Worthless: The Second Story, Memories – By Phoenix Pinion

Disclaimer – I do not own Kingdom Hearts, nor it's characters, only the idea of this fanfiction. Please don't sue

WARNING – THIS STORY CONTAINS VIVID SCENES OF SELF-INJURY. IT CAN BE TRIGGERING TO THOSE WHO HARM THEMSELVES. SELF-MUTILATION IS EXTREMELY DANGEROUS AND NOT TO BE TAKEN LIGHTLY. IF SELF-HARM DISTURBS YOU, OFFENDS YOU, OR IF READING ABOUT IT IS TRIGGERING TO YOU, THEN BY ALL MEANS, DON'T READ. (AND I'M NOT KIDDING ABOUT THIS, EITHER.)

Sometimes I feel like a painter

using my body as my own personal canvas

using a razor instead of a paintbrush.

My studio – a bathroom, splattered with red stains of my own making,

red, a

dark

sultry

red,

the only color that is used in my masterpiece.

Masterpiece?

I'm no masterpiece, I'm a ruined canvas,

scarred and broken

battered and bruised

pining for a release that won't come

screaming for an end that no one will let me have.

Hell? Yes, it is hell…but it is a familiar hell,

A hell that I strive to embrace,

the hell of destroying myself from the outside in

of slitting my wrists until they bleed red

glorious

blood…

the only color that is painted across the ruined canvas that is me.

With a lazy sigh, I stay my hand on the – coincidentally, red – pages of my journal and stop writing, leaning back on the warm sand to survey my work. Not the best poem I've written, but not bad for a spur-of-the-moment whim. I am also pleased with its subject matter – it had taken me over three months to come to terms with my own self-mutilation; after each cutting session, I would lean over my bathroom sink and cry. My tears mingled with my spilt blood, the guilt and shame almost overwhelming for my tortured mind to accept. It was so unbelievable to me that something that felt so good, so right, during its execution, could turn out to be so wrong after it was over and done with. Finally I've realized all the nuances, the quirks, of self-injury – to feel the pleasure of the cut, one must also accept the shame of its aftermath. Obviously I've been able to accept it, I think ruefully as I give a quick glance to my heavily scarred arms. Sometimes it truly bothers me, to see all of those haphazard cuts placed uncaringly on my skin, to know I deserve nothing more. Sometimes I'm not even sure if I even deserve them.

Sighing heavily, I shift position on the sand, letting the sun's warm rays hit my clothed chest. That's one thing that I love about Destiny Islands; 99 percent of the time the sun is shining. My favorite pastime, besides having fun with Sora and Kairi (and cutting, my mind nastily interjects), is to laze on the beach on my own and write in my journal. It is a very good stress reliever, and sometimes even helps me with my self-mutilation. Anger at myself is what drives me to hurt myself in my bathroom at night, watching in fascination as the blood dribbles down my palms, and if I can release some of that fury and tension into my journal, the urge isn't quite so bad. It makes for interesting entries, at least.

"Hey, Riku! Whatcha doing?"

Quickly slamming my journal shut and hiding it behind me, I sit up to see loping towards me with that awkward, yet strangely graceful gait of his. He wears an excited grin on his face, and I cannot help but feel a sudden surge of jealousy and resentment. His smiles are genuine, truly happy, and come without force. I wish I could be as happy as he, without all of this inner torment.

"Hey Sora," I reply, carefully turning my arms inward so that he will not notice the scars. I hardly even need to hide it, really – it is almost surprising how unobservant my friends are. Maybe they do not expect to see the scars; so much so that they do not even check for them. Sora reaches me and doesn't slow, simply tackles me in a huge, affectionate hug. For the first time that day, a real smile tugs at my lips. Sora and Kairi seem to be the only ones that have that affect on my these days. They pain of the pressure of his body against some of my fresher cuts doesn't even hurt that badly.

"Gosh you must be bored just sitting here in the sand. I've been looking for you all day. Guess what I have at my house, it's your favorite dessert!"

His excited words tumble over each other at a mile a minute, and I cannot help but grin as I push him off of me and arise, brushing sand off of my clothes. "Dessert? What do you mean?"

An eyebrow is raised at me as Sora's goofy grin remains on his face. "Strawberry shortcake…my mom made it myself…c'mon, I know it's your favorite! …"

Words continue to be spoken from his mouth, but suddenly they are fuzzy and distant to my ears. Abruptly the smile is wiped off of my face as memories flood my mind.

It was one of the only times it had ever rained on Destiny Islands. Starting out bright and sunny as usual, the sky had soon been covered in dark clouds; it did not take long for rain to fall on the island. A cold wind blew outside, taking the deep, booming rolls of thunder and echoing them to every corner. Across the sky, lightning flashed at regular intervals. Safe and dry at Sora's house, a fascinated Riku and Sora sat on his bed watching the storm.

"Look at all the rain," Sora murmured in awe. "It's a good thing we're inside and not caught in it right now!"

"Yeah," Riku agreed, staring at the steady slew of precipitation. "It's crazy. Like…like a hurricane or something!"

"Riku, sweetheart," Sora's mother called from the downstairs kitchen, "You're staying for dinner, aren't you? It may be hard for you to get back home with the storm…"

"Yes'm, I know," Riku replied. "I was also thinking, if it's ok with you, that I should just stay the night…the storm is pretty bad, and I don't know if it will be safe to go home in. My mother knows I'm here, so she won't mind."

Sora's mother was quick to answer; she was fond of Sora's friends and enjoyed when they stayed the night. "It's fine, dear. Since you two are staying here, why don't you help me out with dinner?"

Good-natured whining and groaning escaped the room as the two boys managed to tear their gazes from the window and ventured downstairs. Sora's house was a cozy, warmly lit cottage of sorts. The kitchen was small, but still comfortable, and wonderful aromas floated to their nostrils as they entered it. A pot of delicious-looking stew simmered on the stove, and Riku could feel himself starting to drool. "Smells wonderful!"

Sora laughed. "Everything my mom makes smells wonderful." Both boys grinned at each other and quickly dipped a finger into the pot to acquire a quick taste; they were quickly batted away.

"Don't put your grimy fingers in there, we'll eat soon enough. Wash up in the sink, then you two can help with dessert." After dipping their hands in the sink full of soapy water and rinsing them off, the boys ventured back to the kind lady. A knife was quickly shoved into Riku's hand; his eyes widened at the sight of the blade, and his breath quickened for just one moment as the knife blade glinted in the reflection of his wide eyes. It looked just like his knife, the one that he had pressed into his wrist a few nights before. The welt was still there. The wound hadn't bled, but the adrenaline had been enough; for some reason, the sight of that blade made Riku want to do it again. Not to just welt the skin, but to cut it. To make it bleed. He had not actually done it yet, and perhaps then was the time to start...But then Riku blinked, shaking his head and banishing the thoughts from his mind, and the moment was lost. Another second passed and he was also handed a bowl of damp, newly washed strawberries.

"Riku, you can slice strawberries for me. Sora, I need you to whip the cream, alright? We're having strawberry shortcake!"

"Mmm, my favorite!" Riku groaned appreciatively before beginning to carefully slice the strawberries. The sound of Sora whipping a bowl of cream was the only noise in the room for a time. But in the seconds that followed, no one, not even Riku himself, could be able to explain exactly what happened.

All that Riku could remember was that suddenly the half-sliced strawberry was dropped to the floor by his nerveless fingers and that his eyes were staring in horrified fascination at the blood dribbling through his fingers and dripping down the floor. A long, wide gash covering the length of his left palm was bleeding profusely, and was deep enough to be a threat. No words could be summoned to his lips and he gaped at the bright red wound, as he started to quietly tremble in shock and wonder. His thoughts were a blur; suddenly the only thing his mind could focus on was the cut, was the blood, was the pain. It felt good, in a way – like her was finally getting what he deserved. Yes, it felt real good. Even Sora's terrified yell and the cry of, "Riku! Oh my god!" from Sora's mother could not make him tear his gaze away from that glorious scar…

The scar that even now my eyes stare at. It is long and pink, slightly raised, a reminder to this day of my "accident" at Sora's house. Was it an accident? My mind asks me nastily, and I flinch at the thought as if I was struck. Even now, three months later, I do not know if that knife slicing across my skin was my doing or not. I cannot even measure how many hours I have sat in bed at night, staring with wide eyes at that scar, wondering if it was an accident or not. The last thought running through my mind before sleep would overtake me always was, "Did I do it on purpose?" I also occasionally wonder if that scar was what started the whole self-mutilation phenomenon for me. Before the incident, there was one small welt on my wrist that had not even bled and was hardly noticeable. After the incident, scars multiplied rapidly on any pure skin they could find on my arm, growing deeper and deeper, tumbling over themselves like a patchwork quilt, taking longer and longer to heal…

Suddenly I realize that Sora is still waiting for a reply to his earlier question. He stands staring at me with wide eyes and an inquisitive expression on his face. "…Riku? Hello? Still here?" Guiltily I realize that I have been so absorbed in my own thoughts that I have ignored Sora and his pleas now for over a minute. I snap myself out of my daze with a blink. Forcing a smile onto my lips, I glance down at my hands and try in vain to quell their sudden trembling.

"Um, Sora…that sounds great and all, but…I think I'm gonna go home." His face looks even more confused. Obviously that was the last response he was expecting to hear from me. He is reaching a hand out to gently touch my arm, and I feel a sudden surge of panic until I realize he is simply worried about my sudden jumpiness, and not being accusatory. To tell the truth, I do not even know myself why I am suddenly acting the way I am. But I know there will be another disaster if I journey again to Sora's house, if I go to his kitchen and see his mother again, see the strawberries freshly washed and sliced on top of a shortcake, topped with whipped cream, if I see a knife on the table…

I am shaking harder. If I see a knife on the table, I know exactly what will happen. I cannot risk another "accident"; it will bring attention to my arms and might cause suspicion. "I'm…I'm very tired," God, I have no idea how I can keep that smile on as I stand in front of my best friend and lie straight to his face. I have never told a lie to him before. Never. And yet here I am, grinning like an idiot and being untruthful to him, though terrified emotions are flowing through my mind like a river. "I think I want to take a nap."

"But it's the afternoon." Sora is still just as confused, and now I am afraid his feelings are hurt too, because I am making excuses not to be around him. A sudden surge of pain hits my heart. God, I'm being such a jackass. But the feelings are getting stronger; the panic is taking over and the tsunami in my mind won't go away until I do the one thing that will get rid of it…

"I'm sorry, Sora," I let the words quickly tumble from my mouth before shaking off his worried hand, turning, and quickly walking away from him. I can hear his saddened mumble of, "…Bye, Riku…" as I walk. You hurt him, you ass, the angry thought chastises me. But at the moment all I want to do is cut…is make more scars on these horribly abused and scarred arms of mine…

And it is not until I have slammed and tightly locked the door to my bathroom, trying to catch my breath again, that I realize my journal is still lying innocently on the sand at Sora's feet…

To Be Continued

Author's Notes – Ooooooooh, suspense!! Is Sora gonna read it? Is Sora gonna even know it's there?? What will happen? …Well, right at the moment, I don't know either. I just liked the little twist I created at the end…the fact that someone actually could find out about Riku's secret. Because, after all, Riku must put pretty angry, private stuff in there if writing it keeps him from cutting himself. Those types of journals are usually pretty intense. So, I don't really know what's going to happen. And as a side note: Riku and Sora are nothing but close friends, ok? No yaoi here! Really, they are only friends. And I did write that poem in the beginning...but I am not very proud of it. Hence the reason I stick to short stories and nix the poetry.

Well, I liked this chapter up until the last 6 – 7 paragraphs. Is it just me, or do they seem waaaay too rushed? I'm just really not proud of them. At least I actually updated though, right? I mean, I know I've lost all my fans, but at least maybe somebody will find it. Hopefully. Meep. Ducks as the two angry fans she has left pelt her with rotten tomatoes Ok, I know I never, ever update. But now that tis summer, the updates might (keyword might) get a little more regular. Hopefully. …Meep.

Well, as always, if you have anything to say about this chapter, then review! Please! Thanks a lot! And if you are still a fan of my work even though it's been an eternity since an update, THANK YOU!! I love all of you guys, I really do. Thanks again for stickin with me. Till the next update (hopefully soon!), bye! PP