I know a lot of time has passed but I'm back :D There was a very annoying person, who was telling me to continue with my story, so I really have to thank that person for getting back to work. Thank you Sam! From now on I will write points of view so it would be easier to understand this weird, weird story
Shizuru's POV:
I lay in my bed and accidentally my gaze rests upon my wrist. I remember… I remember a big hole that was there for a while. When I slit my wrists. That feeling was so strange. I remember staring at my wrists and not believing I just did it. For you, it was all for you, my dear Natsuki. I then looked into the mirror in front of me and kept repeating that I did it for you. I stared into my eye's pupil and when it started feeling surrealistic, I fell unconscious.
I woke up in a pool of blood. Damn, my wrists. What the hell was I thinking? Now everyone will think that I'm a lunatic. Oh wait, I am. Damn this. It's not even funny. I want to drop dead. Another method maybe? Fill my pockets full of stones and go drown myself. Sounds kind of sad. Very, very sad. I find some bandages in the cabinet and wrap them around my wrists. God, that hurts so much.
Was it really worth it? The pain? The one that I never forgot. When I see a sharp object near me I feel as if my wounds have opened and are burning. The price of being a sinner, now I have to pay forever. My head hurts. Where are you, Natsuki? Do you think of me now? I see you every day but somehow that isn't enough. I thought that with time my feelings would evaporate and disappear, at least, that they would grow weaker. But that never happened, did it? I never could have stopped myself from thinking about you. I never wanted to, it was and it is the only pleasure for me in this world. At least, the thing that is real. I know that I will never have you and it saddens me.
Still, I think that I… hate love. I hate these feelings, well, not that I really hate them, I hate that they are unreciprocated. Though you have softened a bit, you show sympathy towards me, you hang out with me, but you don't love me. And I would give up everything so that I could be loved by you… But what am I talking about; I should be grateful that you're even talking to me, being with me. Why am I so insatiable? Why is it always not enough for me? God, I hate myself so much. I trick everyone into being this calm and cool person with my mask, my façade, yet it always crumbles when I'm with you. I'm always so scared that you will hate me when you will see the real me, but I know that you have seen me with many masks. And you know that they're masks. I am a liar. I am a liar. I am a liar. It's an automatic systematic habit; I'm so good at it. How can you put up with me?
Even now… The one I'm thinking about is myself. I'm just a nuisance to everyone. I take my razor. You know, old habits never die.
And when the razor touches my skin, the blood flows, my mind is at ease. And I feel all better again.