Knife Called Lust

Care-Bear-Nightmarz

"Please don't play with me, my paper heart will bleed."

Shuichi grasped the sleek Gillette razor in his fisted hand, steadying his left arm between his knees. He still had time not to do it, but couldn't think of a reason not to. Angling the razor so the edge drew blood, Shuichi pushed, dragging the disposable razor across his wrist. His breathing came faster as he fought the urge to scream. Plunging the razor deeper, he bit his bottom lip, turning his wrist into a spider web of raw gashes. Salty tears trickled down his cheeks, silently tearing him up as much as the razor was. He moved along the length of his arm, watching as blood filled the white lines. Soon, he felt the hot blood spill over his flesh, splattering onto the bathroom tiles. The crimson liquid ran down his hand, staining every inch of his flesh a sickly red. Shuichi didn't care though. He was too far gone. He closed his eyes and sighed, staggering to get to his feet. The razor slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor, saturated in Shuichi's blood. Using his good arm, he gripped the tiles and slid against the wall, pulling his heavy body up. Propping his body against the cold tiles he looked around the stall for his discarded sweatshirt. Stumbling to his Dashboard Confessionals sweatshirt, Shuichi held onto the wall for support as he reached for the cloth. Slipping it over his head, he was careful to stretch the sleeve over his deep cuts. Not because of the pain it would have caused but more so because the sweatshirt was the only precious thing to him. Gripping his wrist harshly with his other hand, he felt hot blood swell in between his fingers. Falling against the doorframe weakly, he poked his head out of the stall and stared at his sickly reflection.

Shuichi's liquid violet eyes watched his reflection warily from beneath pink locks. His pale skin, which was a startling contrast to his bubblegum hair, was like porcelain. A dark blue bruise infected his cheek, reminding him of what little reality he had left to hang onto. Or rather of what little reality he was waiting to lose grasp of. His full, pink lips were split, blood trickling over his chin. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, wincing as the cotton rubbed against the cut. He looked deeper into the mirror, hating the person who was staring back.

With a disgusted look, Shuichi wobbled to the mirror, blood trialing from his hand behind him. He glared at the helpless victim and slowly drew his arm back. Fisting his good hand, he threw it into the mirror, shattering the image and his hand along with it. Glass fragments protruded from Shuichi's skin, blood oozing from the hazardous beauty. He blanched at the pain, looking back at the mirror which no longer held his reflection.

Shuichi started out the door, tired of playing the victim and pulled it open weakly. The glow of the midday sun blazed down at him and he squinted in to the distance. People infested the streets, totally ignorant to the tragic event that had almost occurred. Shuichi pulled his sleeves further over his hands, hoping to hide to some degree the blood dripping over the pavement. He stalked forward, trying to hold his composure and not collapse to the ground. That was the last thing he wanted. Well, actually his mother finding him would be the worst possible thing that could happen. She would bury him six feet under if she realized that he had almost exposed her for what she truly was. Not that it was her fault; Shuichi couldn't blame her for beating him when he wanted to do the same. He hated himself too.

Shuichi stumbled forward, almost tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. He pressed on, determined to make it home where his mother could punish him thoroughly. He certainly deserved it. Shuichi managed to make it a couple of blocks before he almost collapsed in front of Borders bookstore. Pushing his hands against the glass display case, he inspected the many books cluttering the window to distract his mind from the awful pain in his arms. Most of them were sappy romance novels, which had no appeal to Shuichi whatsoever. Shuichi didn't believe in love anymore. Then his eyes flickered to 'Boy Meets Boy.' Interesting.

Shuichi entered the store, startled as a bell announced his presence. He shrank behind a rack of bargain bin books before anyone could ask how he was doing. He'd end up bursting into tears over the irony of the question. He carefully weaved through the many shelves of mysteries of manga until he reached the display case. Shuichi plucked 'Boy Meets Boy' from its plastic stand and opened the cover, being careful not to get blood all over its delicate pages. Turning to bring it to the counter, he made the mistake of not looking up from the book. He smashed into another body, falling back into the case. His head made ugly contact with the edge of the display and he anxiously fought to hold onto his consciousness. A blurry figure knelt beside him and he felt a cool hand press against his forehead. Shuichi waited as his vision cleared, leaving him with a massive headache and a wave of nausea. He focused his vision and realized he was staring at a pair of plaid converse.

He peeked up from underneath his pink bangs and saw the owner of the shoes.

A boy with shaggy blond hair was eye level with Shuichi, peering at him with a worried expression. His amber eyes burned into Shuichi with an intensity that made heat pool in the pit of his stomach. 'Not now,' Shuichi thought to himself, trying to calm his jumpy nerves. He tried to find something to distract himself. His eyes wandered to the boy's clothes where he carefully took note of every small detail. His green Pepsi tee hid his obviously fit form in tattered material. The Levi jeans clung nicely to his hips and showed off his slender body. The boy met Shuichi's cobalt eyes and a dazzling smile played over his boyish features.

"I'm so glad you're okay," The boy mumbled energetically. "Wait, you're okay right?" the boy stopped babbling just long enough to shoot a worried gaze at Shuichi.

"Besides almost being impaled, I'm just peachy." Shuichi moaned sarcastically, rubbing his head. He closed his eyes and instantly felt a cool hand press against the back of his head. His eyes shot open and looked accusingly at the boy kneeling close beside him.

"Does your head hurt?" the boy asked, suddenly looking older as he became serious. His jaw clenched in tension and he let out a shaky breath. "I'm really sorry," he said, looking at Shuichi in remorse.

"No blood, no foul," Shuichi recited, watching as the boy's spirits lifted again.

"Right," the boy whispered, his face slightly amused. Shuichi sat in awkward silence until he finally got the hint and decided to make his escape. He pushed himself up, tottering on his shaky legs as dizziness swarmed his head. The boy was there in an instant, grabbing Shuichi around the waist. He held him close to his chest and Shuichi was engulfed in the scent of Old Spice. He relaxed into the sweet embrace and closed his eyes. Realizing what he was doing, Shuichi quickly pushed away from the boy. He wasn't going to let anyone close to him this time. Not again. The boy was several inches taller, making it difficult to escape his lanky form.

"Sorry," the boy mumbled, blushing as his hand brushed against Shuichi's waist. He whipped it back to his side and looked at the ground. His eyes lit up in recognition and he bent to retrieve a book that had been resting on its cover. "I think this is yours," the boy said smiling at Shuichi. "Good book," He mumbled one aging blushing furiously as he avoided contact with Shuichi. 'Boy Meets Boy' stared back at him. Could this boy…? No, he looked so normal. He quickly reached for the book; afraid the boy would judge him and run like all the rest. In his haste, the sleeves of his sweatshirt slipped painfully down, exposing his bloody, massacred flesh. His wrist throbbed and he could feel the blood pumping out f him furiously.

The boy looked at Shuichi in mortification. Shuichi readied himself for the emotional attack he knew was sure to come. To his utter surprise, he felt an arm wrap around his waist and draw him into a warm body. The boy stroked Shuichi's hair gently and whispered soft words into his ear. His lips traced against Shuichi's ear and a shiver consumed his body hungrily. Shuichi gripped the stranger's shirt in his hands and let his overwhelming emotions condense on his cheeks in the form of tears. The tears trickled down his cheeks, stinging his bruise, and clashing at his chin. He laid his head against the boy's chest and sobbed into his shoulder. He didn't like the contact of another person, especially so close but he gave in and relaxed into him. The boy wrapped his arms tighter around Shuichi and dipped his head to Shuichi's shoulder. His warm breath tickled Shuichi's neck and ruffled his hair. He felt a warm hand rub his back and soft lips brush the downy hairs on his neck. His eyes suddenly went wide in realization.

"No," Shuichi whispered, wiggling out of the boy's arms. "No!" he screamed, his stomach heaving as he realized what he had done. He had touched this perfect stranger. He had defiled him. Shuichi ran out of the store, ignoring the throbbing headache crippling his mind. He stumbled to the street and was consumed by a wave of dizziness. He was finally feeling the effects of the blood loss. Blood pounded under his temples and he felt his pulse quicken as he suddenly collapsed in the middle of the road.

He didn't move. He merely waited.

"So this is how it ends," he whispered, his lips turning up into a smile. He closed his eyes and felt tears running down his cheeks. He breathed in the hot asphalt and opened his eyes just as he felt bile rising in his throat. He swallowed the taste and along with it, the bottle of prescription pills he had unsuccessfully tried to overdose on earlier that morning.

Shuichi felt his eyelids grow heavy and his eyelashes brushed against his tear stained cheeks. "I'm sorry," he mumbled to no one in particular. And he drifted. In and out. He felt like he was sinking, drowning but couldn't have broken the surface if he'd wanted to. And slowly, he let go. Darkness veiled him and he listened to his heartbeat slowly fading away.

I used to be love struck; now I'm just fucked up.
Pull up my sleeves and see the pattern of my cuts!