Again, this chapter is a little out there, but hey, I like it.

I really don't have time to say anything else, and I really just want to update, so here you go.

"I hate life."

The comment was so abrupt and unexpected, that the girl didn't even respond quickly with her 'words of wisdom'. It was integrated into the silence in the air, yet clashed with it so obscurely that it was painful. He half-expected her to wince, as he sat in utter numbness.

Life is a gift, she finally said, almost harshly. And hating does nothing.

He shook his head and chuckled sarcastically, becoming nearly cruel in mocking her naïve thoughts. "You really don't get it, do you?" Her head turned and her eyes met with his. The gaze was intense, and if he didn't know any better, he'd consider it a glare. Well, he glared back. "Life is nothing but a waste of my time. It's just a chain a pain and suffering that won't stop until life ends. And you know what? I'm looking forward to it."

Her glare intensified and hardened. You're wrong, she said forcefully. You are hiding again. Don't cover up with redirected anger. You know.

"What are you talking about!" he cried angrily. "I'm not hiding anything! This is my true feelings! This is the true me!" His hands curled up on the counter, causing his fingernails to scrape painfully against the hard tile. He took no notice. "You may not like it, but this is truly who I am! Some angry, crazed up loser with a violent side!"

The palms of his hands began to bleed, his fingernails digging in deep. Hot tears began to stream down his face, and uncontrollable emotion oozed from his soul. "You don't understand anything!" he cried. "Why do you keep torturing me! Why!"

His voice broke into audible sobs and he trembled violently. He threw his face into his arms and sobbed. At every tear he shed, she could feel pain dripping from his hollow green eyes; at every breath he took and distorted, she could feel agony swelling up within him; at every memory that passed through his mind, she could feel anguish eating away his body and soul.

What happened that made you this way? she asked softly.

He looked up briefly at her. "I already told you."

There is something more, isn't there? Something bigger.

His lip quivered. He couldn't tell . . . no, he couldn't relive it. Not again. "No," he replied flatly and sternly, leaving no room for argument. She obviously didn't get the message, and argued.

You're lying. Tell me.

He narrowed his puffy red eyes at her. "Just stop it already," he hissed forcefully. "Just stop."

Her eyes didn't narrow, but he could see fierceness flaring up behind her eyes. She dared to defy. No.

It was too much. He suddenly stood up and brought up his hand dangerously. His anger unleashed as a crisp smacking sound echoed throughout the tower.

Unmoving, the girl took the violent blow to her delicate face indifferently. Or so it appeared, anyhow. Panting, he stood there angrily, waiting for her to react. Waiting for the satisfaction of violence. Waiting for someone else to feel pain.

But she didn't move, her gaze never wavering from his hollow eyes. Just sitting there, perfectly still, inhuman to all extent.

He dropped his hand, and his angry face dropped as well. He suddenly looked incredibly sad, as if knowing all along that his internal pain was always going to overpower any form of external hurting.

Slowly, he began to back away, as if afraid and shocked at what he had just done. His pace quickened, and he eventually turned around and ran out of the room.

The girl was left alone to sit in the residence of sorrow.

Yes? No? Retarded?

Review!