Chapter Three: Cuts

AN~ I just...urg. Sorry for the delay.

Disclaimer: I keep forgetting this... I don't own Soul Eater. I never claimed to. I'm simply borrowing the characters for a bit.

Dinner had gone smoother then he thought it would (he gave full credit to Tsubaki's pot roast) and had ended as quickly as it had began. After shoveling huge quantities of food in his face BlackStar had been nearly comatose. Tsubaki had offered to do dishes after she finished but Soul, in a gentlemanly display that stunned them both, told her he'd do them. Maka seemed a bit nervous at first, but as far as Soul was concerned that was normal when one was surrounded by assassin's. She'd loosened up about half way through and had a rather animated conversation with Tsubaki over a book series they both enjoyed. Seeing the young woman relaxed and in his presence was nice. It calmed Soul, or rather the sound her soul made when she was relaxed did. His normally stiff muscles had loosened and his joints didn't feel like they were locked in an uncomfortable position. His scars also didn't ache, which normally didn't happen without large quantities of pain killers. Apparently the psychotic doctor had been right and the pain was all in his head...Not that it meant that it'd stop him from hurting later.

The soft sound of Maka's laugh filled the dinning room as Soul rose to do the dishes. He couldn't help but look over at her. Her sunburn was completely gone now leaving her skin with only slightly more color than milk. Her eyes were a bit too large and such a stunning shade of green that he couldn't help but think of spring.

Not wanting to get caught staring at her he headed over to the sink. Soul glanced back over his shoulder to make sure everyone was occupied before pulling off his gloves. He tired not to look at his hands. While he was used to the way they felt, and their limitations, he'd never gotten used to looking at them. As far as he was concerned they were disgusting things. It wasn't just because of the scars they bore or the way a few of his fingers had been twisted, though it was one of the reasons. The main reason was because of the acts he'd been forced to commit. Acts that haunted him every moment of the day and prevented him from being normal...well as normal as an assassin could be. Then again had he not been made to do those detestable things he wouldn't be where he was now. He wouldn't be able to stop the people who hurt him from hurting others.

Even with that said he still wished he hadn't done them.

Soul didn't realize he was gripping the plate tight enough to break until it shattered in his hands. The large chunks of ceramic sliced his palms and a few of the smaller shards stuck in his skin. He glanced quickly back at the girls. Both were looking in his direction. He gritted his teeth and turned his back towards them. His hands didn't hurt but he was bleeding rather badly. Suddenly he felt body heat against his right side. Since Tsubaki knew better than to get so close to him and BlackStar was unconscious on his table, he figured it could only be one person.

Maka.

The tiny woman was so close that she was nearly touching him. This fact caused him to clench his jaws tighter. He was pretty sure his teeth where close to shattering as the plate had. "What happened?" She asked, he could feel her breath through his jacket. The sensation caused a small shudder to run down his spine.

Soul quickly stepped to the side. "Nothing." He snapped while trying to staunch the bleeding with a dish towel.

Maka's eyes narrowed. "''Nothing'? Well I hope I never come across 'nothing' if it's capable of cutting up someone's hands like that."

Her comment almost made him chuckle...

Almost.

Instead he narrowed his eyes back at her and shifted his body to hide his hands. "I don't know why you're pestering me about a few little cuts, but it's really uncool."

"I'm sure if Soul-kun says it's nothing that he's ok. He's dealt with enough injures to know when he needs help." Tsubaki's gentle voice stopped the tiny blond from making anymore comments and gave Soul a much needed escape.

Once in his room he set about bandaging his hands. Despite all the bleeding the cuts weren't that deep and wouldn't require stitches, which was a good thing since Stein was gone and he'd rather not have to hunt down Nygus. Once they were wrapped Soul made no motion to leave his room. Instead he flopped back on his bed and stared at the zigzag stitches across his ceiling.

Being alone in his room had always been therapeutic. He could relax and not have to worry about who was at his back or if someone was going to brush against him. He didn't have to stiffen every time he heard someone move or worry about saying something that gave anyone any idea of what kind of mental baggage he carried about. He didn't have to worry about being mocked or loosing control. Alone in his room he couldn't hurt anyone and no one could hurt him.

He laid his hands over his stomach as his eye lids began to droop. Laying down and brought the fact that he hadn't slept in a couple of days to his mind. Sleeping wasn't something he liked to do if he could help it. He actually prided himself on being able to run for a week on little more than three hours of sleep. Once more his eyes tried to close but he forced them back open. With Maka here he wouldn't sleep. It didn't matter how tempting it was to give in and see if he could have one of those rare nights where all he saw was blackness. The idea of being so venerable around someone who he didn't really know should have been enough to keep his eyes from attempting to drift close a third time, but it wasn't. Maybe it was because she was Spirit's daughter, or rather he suspected her to be the perverted old fart's child, and he therefore assumed that she'd be something like her father and not want to harm him. Maybe it was because her size was very un-intimidating. Maybe it was because he thought her eyes were too large and too bright for her mind to hold any dark twisted thoughts. Maybe it was simply because he didn't believe that anyone with such a pure sounding soul could be anything other than a decent human being.

He finally gave in and allowed himself to drift off.

Everything was black. An endless void that stretched out into eternity. The only sound was the steady thump of his heart and the soft animal like pants of his breathing. Slowly he became aware of the press of metal against his wrist and the awkward way his body positioned. He was kneeling and something hard and straight was pressed against his back. He tried to move only to have his body scream in protest. His eyes snapped open only to find him not in his room…or rather not in the one he currently had. It was a room he'd lived in in the past. One he'd been forced into every time That Person left.

He couldn't stop from shaking. He tugged on his trapped arm, compelled as always to reenact everything he'd done in the past. He screamed and cried and begged and pleaded. He promised and swore. He'd tried praying to heaven and selling his soul to the devil…but no one ever answered. The words only echoed in the small room. Eventually he was reduced to little more then sobs. His small body doubled in on it's self, tugging at the arm chained above his head.

It wouldn't be long before he started to struggle again. The struggling would cause him to cut his wrist and pull his shoulder from his socket. He'd cry more and scream until his voice gave out. It'd be the same as always. The same as it had been the day it happened and every night he'd ever been forced to relive this memory. He wouldn't be able to wake up until it was over, until he passed out. Then he'd wake up covered in sweat and just as tired as when he closed his eyes. He'd end up curling into a ball, clutching his pillow for comfort like a child would a teddy bear, and try to calm down. He'd do so alone, like always, because there wasn't a person he could trust with the twisted mockery of a life he'd had before he'd been rescued. Not the man who'd saved him, the one who took him in, or his friends. He kept them all at arms length, never allowing them to know exactly what tormented him so much. He was sure they all had ideas or could guess some of it, but if he told them everything he'd loose the respect they had for him. They'd look at him with eyes full of pity and his past would be the only thing they'd see. He'd be forever a victim and never allowed to try and move past it. Sure he was doing a shoddy job of it now but at least he was trying to move on. Even though his past defined nearly everything he did.

Then he heard something that wasn't part of this memory. A soft voice that was familiar yet at the same time incredibly foreign. It sounded unsure and a bit distressed. It was sweet and warm and caused the sobbing to stop. It didn't make everything stop hurting but it distracted him.

His eyes closed and when they re opened he was staring up into a pair of green eyes. For once he didn't panic at finding someone over him. No, he was too busy staring. Too busy being puzzled over the slightly concerned look on her face.

She didn't look away from him. "Are you alright?" She asked. Soul didn't trust his voice enough to speak, too afraid it would crack, instead he nodded slowly. By her look he could tell she didn't believe him but didn't press for more. She moved to stand when of it's own accord his hand caught the hem of her shirt. There was a slight jump in her soul, but as she turned around to look at him it settled back down. He wasn't sure what she saw there but it made her sit on the edge of his bed. She didn't look at him, but rather some dusty old leather bound book in her hands.

He rolled over, facing her back, and curled into a ball. He let go of her shirt and closed his eyes to listen to the sound of her soul. It was slow and sweet, but strong and unyielding. It was complex yet incredibly simple. It was fiery and passionate yet it didn't burn. It licked along his skin and left him with a strangely warm feeling. He felt himself drifting again. This time he wasn't greeted by darkness or tormenting memories. But hazy pictures and sounds. Images of black rooms, blue lights, and a boy who played the piano without worrying about being hurt for how twisted his compositions sounded.

AN: Once more I want to apologize for the delay and how short this chapter was. Originally it was going to be something else but I decided to poke into Soul's back story instead…or rather I didn't so much as decided but ended up writing myself into a corner and decided to proceed this way rather then re-writing the chapter for the fifth time. I don't think I gave too much away at least not about the later years (which are in my opinion worse then his early childhood). I kinda want to do the last half of this chapter from Maka's point of view and probably will at some point (more then likely when I get stuck again)…Any way I'll stop rambling now, but before I go I'd like to thank everyone for not messaging me with the dreaded lines; "Where's the next chapter?", "Why haven't you posted?", and "If you're not going to finish can I have it?"