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...chapter 9: pretty when you cry

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It's been two weeks now.

The pain has settled in, but still it wears me down - wears me out.

But I'm used to it now. It's more like a thought that I can't put my finger on, or an itch I can't scratch. Tiring, but necessary.

All of this is so tiring. This - this - charade I'm forced to act out just to convince people I'm not falling apart. Because I'm not! If I were, I'd be screaming, crying, trying to find solace in something other than this. But I'm not doing any of those things am I?

Yes…

No, I'm not.

I'm just changing.

Changing…?

Yeah. Rearranging a few things. If you removed the fragile outer shell of an egg, you'd find a soft, gooey core, wouldn't you? So easily broken, even the softest touch can cause it to crack if you press the right place. Well, I'm just hardening up. Toughening the shell to protect the insides. Keep it safe so no one can touch it or harm it. Safe inside the wall.

I'm safe inside myself. I can't be found, can't be hurt, and can't be damaged anymore. As long as no one finds me, I'll be fine. I'll just stay here, hidden behind this mask everyone recognizes. As long as my facade doesn't crumble, I'll stay intact.

But I still can't escape my memories. My thoughts break me. My feelings choke me. Still they tear at my brain day and night. God, I would kill for a good nights sleep. Hell, I'd kill for a BAD nights sleep! Just one small chance to stop dwelling on the past, and maybe I'd start forgetting.

But you'll never forget. No matter what you do, it'll always be there...

No! Don't say that - that's a lie.

He'll always be there...

No! Please! I'm begging you! Don't remind me!

Always...

You'll always be there. All my thoughts are only of you.

Hallucinating.

When darkness falls, there you are, and like an animal you're moving over me. And I'm frozen, broken by you. I can't push you off, I can't defend myself, I can't even scream. Can you still feel me in your arms? Can you feel my body under your body, my hands in your hands?

Can you see my blood on those hands?

That blood is on my hands now too.

God, everything is so abused. The little things he puts me through, the trials and tribulations no one ever sees. And I become again another self-ache behind locked doors. I carve your name into my arm and instead of stressed, I lie here charmed. Pull the shades, razor blades, I'm so tragic.

And still you can't live without him...

Shut up! You with your filth! Stop trying to pollute my mind!

You love him...

Lies.

I don't think those feelings will ever fade...

And these scars will never fade! The scars he's given me! All over me! I'm tearing away - pieces are falling and I can't seem to make them stay. And it's him that's taking them! Piece by piece, little by little, he's taking me over.

Admit it...

No.

Admit it...

No.

ADMIT IT!

OKAY!

Can you believe it? After everything, after all the poison come undone, I still ache for him. There's no day, only night, no up, only down, no white, only black, without him.

Won't you cure my tragedy?

I love you so, but I hate you more. Hehehe, I'm so elastic.

But now I'm far from the better days I dreamed of. Now the dream is gone, and my friends just tell me lies.

I may love you, but I hope you die.

After you left, I would reach out for you in the depths of the night, only to feel the harsh cruelty of cold, empty sheets, and I would cry and cry until my throat bled, my voice broke and my entire body was dry. My only wish was for you to hold me like a baby that would not go to sleep, curl your arms around me and let me hear you through the heat.

But now my arms are fed up reaching, and my voice is through with breaking.

Oh...?

Is that so...?

YES.

Yes, I've decided. There's nothing left in me, I can't be saved. I have nothing left to lose.

There are others out there...

Another lover I would abuse. I'll shut off my want if I'm lonely, tear off my genitals if I'm aroused, all just to ensure I'm never a slave to anyone else's affections. It has to be him. The arranger of disorder with his strange yet simple rules.

What has to be him?

You'll see.

I would kill for a good nights sleep....

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Iruka moved away from the full-length mirror hung on his bedroom wall and crossed the room to the locked door. Holding his left arm tight against his bare chest, he tried to work the lock with his right hand, but the thick red fluid was slippery and he couldn't get a grip of the handle. He looked around the room frantically as warm liquid oozed down his stomach. His eyes finally settled on a t-shirt at the foot of his bed and he seized it, wrapping it around his hand. He finally managed to slide the lock back and twist the doorknob, before letting the bloodied garment slip from his grasp onto the polished wooden hall floor as he made his barefooted way to the bathroom.

Leaving the door swinging wide he turned on the overhead light, harsh and over-bright, burning multi-colored circles into his retinas as he slumped against the sink. Small red pools formed on the tiled floor as he fought with the cold tap. Gusts of chilled air stroked his bare skin as the water eventually gushed out. As soon as the large ceramic sink was full of cold water, Iruka plunged his face into it, his bangs floating on the glassy surface. He then placed both hands in the water, thin streams of red snaking under the surface to dye it a vicious scarlet, pushing the frigid liquid over his head, soaking his hair and shoulders and sloshing onto the floor. The red drips became pink smears on the white tiles.

Iruka stood like that for a minute or so more. Suddenly his head jerked up and he gasped for air, lungs burning and skin scorched pink by the freezing water. Orange-streaked drips slid from the ends of his chestnut brown hair and dropped from the tip of his nose and chin before he rubbed his face hard with a rough towel. Only when he pulled it away from his face and saw the large red stains on the pale blue fabric did he remember why he came to the bathroom in the first place. His eyes moved to his weeping left arm, to the large, twisted gash that ran almost the length of his forearm, starting near his elbow on the top of his arm, curving around and under to end almost at the underside of his wrist.

Oh yeah. I'm bleeding.

Quite badly, it would seem.

Shit.

Iruka's head suddenly felt light. How long had he been bleeding for? He yanked the plug out of its hole and began to refill the sink as he fought to recall the events of earlier that night. How long had he been standing in front of the mirror? For all he knew, it could have been ten minutes or an hour, or two hours. Time didn't exist when he was with them. Sleepless nights aren't good for a damaged mind, and when the voices started, Iruka's grip on reality slipped a little bit more. Time didn't seem to matter anymore when he was lost in conversation with himself. As a result, he relied on simple guesswork to tell him when it was time to get ready for work, and he was only sure of the exact time of day when he was at the academy. He had to admit to himself he was a most excellent actor, always happy and smiling, the same old Iruka everyone knew and loved.

But when he came home again he fell into another abyss of uncertainty, when darkness fell and all that was left was the stars and the blade, his only comfort. Hour after hour he would sit, carving the most exquisite patterns of coils and curls into his very flesh, watching his troubles wash away. Eventually, exhausted, his body would shut down and he would fall into a fitful sleep, but he was just as haunted in his dreams as when he was awake, and nightmares woke him after no more than a few minutes, drenched in sweat and too terrified to close his eyes again. So instead he would turn to his constant companions, two impish voices that had echoed in his head since he was a child, their beginnings as imaginary playmates for the orphaned Iruka. They became his only friends, his respite from the agonizing loneliness that ate him up inside. As he grew older and met new people, new friends, they vanished into the dark corners of his subconscious, only rising to the surface during times of extreme emotional distress. But now they were a constant, bickering, and poisonous presence. Two extremely different people lacking bodies or names, but nevertheless just as real to Iruka as the people on the streets he met everyday.

Iruka's hand trembled as he pushed the towel under the surface of the water, soaking it before placing it against the tender, aching wound on his arm. Hissing against the sting, he sat down heavily on the cold floor and tilted his head back so he was staring at the ceiling. He narrowed his eyes against the glare of the light.

What am I doing?

I need something else. Something more than this. It's sick. I'M sick.

I'm sick of the Hokage treating me like some kind of invalid.

I'm sick of people only seeing me as Iruka the Schoolteacher.

I'm sick of having to be the cheerful one, the person who's always there when people need a shoulder to cry on.

I'm sick of being a chuunin.

I'm sick of being inferior to him…

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JOOOOOOOY!!! b4k4chan has returned!! well, after a LOT of hassle and a new HDD, i managed to recover this chapter from my mates computer, which was as always betaed by the lovely shi-chan (ma luffs ya!) and with any luck this spells the end of this little dry period ive been going through.

ok time for the truth now...i dont REALLY like this chapter. its very...mopey-goth type, extremely angsty, sounds like i stole it offa nu-metal band. or so ive been told! i have to admit, i had so much trouble writing it ive had to take a lot of inspiration from the music i listen to. i like the way ive written irukas paranoia and things like that, but i have to admit the dialogue and basic idea of the chapter is a little contrived. as always, i beg for your reviews so i know where im going wrong and right!!

anyway, until next time my pretties! xo