It has been a while and I'm well aware of that fact. But I'm back and writing again so please forgive me. This fanfic is the first to be updated because it was dedicated to someone and I feel awful for getting it to it like I promise to. In fact until this fanfic has reached completion nothing else will be updated.

Sorry-its not permanent hiatus. Its temporary for sure. I'm in college now and things were hectic, but I have learned to control myself and actually sit down and do what I like to do. I'd forgotten how much fun it was to write if that's believable.

Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade

Not a Tattoo

Kai didn't return to his home until late that night because knowing that Tala was inside those walls was enough to keep him away. He wished that it was enough to keep him away forever, but he found himself still being drawn back to that house. That seclusion that it would bring even if Tala was there-after all a haunted house was still a haunted house and deserved a ghost.

Kai closed the door behind him and walked to his bedroom undressing himself. The walk through the Russian air had nearly chilled every bone in his body. Going down stairs to the kitchen he started a pot of water for tea and checked the clock. It read 3:00 am. He sat down at the table and sipped the warming liquid hating himself for coming downstairs for a comfort.

He was to weak if he couldn't even continue to punish himself like he'd intended. He was giving in to much when he deserved the Abby. Thinking about the place brought up a whirlwind of memories he still hadn't completely processed and was still discovering. Every once in a while he would get a vision of something he didn't readily remember. Old corridors filled with nothing but darkness, flickering lights, and yet in every new memory he couldn't see any faces.

In fact except for his memories during the first tournament that he'd managed to resurrect there had been no one. Putting his cup away he could feel the same emptiness soak into his soul and he headed to the bathroom without realizing that he was there. Kai stared at himself in the mirror with the light from the barely lit blue room.

He was paler if that was possible than what he'd been in Japan. The scars on his face Brooklyn had given him and down his arms were almost gone, but still a faint memory etched in the mirror. Touching the cool glass underneath his fingertips Kai looked away closing his eyes and wishing that he was as strong as Tyson had been.

Tyson had punished himself for a crime he hadn't committed. Had punished himself because Hiro had left him, he had no reason to cut himself so Kai had intervened. At the time he'd considered it to be a cowardly way out, but now he found himself curious.

Reaching into his back pocket Kai pulled out a pocket knife. It was a simple wooden pocket knife where the blade was fit to fold into it. There were no markings or decorations and the wood was plain. An ugly instrument to the world, Kai couldn't rightly remember where he'd received the metal and it bothered yet excited him at the same time.

The knife was something that didn't have any preconceptions about the person Kai Hiwatari was-No expectations and no way to disappoint it. Moving over he locked the door and sat down on the cool tile holding the blade in front of a an open wrist.

He shook his head trying to clear it and moved his arm when he had to clear it again with narrowed eyes.

It took him a second to realize that there was nothing wrong with his eyes, the hand holding the blade centimeters above his skin was shaking. His mouth fell open in shock and he stared at his hand like it was a foreign object trying to get it to lower and put a little pressure against the skin. Just enough to break it so he could feel the end of it all come crashing down.

Kai was disgusted with himself because he couldn't bring himself to even do a simple thing like cutting Kai threw the blade against the wall and brought his knees up to his chest. He cradled his head in the embarrassment of another weakness. Kai Hiwatari, the most fearsome blader in the world. The one that everyone had acclaimed to think so little of his own well-being could bring himself to perform a simple act of self-mutilation in repentance.

Tears started to pour down his face as he sobbed alone, always destined to be alone, in the bathroom like a miserable child. The salty tears mixed with the paint on his cheeks and stained the floor beneath him a baby blue diluting the color as he cried himself to sleep.