Worthless, the Second Story, Discovery: by Phoenix Pinion

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, simply the story idea. Please do not sue

WARNING – This story contains vivid scenes of self-mutilation. It can be triggering to those who mutilate themselves. Self-mutilation is extremely dangerous and not to be taken lightly. If self-mutilation disturbs you, offends you, or if reading about it is triggering to you, then by all means, DON'T READ.

A tear of helpless frustration builds in my eye, but I am still too shaky to move, let alone wipe it away, and I feel it slowly trickle down my cheek, tracing every curve of it before falling to the floor with a tiny splash. I never wanted Sora to know. I never wanted anyone to know…but especially not Sora. My best friend, the only one that keeps me from cutting even deeper than I already do, the only one whose image in my thoughts prevents me in spilling too much blood. He would never understand; he is a pure boy, one with no anxieties, fears, or worries. That will change, however, as soon as his eyes behold the pages of that ever-so-private journal. His thoughts of me will change, as well. I will no longer be just Riku to his eyes, I will be tainted, a shell of my former self…scarred.

I don't think I could take that.

"Riku? Are you all right in there? You've been in there almost ten minutes! And the way you bolted in…it looked like you had seen a ghost!" I breathe a sigh of relief – neither Sora or my habit was mentioned. There is hope yet… My shaking hand hastily wipes away any evidence of tears as I try to gather my thoughts enough to spout back a legitimate excuse.

"Y – " There is a moment of silence as my voice gives out and I desperately try again. "Yeah, mom, I'm fine. Must have had a touch of bad food or something…I'll be out in a minute." Luckily, the excuse sounds completely plausible; my voice sounds normal, if not a bit tired. I realize that I am so accustomed to hiding my every emotion behind a mask that, even after realizing that my biggest secret can be revealed, I can still be calm and collected on the outside while my mind is in turmoil. My ears register a worried sigh from downstairs.

"Well, ok…hmm, that stew must have had a rotten ingredient in it…if you need anything, just call me, honey…"

"Ok mom," I quietly reply, glancing at either arm and seeing the scars, hoping beyond hope that Sora decided not to be nosy for once, and that he didn't read it. A hope that is almost improbable, really, as I know Sora loves to discover things – especially secret things that he isn't supposed to know about at all. I know him well enough to realize that it is a silly dream that I am nurturing, and I sigh heavily; the wild adventures that I am led on almost every day are possibly the most exciting ventures of my day and are the things I always conjure to mind, that always make me stop right before the cut becomes deeper, when my hand shakily hovers above my heavily bleeding arm, ready to slash more scars into my already scarred skin…

A cold pillar of dread rouses me from my thoughts as my ears pick up a knock at the door. Who else could it be but Sora? I have no choice but to face him. In my cracked mirror I check, double check, and triple check for any tear stains on my cheeks, and any clue – swollen eyes, puffy face – that may point to the fact that I was crying. Luckily my body has grown accustomed to the fact that I must hide every emotion that I feel, and it looks perfectly normal. Neither my mother nor Sora will have any suspicions at all. Maybe it is a good thing that I remembered about my journal before I injured myself in that bathroom, for I have no fresh cuts to worry about, no blood to scrub off of my clothing, no shame in my eyes to try to cover up; there is just fear. Quietly opening my bathroom door and erasing every emotion from my face, I force my mind, seething with turmoil, to calm down as well as I slowly walk down the stairs to the door. What's done is done, and I must face the consequences myself. Quivering a little, my hand tightens on the doorknob and slowly opens it.

Sora stands there, just as I thought, but there is his usual dopey smile on his face. His eyes reflect the happiness, and at once a surge of some type of emotion crashes through me. He must not have read anything, to have such a cheerful grin. I feel my lips twitch upwards into a smile as my body sags just a little bit in infinite relief. My secret is safe…my eyes behold my journal, my precious journal, clutched in his left hand.

"You dropped this," he chirps, holding it out for me to retrieve. I hardly notice his eyes subtly avert to my outstretched, scarred arm as I extend it to pick up the journal. Relief is crashing through me so forcefully that I am almost shaking. He didn't read it…he didn't read it…My worrying was not even necessary, because, for once, his curiosity didn't get the better of him.

"Thank you, Sora," I whisper shyly, smiling at him, thanking him not only for returning it but also for not reading it. "Thank you so much…"

"No problem," he smiles back. "Try to be more careful next time, ok? A journal is a pretty private thing to lose…" With that last thought, he cheerfully bounces away, letting me collapse against the doorframe, quivering in happiness and relief. This was the closest call I've ever had, but it has taught me to be a lot more careful guarding my secret. I don't think I'll ever write in this journal anywhere besides the privacy of my own room. Still a bit loopy with exhilaration, I stumble up to my bedroom: I need to capture this scare, and my happiness, inside the very thing that I almost lost for good. As I open the journal with shaking hands, preparing to scribble all of my thoughts in it before they leave my mind, I suddenly notice a folded up piece of paper stuffed inside of the small red book. I know that I never put it in there, so my eyes narrow in confusion and disbelief as I open it and read what the oh-so-familiar handwriting tells me:

Dear Riku,

Don't you know that what you're doing right now is hurting you? The blood you're spilling right now isn't saving or helping anybody else, and it certainly isn't making anything better for you. You may think it's helping you to be able to cut yourself and release all of those emotions, but it's just hurting you more and more with each cut. If you ever get the urge to do it again, try to take your mind off of it instead of doing it, ok? You can always come over to my house, no matter what time of day – or night – it is. The two of us can just hang out, or chat about it. I will always be here for you to talk to if you need it. I will never bring it up around you, but if you want to bring it up then I will talk to you about it for as long as you need. Remember, before you make another cut – there are people here that love you.

Your friend,

Sora

It was because of that note that I refrained from cutting for almost a year. Whenever the urge arose I would take out that note – always tightly folded in a small square in the pocket on my shirt – and read it through several times, until I calmed enough to stop thinking about it. The fresh cuts faded into scars, the scars simply faded. I honestly felt no urge to cut during this time, and it was a wonderful feeling.

I think that there was a mutual understanding of sorts between us, really. Sora definitely didn't approve of my habit, but he did seem to understand, and he didn't rebuke me for it either. He never treated me any differently after he discovered my journal, and I did the same towards him. Every once in a while I remember noticing his eyes dart to my scars, which I brazenly would not hide; there was always a strange look in his eyes, maybe fear, maybe depression. At the same time, however, he would almost look pleased, because he never saw any new scars. Then he would look away, and I would pretend that I never saw him look in the first place, and the moment would be gone. He was true to his word – he never mentioned my scars or self-injury in general around me again. I never talked to him about it either, but it was never awkward – simply comfortable, a camaraderie of two friends that understood each other and never needed to talk.

It's that letter that I look at now as I lean against the polished wood railing of Captain Hook's ship and admire the beautiful starry night. The paper that it was written on was once white, but now, after everything that I've been through since my island was destroyed, it has faded into a light yellow color. The corners are ripped and torn, and the folds in it have been used so many times that the whole thing is dangerously close to falling apart; Sora's writing was in pencil, and the lead has smeared and faded so badly that it is almost impossible to read. It really does not matter, however, as I have read the letter so many times that I know it by heart. This letter, and the small razor that I keep tucked away inside my pocket, are the only things I own that Maleficent doesn't know about. She has seen my scars, and though I doubt she worries about them or my well being, she does practically rip her hair out trying to figure out how I am able to cut myself right under her nose without her knowing about it. "What are you hiding from me?" she screeches, gaping at my fresh scars, and I remain silent, turning and walking away from her; it is my strongest power against her, and I revel in it. Sometimes it feels like the only control I still have in my life. Maybe it is.

The stars are beautiful, and I'm pleased at the fact that I can actually enjoy them as I carefully refold the paper and tuck it back into its hiding place in my breast pocket. It has been almost three days since I cut myself, and since Destiny Islands was destroyed, it is a new record for me. After all, I found Kairi's heartless body a few days ago, and I still can remember Maleficent's words to me, "There is hope yet, Riku, that your friend may be resurrected." I gaped at her, feeling sudden ecstatic tears pushing to my eyelids; Kairi could be saved? By me? It not only boosted my ego and made me believe in myself, but I also felt a surge of pride: I had beaten Sora. Finding Kairi has rejuvenated my spirits – she may have no heart, but I know her recovery is in my grasp – and Sora following me and falling right into my trap is just the icing on the cake. Even looking at my scars does not bother me that much; I haven't cut for three days, and who says I need to cut again at all? Soon the cuts will heal; soon she will be healed. It's an enlightening feeling, to know that I hold the power to Kairi's life.

Is this what hope is? …It's such a wonderful feeling. Smiling a little bit, I throw my head back and stare at the stars, drinking in their power and majesty. Kairi will be fine, I hold the ace over Sora, even though he has defeated Captain Hook, and I am actually considering giving up on my self-injurious behavior. It sounds too good to be true, but for once, it isn't; I am finally taking control of my life.

Hoisting myself off of the railing, I contemptuously laugh out loud to my scars as my legs briskly stride into my cabin; I will be leaving this place soon to return to Hollow Bastion and want to get a few hours of sleep before I go. My feet make quiet thudding noises as I pad over to my bed, about to lay down for a quick nap; I suddenly stop short as I notice an odd stain on the ground. It is a red, almost circular stain, with several smaller drops surrounding it, and I have seen the liquid enough throughout the years to know for sure that it is blood. Suddenly feeling tense, my eyes narrow, and I kneel towards it for a closer look. I have not touched my razor since I have been on this ship, so it is not my blood; Heartless only have purple, gooey liquid inside of them, so it cannot be them either. After Sora's attack, Captain Hook never made it back into the cabin to bleed. Whose can it be? The fact that I cannot deduce why there is blood on my cabin frightens me, and I do not know why. The pattern of the blood reminds me of how it used to look when I would spill blood in my bathroom on Destiny Islands, for some reason; it mostly dripped in one large puddle, but because I shook so much with bliss and guilt as I did it, there would be smaller drippings around the large one. A cold feeling washes over me, and I shiver a bit. Looking at the stain and thinking those thoughts about my cutting suddenly makes me nauseous, and I swing down the nearby ladder to the hold, deciding that I cannot sleep in the same room as that stain. I'll sleep somewhere else if I have to – I just want to get away from that stain. It is reminding me too much of what I used to do to myself…of the tears I would shed during my "sessions"…and I don't want to remind myself of that, not when I'm so close to giving it up for good. Deeply shaken, I try to forget all of the thoughts that I haven't thought for three days, and remember my happiness about finding Kairi. My thoughts are interrupted, however, as I walk by a room connected to the hold and hear a strange sound.

It is a twisted gasp that assails my ears, one of warped, almost pleasured pain. I recognize this sound…it is the sound that I have made before as I slice the razor across my skin, as I see the contrast of the blood against my milky skin, as I feel the guilt of what I am doing. It's a familiar sound that fills me with fear and anxiety…What is making that sound? Curiosity, but also dread, overcomes me as I gently grasp the doorknob and open it.

It's…It's Sora.

Back turned from me, he sits with his legs slightly crossed as they always were on Destiny Islands. His shoulders heave up and down as he pants and gasps, and…what's that in his hands? When he turns his hand slightly towards me, realization and panic hits me harder than a lightning strike.

His fingers loosely clutch a small dagger, and blood – fresh, warm, red blood – oozes off of it and onto the floor. There are no enemies in the room for him to fight with the dagger, just himself…No blood for him to spill but his own…

All I can do is stare, feeling waves of nausea hit me hard, as Sora's hand holding the dagger lifts…his left arm is such an easy target as he drops his hand onto it, as a bright rush of blood flowers from his wrist and drags itself down his arm and onto his palm…Sora is gasping and panting at this attention his arm is receiving, and he even saws the dagger a few times more in the wound, back and forth, opening even more veins, before lifting the dagger and watching in fascination the blood streaming, flowing, tumbling, dripping from his arm, onto the floor…dripping into a large puddle, but his shaking causes a few smaller drops to fall outside of the puddle…the blood streaming, flowing, tumbling, dripping…

Oh my God…

Numbly I grope for the doorknob behind me, fingers scrabbling so loudly that I'm almost positive he'll hear, breath coming out in short, panicked gasps, almost like Sora's, feeling such pangs of sorrow and hurt lancing through me that I feel faint. The doorknob finally succumbs to my panicked, shaking fingers, and I somehow manage to stagger outside, everything is a blur, I don't know how I made it but somehow I'm outside, arms hooked around the railing, forehead weakly leaning against the damp, cold wood. The journal. It's because of the journal, if he had not found it the thought never would have entered his mind, he never would have done it, oh my God…

The guilt. The guilt is what's making me do it – my hand scrabbles in my pocket, notices that last time I used the razor I forgot to wrap the tissue around it, as my hand closes the palm immediately is cut by the sharp, cold metal – the guilt is causing my bleeding hand to slice, and cut, and tear through all of the fading scars and watch in fascination as the blood drips down, it streams, flows, tumbles, drips, and I can't stop staring at it…

I don't realize I'm mumbling to myself until I hear the words, "My fault, my fault, my fault, my fault," floating in the crisp sea air and realize that nobody else is on the deck but me, not even any Heartless, just me cutting the shit out of my arms and mumbling, knowing that it's my fault that Sora is tainted and that his innocence is lost and that I'll always be the one to blame for it. My fault, my fault, my fault, my mind echoes the words escaping my constricted throat, now I'm crying, the tears are flowing and there's nothing I can do about it. Oh God, my fault…

Hope is gone. Sora is tainted.

To Be Continued

Author's notes: Man, this whole chapter is pretty weird. Sorry about that. Wow…the end was so much easier to write than the beginning. Anyway, I know that the timeline is rather awkward and difficult to understand in this chapter, so I'll outline it just in case: In the beginning, in italics, Riku is still on Destiny Islands. He finds the letter, and after the letter, he is in Neverland, on Captain Hook's ship, during the same time as the very first chapter of this story.

Anyway…I will say right now that I know the grammar is atrocious in the end after Riku discovers Sora. It's kind of supposed to be, it shows how Riku's mind kind of snaps after he sees his former best friend, the one who told him never to cut again, the one that wrote him the letter that made him stop cutting for almost a year, cutting himself. Oh, the irony. I have to say I really like the end…much better than the rest of the chapter. Yuck. It just sounds so forced to me up until Riku finds Sora. Oh well, you can't win them all, I suppose.

Anyway, I hope that this chapter helps to make up for the long amount of time it's been since an update…yet again, I have no excuse for not updating. The best explanation I have is this: it takes a lot out of me to write about this subject. I like to, because it helps keep me from doing it myself, but I need to dig pretty deep inside of myself to write about things such as this, so it usually takes me a long time before I can. Thank you for reading, in any case, especially if you have stuck by me for this long. I really do love you guys!

In any case…I have no idea how long it will take me to update. Thanks again for sticking by me if you still have, and even if you haven't, thank you. You guys reading this are awesome.

And, AntiSora, thanks again for everything. You're a great friend and really are helping me out through this. Email me! We haven't chatted for a while.

If any of you have any questions about self-injury or anything of the like, feel free to email me. I will do my best to answer any and all questions you have about the subject. Oh, and please don't flame about the SI. After all, it's what the whole story is about. And sorry about the length of my notes. I'll try to make them shorter next time. Thanks again, I love you all… PP