"Oi! Roxas!" Demyx sneered, lashing out to grab the younger boy's jacket as he walked away, "Don't you dare walk away from me! Answer me, Goddamn!" Demyx picked up Roxas by the top of his jacket and shoved him against a locker, colliding Roxas's back with the locker door, making an effective bang that rang in his ears. "So… you getting off with anyone, eh? Any chicks takin' yer fancy?" Roxas shook his head franticly, turning to stare at the floor blankly, wishing Demyx to leave him be. "Or maybe you don't bat for the team, huh?" Demyx pressed himself closer to the small, quivering blonde, and hissed in his ear, "Maybe that's why sweet innocent little Roxy lives all lonesome with a big muscly bloke!" Demyx's gang members let out booming laughs, drowning Roxas with their height. Roxas felt his cheeks flare up with embarrassment and Demyx turned on him, surprised. "It's true? Little Roxy is into all things dirty!" He laughing mockingly, "Who would've guessed?"
Demyx punched two blows into the tortured blonde, who quivered and fell to the floor. As he walked away Demyx turned and smirked over his shoulder, "Don't worry little Roxy… We'll be back. Oh, we'll be back…"
Roxas squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pay no attention to the ringing in his ears, the bruising that was starting to form on his stomach, or the blood that was rushing around his head. Instead, he focused on the emptiness that rang loud and clear throughout his body. An emptiness that could never be filled. He reached into the cabinet and pulled out Axel's nail scissors. They were red. How ironic. Roxas pulled back his hoodie and stared at his pale wrist that seemed to gleam under the dim bathroom light. Blood pounded in his ears as the adrenaline kicked in about the deed that was going to be done.
Roxas closed his eyes and took a deep intake of breath, seeming to freeze for a while, before bringing the scissor blade down on his wrist.
The pain was excruciating, but Roxas grimaced before bursting out laughing. He'd never have to face anyone anymore! His parents wouldn't ever have no give a fuck, not that they ever did much anyway. He felt himself growing weaker as a dark red sticky substance ran down his elbow onto the cold, hard tiles. Limply, he let both his arms hang by his sides, and the scissors slid out of his hands, landing with a clatter on the floor. The young blond closed his eyes in submission, all his childhood fears and worries releasing, and all of a sudden, showing through bruises, scars, and experience, showed an innocent 16-year-old by. A boy who concentrated too hard at school. A boy who had never had any experience of love. A boy who had grown up completely, utterly, alone.