Raph's pov:

Lying here in my room, bandaged hand resting on my chest, I can't shake these thoughts running circles in my mind. It's like Leo, Mikey, and Donnie are still lecturing me even though they're not here. They're right though, damn it.

"Why do I keep doin' this?" I grumble to myself, feeling that surge of frustration bubble up. Another tantrum, another mess I gotta clean up. It's like I can't control myself, and it's startin' to take its toll on all of us.

I can hear Leo's voice clear as day, that stern tone he gets, "Losing control like that puts the whole team at risk, Raph."

Mikey's eyes, man. They're like a mix of concern and annoyance. "Dude, we're supposed to be watching each other's backs. Not dodging debris you kick up."

And Donnie, always gotta be the smart one, "Raph, your anger's a liability. We need a solution, not a problem."

I let out a heavy breath, running a hand through my bandana-covered head. They're right, damn it, they're all right. I know it. But it's not like I'm trying to be reckless. I'm trying to keep 'em safe, dammit. I'd take any hit, any danger, if it meant they're okay.

I remember every one of those times I charged into danger headfirst, my blood boiling with the need to protect them. It's like my rage becomes a shield, but they don't see it that way. It's like they only see the chaos, the aftermath of my temper.

Frustration knots in my gut. "They just don't get it, do they? They can't see why I do what I do."

But underneath that anger, there's something uglier. I hate myself for it. Hate that I can't keep a lid on this temper, that I end up hurting them in the process. Hate that I can't control my own damn emotions.

A bitter taste fills my mouth, and I clench my teeth, feeling that mix of guilt and resentment churn inside me.

"I hate this," I admit to no one but myself. "I hate this part of me that can't change, that can't get a grip."

I wipe a hand across my eyes, feeling a damn tear threatening to spill. I can't let that happen. I can't let them see me like this, vulnerable, weak. I'm the tough guy, the one who's supposed to have his act together.

I swallow hard, trying to will the emotions back down. I need to figure this out, need to find a way to deal with it. I can't keep hurtin' them like this.

As I lay there, the weight of everything pressing down on me, I felt a tear form in my eye. "He said sorry..." I whispered. Why do I cry? I sight. I knew why... This kind of tantrum had happened one to many times...

Another tear slipped and ran down my cheek. For them, I am the hotheaded one. The one who tends to loose his temper. And I ain't denying it but sometimes I just want them to think about my reason.

I can handle pain. In fact, I don't care for my broken arm but I just don't think I could handle the others getting hurt. That's why I tend to do stuff like that. I care for them and sure I like fighting and stuff. I always loved it, but that was never the main reason.

Before I knew, I was crying. Usually when I cry I go outside. I stand on top of the roof watching over the city and just cry, but this time... I didn't want them to worry even more... I buried my face in the pillow and sobbed.

My tears flew like a waterfall wetting the whole pillow and when I was finished like two hours later I threw it of my bed because it wasn't usable anymore. That's how I fell asleep. Exhausted from crying with a bandaged hand to tired to hate myself. It was 3:00am.