Heya, peeps! Thanks to my ever-faithful reviewers: Mistress-of-eternal-Darkness and Hutchy for reviewing chappie five!

Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade; it belongs to Aoki Takao.

Chapter Six

Ray's POV

After Kai went off into the dojo, I ushered Tyson, Max, Kenny, and Hilary inside as well. I told them they best be off to bed again, but they ignored my suggestion and flopped down in the living room to talk. I took the responsibility of going to check on Kai, who was lying still in his bed, though he wasn't asleep. I didn't know what to do or say, so I watched him for a minute or two, then went back downstairs. He didn't acknowledge my presence.

None of the other four were talking; they were just sitting in various positions, staring at random objects mindlessly. I slumped down on a couch, and Kenny spoke up.

"That was…disturbing."

The rest of us nodded glumly in response.

"We have to do something for him," Kenny continued, looking up at each of us individually, searching for ideas, I suppose.

I pondered over this whole thing, knowing that the loss of Tala probably stimulated this attempt. And maybe…I did, too.

I wondered what was running through Kai's mind. I figured he made himself vomit to change his appearance; what other reason could there be? And he seemed so distant. Not to mention that suicidal thoughts aren't exactly normal. The only answer to Kai's problem that I could formulate was therapy. And so I suggested it.

"Therapy seems quite logical," Kenny agreed with me.

"But how are we supposed to get him to go?" Tyson put in, quieter than usual.

We all mulled over this statement, as it proved very true. It's not like he would willingly go anywhere we told him to, especially somewhere like therapy, judging by all past experience, since he did what he wanted to do.

Tyson sighed. "I don't know what we should do, guys, but we oughta do it fast."

"Someone should talk to him about going to some kind of therapy," Max offered.

"Ray's the best with that sort of thing," Hilary commented quietly, glancing into my yellow eyes with some imploring.

"No," I blurted out, without thinking it over. I didn't think I would be the best one to talk to Kai, especially if I was part of the reason he was going to kill himself.

"Why not? You'd be the best with it," Tyson asked.

"Just because," was my lame response. I wasn't in the mood to talk about my innermost thoughts.

"Then who'll do it?" Max inquired, seeming worried.

Nobody spoke for a long moment, until Tyson bravely volunteered for the job. Since none of the rest of us wanted to, we agreed that Tyson would talk to Kai tomorrow. After that, we discussed what he should say. None of us knew what he should say, though, so that was a trying task.

After much discussion, everyone went off to bed, worried and anxious. I lay in my bed, staring absently at the ceiling, hoping everything would turn out for the best. Since everyone seemed frazzled and stressed, I figured it was best if I carried alone the burden of knowing that Kai was bulimic. Thoughts of that and his suicide attempt pounded in my head, and I thought tiredly of my desire to sleep.This one time I figured ignorance would be bliss. Though I don't think I was the only one with a nearly sleepless night.

the next day

Kai's POV

I sat on my bed, slicing a razor blade through my skin. How alleviating it felt to be rid of my inner pain by the oozing of my blood.

Every time I stopped cutting a new line, thoughts swept back into my mind. I managed to push away Tala and Ray, but I kept thinking about Tyson. I longed for him to feel my pain and take it away, so we could just be together. But when I cut through my skin, nothing seemed to matter except for the blood dripping onto my bed sheets. It was a strange sensation, switching back and forth between thoughts depending on my actions. It was a seemingly never-ending oscillation of feelings. And somehow…it was calming.

But as I stared at blood caking parts of my left forearm, I realized that this was pathetic. It was pitiful that I would sink so low that to feel pleasure I would destroy my own body. Anger at myself welled up, and I felt the strongest urge to dig the razor into my skin to ease it away, but instead, I resisted the urge and threw the razor across the room. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor, leaving blood speckled here and there on the wall and floor.

I grabbed up a white sheet, and I firmly wrapped it around my bleeding arm, pressuring it to stop the outpouring of blood. Eventually, I unraveled the dyed-red sheet, and tossed it under the bed. I produced gauze from a drawer, and I swathed it around my arm tightly. I knew I should wash all of the cuts I made, but I was sort of hoping for a horrible infection, so maybe it would kill me, and they couldn't really label it suicide.

I sat on the bed, now with one less sheet, and I stared at the razor on the floor, dribbling crimson onto the wood beneath it. Tysonconstantly flashed through my brain, and I sighed heavily. Worthlessness and longing were prominent in the feelings that resided in my soul. Could I ever find someone to love me and steal away my pain forever?

A knock sounded on my door, and Tyson's voice floated in. "Kai? Can I come in?" He sounded more timid than usual, and I wondered why he of all people was at my door.

"Yes," I replied. I disliked the softness and weakness that lingered in my voice. Scowling, I shoved my sleeve down over the gauze.

Tyson slowly opened the door, and stepped inside. I stared icily at him, though I thought my heart rate may have increased a diminutive fraction. Tyson walked over to my bed and flopped down next to me, gaping mindlessly at the door that he closed behind him.

"There's something that I have to talk to you about," he started. "All of us…are concerned about you…because…you know…last night…yeah…uh…well…you know." He gulped nervously, and had I not been feeling so lousy and been craving him, I would have been amused by how stupid he sounded. "Anyway…we think that…you…need…," he trailed off, and I realized that the others must have been talking about me at some point and they sent Tyson to talk to me…meaning Tyson didn't come to see me out of his own accord. That panged sadness in my heart, just a little.

Tyson coughed unnaturally out of nervousness, and turned his eyes to look into mine. "What I'm trying to say is, Kai…we think…you need…"

Tyson averted his gaze, and looked downward, unwilling to look into my eyes when he told me whatever he was going to spit out. His eyes widened a bit. "Hey…what happened to your arm?"

Looking at my left arm, I noted that some gauze was poking out. "Nothing," I replied coolly, shoving my sleeve down further. "Get on with what you were saying."

Tyson peered up at me strangely. "Therapy," he mumbled, "That's what we think you need." He turned his eyes back to the door nervously.

I was surprised by what I just heard.

'Therapy? Am I truly that messed up? Fuck…who am I kidding? Of course I'm that messed up. Fucking hell.'

"Great," I said cynically, "now leave."

"Will you do it?"

"No. Leave."

"Kai…you need it. You need help." He seemed to be getting more confident in his words.

"No. Leave."

"Come on, Kai. It's for your own good."

"You don't give a shit about me, so stop pestering me and fuck off." I was a bit startled with how quickly I became agitated.

That must have startled Tyson, too, because he gazed at me, bug-eyed, for a second. But he seemed to regain his poise as he stood up, looking me directly in the eye. "We do give a shit, and you're going to therapy whether you want to or not, because we all know it's for your own good."

I glared at him, hard.

"Kai, what happened to your arm?" he asked sternly. I glared harder.

"Go away, Tyson."

"No. What happened to your arm?"

I remained silent and glaring.

He turned his head stubbornly, crossing his arms in defiance to show me he wasn't moving until I told him. Suddenly, he turned and moved toward the wall, squatting and staring at something. It only occurred to me what he had spotted when he gasped.

"Get out of this room," I ordered before he could speak.

"Holy shit…." Tyson looked up at me disbelievingly. "Holy shit."

"Go away."

"No." He stood up, and our eyes locked again. "Kai, you need help. Please, please go to therapy." He said this all with such conviction this time, I was feeling persuaded.

'I do need help. And Tyson wants me to get help. But I can't…'

I realized that I didn't know why I was so against going to therapy. Maybe it was because I was so stuck inside my emotions, I didn't think there was truly any way I could be helped. Besides, I didn't want to pour out the contents of my heart for some stranger to prod and dissect.

'But I could do it, I could…for Tyson...'

I didn't tell Tyson of my newly swayed opinion.

"Go away," I said again, desiring private time to think all this over.

"No, Kai, not until—"

"Go away."

Our eyes remained locked, and to my surprise, tears formed in Tyson's eyes.

"Fine," he said quietly. He stalked out of my room then, granting my desire. Though, I wished he was holding me in his arms…that he understood my pain…that he wasn't feeling pain because of me…that he loved me more than a friend loves.

I sat on my bed, by myself again, thinking over the possibility of going to therapy. I believed with conviction that Tyson was the only thing that could cure me of my pain, but perhaps therapy of some sort could aid in soothing away my emotional suffering.

So mentally, I agreed to give therapy a try. After all, I was so fucked up I might as well have someone to examine my burden of emotions, though it would be mostly fruitless.

'How can anyone help me, especially some stranger? But maybe they can; Tyson can, somehow. Even if he didn't come to speak with me out of his own free will…I know he cares about me.'

I smirked, knowing somehow I would get Tyson. He cared about me, after all, more than the others did.

I gaped at the bloodied razor blade lying on the floor.

'No more of that…not today.'

Tyson's POV

"What the hell is wrong with Kai?" I muttered angrily to myself. "I don't want him hurting himself like that. Can't he see we're worried about him? He's flat-out refusing our help and the help of a pro!"

I sighed with exasperation, wandering outside. I slumped down against a tree, scowling at the world and swatting away the hot tears trickling from my eyes. This whole thing with Kai was getting to me; I was worried about him, but I didn't know what to do, and the fact that he didn't want us to do anything for him got on my nerves.

"I know he's not always willing to accept help, but can't he see he really needs it now? He's not an idiot!" I growled. "Why is he tormenting himself with all of this? I know he liked Tala, but…well, and Ray too…man…damn it. Why does this have to be so complicated?"

My anger at Kai morphed into sympathy.

"What'sgoing through his mind?" I wondered aloud.

The complexity of this situation only flustered me, so I decided I would cease my thinking on the matter, and turn to Ray, Max, and Kenny about it later.

A ray of sunshine beamed through the dark, gray clouds in my mind, then: Hilary. Her essence floating around my mind was enough to soothe me and make me feel happier.

'What would it be like to kiss her? Kiss her on those soft, pink lips. Man…they're just calling to me...'

I sighed again. "Seriously," I mumbled, "I should do something about this whole Hilary thing. I should just talk to her. She's apparently not getting the message: I love her. Sheesh!"

Feeling a bit brighter, I shoved thoughts of Kai to the back of my mind, and I lifted myself to go inside.


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