They asked me what was wrong with me as I slipped of my sneakers and walked stepped inside the house. Since I hadn't changed my mind about telling them, the answer was my usual careless shrug, but it seemed neither oyaji nor kaasan were going to accept it any farther. The latter was the first to advance. He gripped my arm fiercely and I was barely aware of his face coming a breath's distance to mine.
"What the hell is wrong with you, brat!" He asked impatiently.
Typical.
Another shrug from me and his face turned into a furious expression, which didn't faze mine in any way. I was hell bent in not telling, not after I remembered being caged in my own bedroom for days the last time I felt like this. I knew my mind was slowly slipping out, that I was slowly "losing it", but I couldn't avoid it; those thoughts called out to me like magnets, it was almost like they were a part of me, and, in a way, they were, except I was still resisting their temptations… still trying to block out they ordered me to do, though I'd been feeling quite tempted to comply.
He let me go, I think because he knows how stubborn I could be. With impassive eyes I announced I wasn't going to eat today either and headed to my room, locking the door after Karupin walked in, following me, and settled itself on the cushions at one of the corners.
Dropping my schoolbag on my desk, I started undressing; first, my pants, quickly changing into dark green shorts, and then the black long-sleeved shirt of the uniform, lingering a bit as it slipped of my other arm and to the floor. I stood there, chest bare, in the middle of my room, looking at the clear skin the clothing had revealed, my white skin… spotless, at least until it reached the gauze on my wrist. I was engulfed my temptation as I looked steadily at it.
I knew it wasn't right, that it was madness, but the impulse was greater than my will…
And I realized at that moment I was losing the battle against the dreams… the memories. Those thought were coming back, bringing back the same impulse that had dominated me then… and like that time, I couldn't resist it either.
My curiosity got the better of me as tried to imagine what clear skin could reveal if I "opened" it. It was a crazy thought, yet I still stood there thinking about it, until my body started acting by itself.
Unlocking the door and stepping through it, I quietly went to the kitchen, taking good care not to be heard by the others as they talked in the sitting room… had I taken that long undressing that they'd already finished eating and were now just chatting? Apparently not that much, I concluded, as I saw the table still set, but nothing touched. Opening the drawer, I found a relatively sharp knife, though nothing too drastic, after all, I was only going to experiment something, and it wasn't like I was suicidal, not again.
Gripping the metallic object tightly, I walked back to my room and shut the door behind me. I looked at my still bare upper body; its spotless light skin practically begging the knife to touch it gracefully.
And I obliged.
First thing I did was just a light touch, the cold blade giving me delicious chills. Only when those goosebumps subsided did I start the real test. Initially, it was just a small point made by the tip of the utensil, as if, instead, a needle had pricked me, and then I started sliding it down the arm, almost until it reached the inner part of my elbow, where I stopped moving the object and lifted it away, my hand dropping by my side with it.
And then I just stood there, looking intently at the art I created.
Indeed, liquid red does match quite well with peachy skin. It's a beautiful combination.
So I repeated the process on my other arm, the nitoryuu style I played tennis with helping greatly at this task.
The drops of my river of life rolled on my arm and eventually fell to the floor, where they were gathering to form a little puddle, which my gaze reverted to, and I looked at it for a long time, completely oblivious to the world.
I repeated the process many times during the next three weeks, the knife now stored in my backpack so I could use it whenever I wanted to, no matter where I was. At school, I sometimes used the bathroom to entertain myself with it.
Because I knew the risks, I did everything hidden, when no one was near and where the no one could see, cleaning up everything when my "playtime" was over; however, I'm quite sure Horio and the others noticed the bandages in my arms, I caught their wide eyes on it once and they'd been looking at it since. I've noticed they've been trying to talk to me, probably about the gauge and everything, but eventually I zone out into my nightmares, and their words quickly become mere whispers of the wind to my ears.
I didn't want to talk about this anyway…
Each day I cut a little deeper, after all, it was just an experiment… still.
But no matter how much I waited, the puddle the drops made as they fell were always so small, it wouldn't get much bigger no matter how many drops joined it… perhaps I had been cutting too shallowly? Yes, that must have been it, and I was just about to correct that when I heard the door open with a loud noise, the big piece of wood banging against the wall.
I guess I forgot to lock it when I returned and whoever came in didn't seem to feel discrete at the moment.
The knife still in my hand by my side, I turned around slowly and saw oyaji standing there, a shocked expression on his features, and both my cousin and kaasan behind him, terrified expression on theirs.
I'm pretty sure my gaze was unfocused then, because I had only the red liquid in mind, and because, once again, I never saw oyaji move towards me, his fist landing squarely on my cheek, marking it for what I knew would be days before it disappeared.
Kaasan screamed.
My cousin gasped, hiding her eyes behind her hands.
And the impact I received was so sudden and strong on my frail body, that it flew back until I banged with a loud "crack" on my wooden desk, the air temporarily knocked out of me.
My cousin didn't change anything in her position and oyaji also seemed to be paralyzed after hitting me, though his eyes never left my frame. However, after getting out of her stupor, kaasan ran towards me, hugging my body close to hers as she nestled my head nestled on her soft chest.
And I actually felt something warm and wet drop on my cheeks, right before everything faded away, my vision becoming hazy and the nightmares were displayed, yet again, before me.
I woke up the next day, as usual, late for school. Running to the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and took a very quick shower. Only when I was putting on my uniform did I notice new bandages on both my wrists… ones that followed all the way up to my biceps.
There was a small pinkish stain on the two, right where my blood mostly flowed about.
I stood there staring a bit, but I soon snapped back and finished undressing in such a hurry, I never looked in the mirror to check how I was, otherwise I would have noticed the big red mark on my cheek.
Running out of my room, I drank all my juice in one go, and headed out as fast as my feet could carry me, though that wouldn't mean a lot at this point. I was still limping, obviously, and my ankles were no longer strong enough to support my weight if I ran too fast.
Still, to my slow state, it was still fast, enough for me to never even see anyone as I exited the house, though I'm sure I heard kaasan's distressed call.
But I couldn't stop now.
And as I ran back to the school, the memories of what happened last night finally dawned on me; at least I knew why my face was hurting like hell. But if it had hurt that much, one good thing it did do: I seemed to be less dazed than I had been the last few weeks.
A little, but at least it was enough for me to remember that I was late and consciously run towards the school.
Even if my ankles were begging me to stop.
When I approached the building, I thought back to what I had been doing, and what oyaji had done last night. Finally, I remembered passing out in kaasan's arms, and something making my face wet before everyone was erased from my view.
Kaasan's tears…
She had cried when she held me… and I couldn't help but ask myself… why?
Why was she crying? Because oyaji had hit me?
Then again, why had he hit me in the first place? Oh yes, they had seen the floor stained with my blood. It was no big deal, I could wipe it off soon after, just like I had been doing every time I decided to use the knife on myself.
She couldn't possibly be upset because of that, could she?
Or maybe, it was something else… oh yes, slowly, I remember, memories from the previous time, when they had found me almost dead on the floor back in America.
She cried that time too.
I remember the last scene I saw before fading out back then: it was her, kaasan's face drowned by tears as she looked trembling at me. At that time, when I woke up again days later, I was in a hospital, and she was there by my side. She told me I had nearly killed myself, but that I had been saved with some effort from the doctors.
She also said that I would have to attend some sort of psychological assistance for the crazy people who attempted suicides… of course, kaasan hadn't phrased it that way, but blankly said, that was it.
And I would still be there, attending the stupid "lessons", if I hadn't discovered oyaji practicing tennis one day when I came home early from school. Initially, since I was very weak, I could barely swing the racket, and that was enough to drown me into sadness at my incapability, but as I began to progress at the sport, determined to master it, even my psychologists advised the family to encourage me to it, though the orthopedists believed I'd never get anywhere with it because of my weak body… but to their surprise and my joy, my body seemed to agree with the idea of practicing tennis, because it began to improve considerably as I played it.
And both the psychologists and the orthopedists practically made it an order that I never stopped playing. I heard their explanation once, when they were telling my parents about it once they thought I was already in bed… except I had woken up to get a glass of water in the middle of my slumber and accidentally heard them…
They said it was a reaction my body seemed to create in order to block the suicide attempt and the whole depression case, so it would not happen again… it seems that was also the reason I forgot about the whole incident until "recently": tennis blocked away those memories in order for my mind and body to be safe.
Tennis gave me strength and confidence, two things I never even dreamed of having before I started playing it. I think that's when my ego burst too.
Still, I can't understand why, after all these years, just because I stopped playing, why had I succumbed so easily to cutting myself? Even without tennis to help me block out the memories, I shouldn't have gone down that easily…
I was still trying to figure out why exactly I had given in that fast to the urge when I entered my classroom, and, as usual, Horio and the others were already there. This time, they seemed surprised when they looked at me, but I gave it no second thought, my mind was busy enough already with the question at hand.
And that's what my reasoning took me back to… why was it that I had succumbed so easily? Maybe my will had decreased too; was it possible that all my qualities were tied to that sport?
But still, I don't get what was so wrong about what I did, the body is mine, I can do with it whatever I want, can't I? And I really enjoyed the sensation the knife gave me every time it touched my skin and pierced through it…
In fact, I'm missing that sensation even now… I wish I could do that right here, in the middle of the classroom, but I'm sure the others wouldn't understand, not to mention my parents would know immediately anyway, and I don't feel like facing them again this soon.
A loud sound seemed to wake me from my reverie, and I realized it was the school bell. By the movement in the room, I guessed it was lunchtime already, so I quickly got up and headed towards the bathroom, one that nearly no one ever went to, mainly because it was usually out of use.
Great, that suited me perfectly.
As I entered, I didn't even bother to hide or anything, nobody had gone there since the day I discovered this isolated bathroom anyway.
Reaching inside one of the pockets of my uniform pants, I found the pocketknife I had gotten a while ago. The knife I had been using until last night was probably out of my reach by now, but anticipating a situation like that, I'd bought one or two small ones that did the jog pretty nicely too. One of those was now in my hand, ripping the other arm's skin even further, a new wound appearing on it.
It's funny, I've done this many times, but that beautiful shade of red never ceases to amaze me, I wonder what it would feel like if I cut my throat? Would I feel it? Would I have time to see what shade of red would come out before I was gone forever? Was it even worth not experiencing that? I could tell that by the time my wrists healed, I'd probably be thirty or something… a miracle doesn't happen twice.
And such a miracle had already happened once to me… I had managed to heal years ago thanks to playing tennis, but now, that possibility was out of reach, and tennis is my life, or better, it was my lifeline.
If I can't play tennis, maybe I shouldn't even exist.
Tennis is all I'm good for.
Tennis is all I ever want to do.
Tennis is what I want to live for.
Tennis is what I won't be able to do… not anymore.
So why live?
And if I didn't want to live any longer, why not end my life in an interesting experience? Like finding out what shade of red comes out of my throat when I cut it?
I really wanted to know that, and I was about to find out, when, to my surprise, Kachirou walked inside the bathroom.
And then I wasn't the only surprised one in there, I noticed, as his eyes went wider than ever the moment they landed on my stained pocketknife.
The pocketknife I had stained with my own blood.
END of 1st SERVICE, 2nd TRY – CAUGHT ON NET: HISTORICAL PROBLEMS
A.N.: Was that too heavy… or perhaps too lame?
If you got confused on Ryouma-sama's trail of thoughts, then that's great… it's not supposed to be stable, remember he's a bit out of it at this point!
Oh, and a warning: I'm NOT intently encouraging anyone to go suicidal, leave that to the characters! You know, there's really nothing wrong with violence, suicide and all that heavy stuff, as long as you don't take it to the outside world. It's great if you like angst and drama, but please don't encourage anyone to practice these things in reality. It's a crime, it's a sin… and quite frankly, it's disgustingly sad. If the suicide idea comes from you, hey, it's your life, just think about what you're doing really well before you take any drastic measures, but please DON'T PURSUADE anyone to do it. If possible, please do try to preach against it. Any kind of violence is no longer acceptable in the world we live in today, and I sincerely hope we will someday reach a time when people won't even know what it is…
"The greatest gift in life is life itself, so don't give up on it… live it to its fullest."
That said/typed, I hope you can give all my rambling a little thought!
Since I didn't have the time to give this a throughout check/editing, though that doesn't mean I won't do it sometime in the future, if you find ANY mistakes here, please report them to me!
Syaoran-Lover aka KaiLi signing out!