A/N: Hello once again…. Now I am letting you read chapter fourteen of BR. I don't know, I'm getting awfully happy that people actually like my nice story! Anyways, I'm doing another one of those mental chapters to really please some of my readers. Again, if you have any suggestions for my fanfic, please go ahead and tell me. Well, let's see… I don't remember what else I have to say, so go ahead and read/rate. Bye- Bye now!

Disclaimer: Don't own. Just this fanfic. Blah.

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The bloodiest rose lying upon the blackest coffin. The blood drips off the beautiful innocent petals and flows down the edges of the lid….

Ryou was always going to be the bloodiest rose. He was always going to be the one little flower with the maroon liquid trickling down the stem… no one would accept him. No one…. He has a one way ticket to his own little hell..

Why was this so hard for him? Ryou just wanted to be able to put away his knife. Was that asking too much? He wanted to know why he was one of those kids… one of those self hurting kids…it's not like he wanted to do this, but to him it was the only way to cope with everything he couldn't handle.

The blade tip would press against his pale white flesh and after a few seconds of teasing himself, he'd slowly and steadily pull the tip downwards… or really any which way he pleased. The feeling he would get as he felt the red essence ease itself out of him was hardly explanatory. It was like a release of built up pain or sorrow… he felt as if he was letting loose. Every time after he slit open (as many times as he'd like) little Ryou would stare at the blood flow that wouldn't stop. He would watch it slip off the side of his arms or where ever he chose to cut and accumulate on the floor. There have only been a few times where the youth has fainted on account of blood loss… no one asked any questions though…He vaguely remembered the few times when he was so upset with himself or something that he would take the knife in his hands and literally rip at his body over and over and over until he felt it was okay to stop- usually around twenty or more tears though. The pain was unbelievable, but that only made him smile.

Yes to you it may seem very … sadistic or what have you… but this was Ryou's life. He had to put up with himself everyday.

Sometimes the boy would let himself sink against a wall and stare at the newly bloodied knife he held in his stained hands. After glaring at the metal for a few minutes he would allow himself to shed a few tears… a few hot streaming tears…but usually those "few" turned into a flood. It was okay for the boy to cry, just as long as Bakura was not there to see him ease out those droplets, it was fine……. Well, wouldn't you cry?

He couldn't help himself.

He wanted to end everything, yet he was scared to….

Ryou was partially dead. He was just an animated corpse.

His heart was locked away, deep in his chest… no one would ever see…

Was this a dependency? Did Ryou have an addiction to cutting… was he just the same as any other druggie? Were Ryou's eyes so veiled over by the fear and detachment that he didn't realize what he had in front of him… didn't he see the people that surrounded him wanted to help… but then again, why would he see this when his beautiful russet eyes were almost always swollen or enveloped in the red blood his skin so held in… the very same skin he slit open to release the blood…

Would he find help before…

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A/N: Finally updated. Stupid computer was messing up and they (technicians) deleted all my files… I'm working on a laptop by the way… I'll try harder to get Fifteen out really soon. Bwahaha, you know my email address, email me some ideas. And would it kill ya to review? That'd be great. See ya when I see ya.